UnBooks:Edgeville: Scrap Yard Dog
- Edgeville:
- Scrap yard dog.
Edgeville Scrap yard Dog He sat on the back porch of his cottage on the hill side of the mountain in upper east side where the wind blew in from the sea. Only being 24 at this time, Roy Tantel, or Tarra as most called him, sat drinking a glass of Rum Coke. He could see everything from where he sat. He had this cottage built for him, his sister and is Wife, Ashley. Once in a while a he would have people come to help him with cases in general. The police, people, clients of all sorts. Who knew it would be?
Tuesday after noon, July 23, 2012, he gazed looking out towards the city of Edgeville, looking about when his door bell rang.
Misty, his sister answered it,”Hello? Are you here to see Roy?”
“Yes, is Mr. Tantel here to talk? I need him as soon as possible.”
“Alright, Come in.” She said. Ashley was at work, while Tarra only worked 4 hours a day. Making around 15 dollars an hour. So it was fine with what he brought in. Working at a distribution company working 5 days a week.
“Misty, who is at the door?” Yelled Tarra coming from the back porch.
“My name is Charles Hanes.”
Hearing what he needed to hear, the mans voice was clear with a bit of a country accent to it. Opening the door, walking in the room, Tarra, still to this day wore, cargo shorts, a t-shirt, with his hair a little shaggy but in a nice detailed style. His eyes, bright green, his hair brown. Tarra saw the man, reaching a hand out the man wanted to shake his hand. Shaking his hand, he could tell a great deal about him already and the way he is dressed. They sat across from each other, as Tarra sat his usual chair at his desk with his legs up in his face, just enough to see who he was talking to.
“Mr. Hanes, is it? What is it you need me for?”
“I heard you are one of the greatest minds around here. I need you too investigate the disappearance of my boss.”
“You mean the boss of yours down at the scrap yard?”
“How did you know? I never told you where I worked.”
“Actually, it was really easy to figure it all out. Your clothes, slightly torn on the lower right side of you shirt. Not done by something like a stick, no something metal, like a steel. You were jabbed, which would mean you have a bruise or a cut under neath. Your shoes, they are worn on the heels, very well. Meaning you lift a lot of heavy things or you lift to open something a lot.
Like a car's hood. You have mud also on the back of your heels, but mostly on your right foot. Meaning you stand with your posture leaning to the right. Which I'm going to guess you are right handed. You are also very tan. But there are a lot of professions with a tannable job. But, where this job is actually gets a right amount of sun with out the sea air or water or grass, because there is no grass.
On your left wrist, there is a jagged scar again, from a piece of metal. Looks like it never got stitched up. Your right hand which I shook was ruff with a callus built up on the base of your hand where you hold a lot of different stuff. Ruff stuff like metals of different sorts. Then your fingernails, dust up underneath, but not dirt. This was rust from a car. Am I wrong any where?”
Lifting up his shirt to show Tarra, there was a bruised cut mark on his hip. Nothing serious, just a small cut. “You are right on all parts. That's amazing... How do you do it?”
“It's a gift really. Some times annoying really. My fee is 100 a day. You want him located, sure.”
“Then its settled. I'll pay you know. And...”
“I need a few details first.”
“Alright. As much as he can be a hard ass, he can also be a nice guy. Daily, he would come in, check on us, see how we are doing, you know simple stuff. Past few days he's been coming to work late. Why? We don't know. So we look around for him, in the yard. Nothing. We phone his wife, she says she hasn't seen him either. We know he didn't leave the state so where could he have gotten too? Do you think you can help?”
“Is that all you know on his disappearance?” Said Tarra writing on a notepad.
“Oh um, 4 days ago. 2 days before he went missing, he was being really sketchy. Like he was scared of what was going to happened. Like he was afraid of the scrap yard. Like something was going to pop out at him.”
“Can you tell me what he looked like?”
“He is 5'5 weighs about 160. Not a heavy set guy, not built either, more like proportioned. Blond hair, hazel eyes.”
