Body Copy - Michael Craven [38]
B O D Y C O P Y
was an accident. Somebody gave him an accidental blow to the head, then to cover up the mess, they suffocated him.
I don’t know. But I do know that he wasn’t murdered on account of his doing wrong by my mother.”
Tremaine nodded, paused, and said, “Thank you for answering my questions, Phillip. You’ve been very helpful.”
Phillip Cook, appreciating Tremaine’s manners and calming down a bit, said, “Would you like a club sandwich before you go?”
“Yes, actually.”
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Tremaine pulled into the trailer park at dusk. He went inside, grabbed a beer, and then snuck over to the kitchen table, where he kept Lyle’s leash. Then he quickly opened the drawer and pulled out the leash, making all sorts of noise, the leash jangling and jingling. Tremaine thinking, this familiar noise will certainly make Lyle sing with joy!
He didn’t move. Tremaine shook the leash, rattled it around, banged it on the kitchen counter. Lyle didn’t budge.
Tremaine walked over to Lyle, leash in hand, and said,
“Who’s a good boy? Who’s the best little guy around?”
Lyle barely moved, except for the steady rise and fall of his stomach, as asleep as a creature can be.
“Who’s my beautiful little bulldog? Who’s the cutest of the cutest? Who’s the king of the octogenarians?”
B O D Y C O P Y
Lyle farted. Tremaine picked him up, rousing him out of his slumber. Lyle looked at him and growled a bit. Nobody likes to be woken up in the middle of a deep sleep. Tremaine took a healthy gulp of his Bud, put it down, then hooked up Lyle’s leash and headed out the trailer door.
Tremaine and Lyle strolled around, enjoying the Malibu evening. Tremaine mulling everything over, maybe even thinking about Nina Aldeen a little here and there.
Marvin Kearns exploded out of his trailer door and said,
“Mr. Tremaine, I may have made an error in judgment.”
Tremaine turned around to see Marvin standing there in a black karate uniform, complete with the black shoes with the thin, red rubber soles.
Tremaine was going to ask about the outfit—must have an audition for a ninja movie—but instead, he said,
“Marvin, what’s up?”
“Hello, Lyle,” Marvin said. “Always, ALWAYS acknowledge the presence of a canine. Especially one with the staying power of one Lyle Tremaine.”
“You hear that, Lyle? He’s paying you a compliment.”
Marvin said, “There was a man here earlier today driving a silver Ford Crown Victoria. Probably a ’99, maybe a 2000. Do you know anyone who fits that description?”
“Not offhand. Did you talk to him?” Tremaine said, interested.
“I did. I was finishing a run, and I saw him driving around the lot. He looked lost. I noticed he was looking at your trailer, so I approached him to see if I could be of assistance. He told me he was your old friend from childhood, and then asked me if your trailer was indeed your trailer. I said it was. Then he said he was going to surprise 119
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you, so don’t say anything. I agreed. This was before I suspected he may have been TOTALLY FULL OF SHIT!
I apologize for providing him with that information. I should have known better, considering your occupation.”
“Marvin, it’s okay. You didn’t tell them anything he hadn’t already found out in the phone book.”
“Let me tell you what else transpired, how I came to determine he was not telling me the truth.”
“We’ll go to my place,” Tremaine said.
They quickly walked Lyle, then went into Tremaine’s trailer, sat down, and popped fresh beers.
Tremaine looked across his table at the human bowling ball dressed as a ninja.
Marvin said, taking a sip, “A truly large libation.”
“Indeed.”
“So, I happened to use your former nickname, Insane, in conversation with the gentleman in the Crown Vic,”
Marvin said. “And he had no idea WHAT THE FUCK
I WAS TALKING ABOUT! And he had already told me he grew up with you. He would know your nickname,