The Drip, a novel by Michael Gullo
“Hey, Michael. ’sup?”
“Hey Phil. Stef busy or something?”
“I’m here. You’re on the car speaker.”
“So, no cussing, got it.”
“Where you at?”
“GPS says I’m one minute out.”
“What’s it like?”
“We’re way off the charging network now, Toto. But the phone works good.”
“What’s the street like?”
“It’s, um… An old rusted tractor been in the middle of the field since the farm went fallow. It’s a family cemetery fenced inside a cow pasture.”
“Can we skip the poetry version?”
“Nope. It’s an iron fence rusted to lace. The part I’m passing right now is a junkyard on both sides of the road obviously cuts right through the middle of his property. But the junk, it’s like right up to the edge of the road, like a foot or two back. It’s almost like a chalked line, one side a nineteen-whatever truck hood badge says, White and then Super Power under it – I shit you not.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s some old truck company – the point is the wheels and all the rest, they’re like on this imaginary perfect line all the way down the frontage on both sides. There’s a weather vane and the obligatory bat-dented mailbox, a chest freezer. There’s a phone booth shell missing half the glass, and the phone book is in there on the chain.”
“Like, the whole street?”
“No, just this part. I mean this guy has a john boat on the line – right-side up, full of rain water and lily pads. There’s a stone chimney…”
“I don’t get it. Is this the whole road?”
“I was sayin’. No, so I came in the back way like we said, like through Blount County and all that…”
“How was Pellissippi?”
“I’ll tell you one thing, this Super Cruise is cool stuff. I flipped it on, and just let the car drive…”
“I mean the traffic.”
“I know what you meant. There was traffic, but I flipped on Super Cruise, and I was looking around and I see the faces on all the drivers as they stole a first glance at this thing in the wild.”
“Yeah, you like your car. But how about the neighborhood?”
“Well, there’s a lot of faded Tyvek and unfinished work.”
“Oh, so it’s like our house.”
“Ouch!”
“Shutup, Phil.”
“We don’t have any Tyvek, honey. It’s like every generational poor neighborhood far off the main road. Half started front porches with that I-did-it-my-way feel, weedy yards – not weeds in the lawn. It’s like if they ever spread weed killer, the whole plot would look like this one where the dog is tied out on a stake and only mud left behind. But there’s pride in ownership too – sprinkled in.”
“So just like home.”
Sigh. “You should have come.”
“I couldn’t. We got this lady cold, and this was the only day we could get the warrant signed.”
“I know, but you should have, is all I’m saying.”
“How long did it take?”
“I could have come an hour later, and you’d see first hand.”
“…In the car… Speaker phone.”
“Is this a domestic?”
“Shutup, Phil.”
“Took an hour more or less.”
“You should have come.”
“You should have waited until tomorrow.”
“No way. What if this guy changes his mind?”
“If…”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m here now.”
“What’s it like?”
“Just like the Street View. It’s a dirt road, way overgrown. There’s a small iron Posted sign peppered with rust. There’s a generational neighbor plot next door. Two trailers, one new one further back from the road, well kept with a screened porch. There’s a property pin with deep faded pink ribbon, knot rotting in the sun. I’m out now.”
“Okay, call me when you leave.”
“Been a long time since someone’s driven up here. The gate just collapsed as I was opening it.”
“There’s a gate?”
“Not like our gate. Definitely no intercom system running back to the house. It was like a cattle gate or whatever – chain and lock rusted shut. The post just fell over when I tried to swing it.”
“I’ll start packing.”
“Huh?”
“You break it, you bought it. No choice now but to move in.”
“Move into what? I’m trying to get up the driveway, but it climbs a hill to a right-hand turn, and it’s all mud and a steep fifteen foot drop off to a babbling brook.”
“There’s a Brook?!?”
“Don’t get too excited. This is the easement part, and the road – if you can call it that – is washed out deep. Even this thing can’t get past that.”
“So, what’s that mean?”
“Means I gotta back out and park at the side of the road so I can walk up.”
“So we’re not out?”
“No, babe, not out, still buying it, but the easement needs a lot of work. If I didn’t have a backup camera in here, I’d’a been off the hillside for…. Jesus!...”
“For Jesus?”
“There’s a curve in the road right before the driveway, and this dude almost parked a pickup, looked like it was fresh out of that junkyard, right in my back seat! He slammed on the brakes, yanked the wheel. I was watching him in the camera. He left a pound of rubber on the road, and he almost took out the mailbox on the other side of the street. That’s another thing I noticed. All the mailboxes are on one side of the street. We’ll have to cross the road to get our junkmail.”
“That’s the rural part of rural mail route. Neighbors helping neighbors – decorate their frontage with mailboxes.”
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“That was quick. You can’t back out now. You broke the man’s gate.”
“Yeah, break it, bought it. I got that the first time.”
“Did you get to see it all?”
“No, I got up to this split in the easement, and the left path didn’t look right so I went right, into the forest.”
“You just walked off into the random forest?”
“No, there was a split in the easement. Left side, briar patch, right side forest.”