“Any distinctive features?”
“What?”
“like a scar or a chipped tooth.”
“Well oh, I know, if you look at his left ear, he has scar, and part of his earlobe is missing. Got into a knife fight about 3 years ago. Better?”
“Actually yes, you would be surprised what kind of features you would not notice just because. Ok now that I have gathered what I need to start with, I'll contact you when I can.”
The man left him with a contact number, leaving, he left in a an old beat up car. Both doors where white while the rest was blue. The Hood was silver. A cars a car. What Tarra thought. Misty, set on her house duties, while Tarra got ready and went down to see some people. At a bar, The Dusty Bridge. This is where all the trash winds up at some point and all the rumors spread from the west to the east from the south to the north. Where you can get a good cheap drink or find a hooker. Either way, it's trash.
Sitting at a bar stool Tarra puts a 10 on the counter where he sees a bartender, a women, in her 40's.
“Scotch, and if you are allowed to drink buy yourself something too. Also this ten can be all yours if you can help me with a little bit of info.”
“You're a nice kid, See that you losers! This is a real gentleman right here!”She shouted over top everyone.” Now what would you like to know.” Leaning over the counter she poured the scotch for 2 in separate glasses.”What kind of info?”
“Down the street from here there is a scrap yard. The boss went missing. Do you know anything from there?” he said quietly.
“Yeah. I do, that's the scary part.”
“why?”
“He went missing over 4 days ago. I Heard he had a bit of bad luck with some people from another state, I think Florida. Then all of a sudden, BAM, he went missing. Why? No one knows. He's one of the nicest guys you'd meet, loved to flirt with the ladies even though he's married. That right there, he wasn't a happy married man at all.”
“What happened?” sipping his scotch.
“Well one night, he's drinking all he can, I know him and he can hold his liquor accordingly then his wife walks in, tall women, wife something of a horses face. Must be in it for the sex, and grabs him by the shirt and drags him outside. Everyone in the bar went quiet. I listened to them argue him flirting and talking to other women and about drinking all the time. After that he left the bar. Then that was the last I heard of him.”
“Anything else you could tell me?”
“Only think I know is, is name is Clyde Robertson and he lives down the road in a little house with a broken old rusted car in the yard.”
“alright then you did a lot of good.” getting up from his barstool he tucked the 10 with an extra 5 in the ladies chest. Not moving from it she excepted it.
“By the way, if you see Robertson, tell him he still owes a tab!”
Walking from the pub, it didn't take but a moment where to find where he lived. Seeing the busted car, that stood out like a swore thumb. Knocking on the door, a women answered. Her hair fell down to her neck, black hair, with a single white streak down the left side of her face. Tall, with legs that stretched out. With a pair of jeans to fit just right. A blouse that was pink that had a ruffle effect around the chest area. Wearing a pair of tennis shoes. Crossing her arms and leaning up against the door the expression was something to be of distaste, or arrogance.”Yes, may I help you?”
“Hi, I'm Roy Tantel. I am investigating the disappearance of your husband Clyde.”
“So you are the one I heard about. Yes, I heard you would have some questions. Sit with me on the front porch with me.”
“When was the last time you saw your husband? And, is that bruise under your left arm from him or something else? And on your right leg, you were limping, how did you hurt your knee? From your day- care center job?”
“How did you know about my job?”
“Your hair being short, with small ear rings. Not the loop kind. Kids could pull on them if you held them. Tennis shoes to be able to run around in easily, and I'm going to guess you tripped over something on the play ground which is how you hurt your knee. Also you have a wood chip on you. Oh and your left cheek, you have a spot of orange paint on you.”
“That's amazing. Ok then, yes I work at a day care. The bruise on my arm I did last night when I was cleaning the house. And a day ago. I haven't seen him all day or anything. He didn't goto work the past 3 and I was getting worried. I thought he was getting worked up again. I thought he was going to do something stupid. But this time, it's gotten to far.”
