John Norman climbed out of his truck and walked across the low-cut grass towards the trailer. It was a trailer, but it was nothing like the one George Silvers dealt out of, or rusty flops they had up in Jardin. This one was well cared for. It was close to thirty years old, but it looked like it was closer to ten years old. The sides were painted egg yoke yellow with underpinning that matched. The underpinning hid the wheels and supports under the trailer, something that went a long way to make it look like a bona fide home. The trailer sat Whitmire Street, where it had been for the past twenty-five years. Three blocks over was Washington Street and the house John grew up in.

He climbed up the steps and rapped twice on the closed screen door. His stomach twisted itself in knots as he waited. He hadn't been to this house in close to ten years. The day Henry Johnson chased him around the yard with a baseball bat. Even though Henry was an old man by now, John still hoped he was at work and not home sick today.

"John Norman," a curt voice said from inside the trailer.

He looked in through the screen and saw Mary Johnson's smiling face, older and wrinkled but still kind. She'd put on about twenty pounds since he last saw her and her corn-silk blond hair was turning white. She had a smile on her face, but that was just politeness and window dressing.

"Long time no see," said John.

"I know," she said with a hint of wariness in her voice. "There's a reason for that."

"Mary," John said softly. "That's been a long time ago. How about you let me in and we can talk?"

"We can talk just as good with you outside..."

"Fine. Mary, Like I said you--"

There was a high-pitched wail from somewhere inside the trailer. Mary turned around and looked in the direction of the noise. She told John to wait a minute while she checked on Sofie. Mary disappeared into the living room and John waited until she was out of sight before he stepped into the living room.

Green shag carpet with wood paneling on all four walls, a long and well-worn sofa with two recliners flanking both sides, a coffee table and TV in front of all three. Pictures were scattered along the wall. Most of them were of Carol, Carol as a baby, Carol as a little girl, a photo of her and John when they went trick or treating when were nine, one of her in that blue and white PCHS cheerleading outfit. She was all big smiles and innocence in the photos of her as a teen, her long blond hair teased up in a big hair style that was completely 90's. It was almost unbelievable to John that the same smiling girl who once made all A's and was the Beta Club treasurer was the same one out there with a fiend like Beggs, the same woman who made him do so many bad things.

There wasn't any photos of her after the cap and gown pictures from graduation. It had been nearly ten years since she broke John's heart, and based on the wall it seemed like time had stopped for Carol Johnson.

Well, not entirely.

The photos on the walls that accompanied Carol's were of babies. One a little boy and the other a little girl, both mixed race. John head a baby's cry from somewhere in the house. He heard that Carol's momma was supposed to be doing most the child rearing while she stayed on the prowl for a new sugar daddy. Maybe Howard Beggs was that sugar daddy.

"I thought I told you to stay outside," Mary said with her lips pressed together.

"I'm looking for Carol."

"Of course you are," she spat. "All these years and you haven't changed a damn bit."

"It's official business. I promise you."

She sighed and balled her fists. An act of suppressing rage, an act that was so effective that it had to be something she did often. "What'd she do this time?" Mary asked after calming down.

"I'm actually looking for a friend of hers. His name's Howard Beggs. He's a drug addict."

"Of course he is." 

Mary closed her eyes and swallowed hard. John really hoped she could keep it together long enough for him to get out of here. Mary was a nice lady, and he really didn't want to see her break down and cry. From what he remembered, Mary Johnson was a pretty ugly crier. John pulled the photo from his jacket while Mary fought back the tears.

"Here's a photo," he said, sliding the mugshot of Beggs across the table. "I don't know if you've seen him around, or know if Carol has talked about him, or what..."

"No." She shook her head. "Nobody she knows ever comes around here. Thank God for that."

"Well, where is Carol?"

"I--," she started then stopped. She was on the verge of tears and was beginning to teeter towards the edge. "I don't know... she hasn't been home in days!" She jumped off the cliff, tears welling over her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. "I got the kids here and I been taking care of them since they were born," Mary gasped for breath between her loud sobs and talked so fast and loud the words ran together. 

"--andthenHenrysaysweshouldkickerhoutofthehouseand--"

She kept on, descending into a mix of dry heaving, sobbing, and talking. Her face was buried in her hands, her whole body racking with the grief she was letting out. John mumbled thanks for talking to him and quietly left the house while she kept crying.

--

After a full day's work of prowling for Carol and Beggs, John called it a day at around seven and headed to Hobie's. His dinner that night was a ham and cheese omelet with a sweet tea. He ate in silence by himself, thinking about Carol and this giant clusterfuck Sheriff Parker had gotten him involved him. Thoughts of Lacey Cade also filtered in during his meal. Last night was just what he needed. She seemed to enjoy it as well. She was a good kid, Lacey. Damn shame she couldn't get out of this town.

After dinner John headed out to the small field he owned off Trask Road. He tended to his pot plants and checked to make sure they were thriving. The cold was coming soon and he'd have to harvest his crop and start processing it. After he had it ready for sale, he'd sell his entire crop wholesale to Billy's people and that would see him through the winter and into the spring when he could buy more pot seeds.

It was just after dusk when he pulled into the driveway beside his trailer. He went inside the trailer and tossed a little notepad on to the coffee table. It was filled with all the crap he had collected from folks since Parker forced him into this bullshit. The only information worth a damn he had was that Carol Johnson had been distant lately, not very approachable and very moody. John was pretty sure he knew the cause of that. Sucking on a methhead's dick would probably ruin anybody's mood. Except the methhead, of course. 

He plopped down on the couch and let his thoughts drift back to Mary and the conversation they had earlier. The way she seemed so put upon by Carol, how she had left her parents and own children behind for days at a time. She had really changed from the little girl who got homesick when she slept over at a friend's house across town. She was a partier when they were kids, but she hadn't changed at all. She was a mother of two, but yet she was still a damn kid herself. John was so focused on Carol and everything else that he didn't realize he was alone in the trailer until it was nearly too late.

He walked into the kitchen and stopped after feeling movement from behind. John wheeled around and came face to face with the intruder. A chubby  old man with jet black, receding hair, a salt and pepper beard, and a wrinkled face. His nose was broad and flat, an old injury he said he got from a bar fight forty years earlier. He was dressed in a flannel shirt and blue jeans with work boots.

"Whatever the hell you been doing, boy," he grunted. "You apparently have kicked a goddamn beehive."

"Nice to see you too, grandaddy."