“Forest is good.”
“It’s not though because I think I went the wrong way, and I walked for like forty-five minutes. Then I had to turn around. And the right way, which is the left way, doesn’t seem right.”
“What’s wrong about it?”
“Well, I can’t get through it for one thing. It’s all Blackberry briars, and it’s straight up hill. I can’t see where the pond would be.”
“I love blackberries!”
“We all do, and so do the bears, which do indeed relieve themselves in the woods.”
“Did you see any?”
“Scat, yes. Bears no. But there’s a lot of them up here, I can tell you that.”
“Welcome to the Smokies.”
“What I really want to see is the pond, but I can’t get through today. It’s late from my hour and a half walk.”
“You said forty five minutes.”
“Forty five one way, and then back, then the briars. I’m headed out the easement now.”
“It sounds like you’re walking.”
“It’s already gonna be dark when I get home.”
“Sounds like a tough walk.”
“Not bad. It’s overgrown. Lots of ducking and wriggling between.”
“You sure that’s it? Sounds a little more.”
“Don’t start. Yes, I’m smoking, and no, I didn’t hurt the lung.”
“It’s nothing to mess with. If that bleb pops while you’re up there in the deep woods like a fool all by…”
“Stef. I’m fine.”
“And you’re smoking while you’re at it.”
“So as you first enter the driveway, the neighbor is right there. I mean like three feet separate the driveways.”
“Smooth subject change. Sounds like you’re struggling.”
“The driveways are close, but there’s this ravine between the properties; pretty steep slope at one point.”
“Should we call Brittany tomorrow just to have a listen?”
“Stefanie, I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
“You come up here tomorrow, help find that pond, and between the bug bites and the briar patch, and this damned Twister game of tree limbs across the road, if you’re not gassed, I’ll call Brittany for an onsite visit right here in the mud path, and I’ll lift up my shirt, and she can tell me that I have heavy breathing and a fast heart rate from exercise, and you’ll get off my back so I can tell you about this Blackberries for sale sign.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“There’s this plywood sign. It’s like half a plywood. It’s old, like weathered…”
“I can’t hear you.”
“It’s old and dark gray. It’s leaning up against the second house…”
“I can’t hear you.”
“I can’t talk loud. I’m right at the tight part of the properties, and I don’t want to bother anyone. They’re definitely not used to anyone over here, and a guy with my voice.”
“Yeah, they’ll come out shooting.”
“Cute. I got two voices. Loud and everyone hears me.”
“Loud as hell, and mumble’s more like it.”
“How’d it go with the judge?”
“Phil and I got all the way to Jefferson County, and we were out of there in five minutes. Do you swear that all of this is true to the…. Blah blah blah. We got our warrant, and we’re picking this lady up first thing Monday.”
“You’re a sick puppy.”
“She’s a criminal. I don’t feel bad.”
“And you shouldn’t feel bad, but you get off on it.”
“We spend a whole year at a time on these cases, and we work day in and day out putting the case together…”
“My tire is flat.”
“What do you mean your tire’s flat?”
“I got in the truck and the little cartoon on the screen says I have 3 tires in the 60s and one at 29. Flat.”
“Is it flat?”
“I don’t know. I needed a rest. The cartoon says it’s flat. I moved the mirrors around, and they look okay. But the back passenger tire is reporting twenty nine pounds.”
“Well go check.”
“I am. And it’s definitely low. Looks like I ran over something, like a shard of metal or something, but it’s in the sidewall just above the tread pattern. It’s sticking out like a prison shiv that got shoved home and twisted a bunch of times until it broke… There’s like this corkscrew shape to it, but it’s flat metal – was flat metal.”
“That’s ridiculous, who would shank your tire?”
“No clue, but I can’t change it here. I’m parked half in the drainage ditch and the thick weeds right on the curve. Someone already came around it like it’s the slot car races, and light’s fading.”
“There’s that gas station at the Wye. Can you make it there?”
“I don’t know how far it is. I came in the back way, remember.”
“Well, it’s not far.”
“I’ll limp it along and see if I get there. Mostly down hill anyway. Let me get off here and concentrate.”
“Call me when you get there.”
“The spare’s easy to find, but I got no clue where the jack is.”
“You’re not in Knoxville anymore, it’s Sevier County now. You can always talk someone into a loaner.”
“This thing weighs ten thousand pounds. I’m not sure too many people have the jack it takes to get this up in the air – and what if I ask the guy that shanked me in the first place?”
“Nobody shanked your tire. You spend half your time driving off the shoulder in that thing. You probably picked up a nail.”
“This is no nail. Let me go so I can concentrate.”
“Try and keep it between the lines. Too bad you didn’t get the two for one deal when you bought me that tire inflater for my birthday.”
“There’s this gorgeous Community Center down this way, right across from an old timey church like a chapel… You’re going to love this place.”
“Call me when you get there.”
“I can’t wait to show you this tomorrow. Let’s come up this way and get lunch on Chapman.”
“K, go fix your tire.”