“Like the other night. Him hitting on other girls at the bar.”
“that was one thing.”
“Do you know where he could be?”
“I don't know. When he gets mad he takes it out in the scrap yard. But I checked. I searched all over for him, nothing.”
Leaving the house he thought to himself, the scrap yard was the one place that that kept on turning up. Tarra made his way down their to the junk yard, as he did he reviewed his notes seeing if anything he had missed. Walking around the old junk yard, he figured out something, Clyde was missing, but he wasn't far. He just knew it.Roaming around he payed close attention to the ground. Nothing out of the ordinary. The dogs barked. Then birds chirped.
Then he thought of something. The dogs, maybe they might know something. Being around Mrs. Robertson, she had a heavy perfume on her. Being that, he let the dogs sniff his shirt sense he had the scent on him then let the dogs loose. They sniffed around but nothing turned up.Leaning into the night Tarra laid awake. Looking up at the ceiling fan, turn itself around and around. Ashley laid next to him. With a hand behind his head, and Ashley laid with an arm around him.
“Sweetie, what are you thinking about?”
“That's it, I think I'm thinking to hard is the deal here. I know I am.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ok, you know how I over analyze some times?”
“Yeah.”
“I have all my facts. All my main things, but I know where to find Clyde if I just stopped and breathed.”
Falling asleep finally, he was awoken by his phone ringing. It was Charles Hanes again. Something felt weird, why would he care so much about his boss. Walking to the junk yard no one was there. The shop was closed. Reaching in his pockets, he pulled out a small kit of tools. This was a lock picking kit. Unlocking the door, he made his way into the office of Clyde. Looking around there were several pictures on his desk, of his wife and others with his buddies.
But one stuck out, it was of him and Charles. His computer sat in front of Tarra. Being it wasn't password protected, there was an icon on the desktop that said,”Main PC.” Tarra clicked on it. Going through the files, there were pictures in a hidden folder of Charles. All of them nude shots, and pornographic. That solved why Charles wanted to find him. Then as he looked on the desk, there was a folder. A folder labeled,”Private.”
Containing a contract with a mob boss in Florida. This contract read out saying that the lot Clyde owned if something were to happened to it the insurance money would pay out and double some how. Finding this he held on to it. This was all coming together now. Where was Clyde? He figured out where he was. Taking him 3 hours, but he found Clyde. He called Mrs. Robertson, the police, and Charles. Sitting on the trunk of a Thunderbird from the 70's, all rusted up with no back seats, everyone arrived.
“Have you found Clyde?” asked Charles.
“Yes I have, but first, I think we need to go over with a few things. Mrs. Robertson, you were arguing with Clyde because you found the pictures of Charles on his computer at home. Knowing this, he admitted to having an affair with him. But tried to make it look like he was straight. With what everyone heard it was true, Clyde had a contract with the Mob in Florida but, when he tried get out of it, they didn't want their operation to get messed up so that way they silenced him.”
jumping down off the trunk, the lid flew open. Their laid inside was a body. This was Clyde Robertson. His throat had been slight. Leaving blood to pool over all in the trunk.
“If he's been dead this whole time, then why didn't the blood pour out into something where we could see it all?” asked Clyde. Trying to compose herself, Mrs. Robertson cried on one of the officers shoulders.
“This car is on a hill. Just enough where the blood would run down not seeing it. But also sense it rained 2 nights ago, it cleared the the blood up.” Being payed for his services, Tarra sat at the kitchen table back in his cottage, eating dinner with his sister, and wife.
“How'd it go?” Asked Misty.
“Not the way I wanted it but I found Clyde.”
“Where?” asked Ashley.
“In a trunk of a Thunderbird with his throat slit.” Eating his steak, he kept taking bite of it at a time.
“I don't know how you do this hunny. I really don't If I saw dead bodies like that, I think I would just be scared for life.”
“Yeah I don't know how I do it either.”