mattersville
I’m sitting at the local lounge, zoning out to Devon Williams echoing against the walls when Kepi runs up to me in a panic. “Joey, Joey! Oh fuckin‘ a!” he screams and “Doin’ Fine” pops into my head. I‘m doin’ fine, I‘m doin’ fine, I‘m doin’ fine, I’m doin’ fine, so leave me alone. “Chill, Kepi,” I grumble but he’s already shaking me with horror. “Roach is GONE!” he wails, “Roach is fucking gone!”
I shake my head in sadness. Lately, more and more girls and young women were disappearing around town. I couldn’t believe that it happened to someone as tough as Roach.
“Dude, when was the last time you saw her?” I ask Kepi, gripping his hands in show of support. He pulls them away from me in disgust and gives me a weird look. “It’s not like I need to be touched right now,” he snaps and eyes me. I roll my eyes and punch him in the shoulder, hard.
“This is important,” I growl, “When did you see her last?”
Kepi shrugs and pokes his forehead in thought. “Oh shit, probably last night. We played here and then went to Fat Mike’s and then…well, you know how it is at his house.”
I nod my head absent-mindedly. “Was anyone else there?”
It’s Kepi’s turn to punch me. “Uh, ya - probably everyone! Weren’t you there?” I try to think back to the night before. It’s hard enough to remember what time I woke up.
Kepi watches me try to revive my defunct memory and starts to count. “Well, let’s see, Spike was there, Melvin, Hefe, Dr. Frank, Blag, Skiba, the Hanson Bros-”
“The Hanson Brothers?” I interrupt, mulling over their scary presence and silent demeanors. Kepi nods like a ghost, solemn in his stare. “Find her, please,” he pleads and walks off.
I sit down, alone again, and start to fall under William’s hypnotizing undertones. And I'm open to the thought, And I'm hoping that it's more. I watch the bartender, leaning against the far wall, mouthing along with the song. “Chickpea,” I call out and she glances up like a dead deer. “Goddamnit Capo, you scared me,” she chides, and walks over. “What’ll it be?” she asks and I pat the table. “All I need is a few minutes, Chickie.” She looks around at the lack of chaos and sits.
“Who was around last night when the Ghoulies were playing?” I ask, and she squints, puckering her face. “Why?”
I groan. “Because girls are disappearing left and right, that’s why!” Chickpea nods, trailing off with her thoughts, and for a moment I consider smacking her across the face. “It’s the Hansons,” she mumbles and then snaps out of her stupor. “Yeah, the Hanson Brothers were around last night! Followed Kepi and Roach right out the door to Mike’s.”
I tap my fingers impatiently. “Anyone else?”
She shrugs and spools hair around her shaky fingers. “The regulars, everybody…” Sometimes I wish I wasn’t surrounded by the heroin-induced inertia this town attracts.
“Okay, Chickpea, get back to your post.” I command her and she flops back over to the bar.
I need to find the Hanson Brothers is pounding through my brain and I race out the door to pin them down. “For sure they’ll be at Fat Wreckchords,” I mumble to myself, stumbling through the exit. When I get there, its Alkaline Trio Day and a line of kids in black eyeliner & skinny ties cascade out the door. Inside, Melvin is passed out, his face pressed into the dirty glass of the countertop. “Dude, Melvin,” I whisper and he barely stirs. “Melvin,” I snap, and push his shoulders. “Fuck off,” he moans and I smack his arm. Without opening his eyes, he sighs, “You’re an asshole.”
Fat Mike walks up from the back and does a double take. “CapeMAN! What is up? What do ya need? I’m low on most shit, so all I can offer you is Vicodin and Percocet right now.”
I smile and we bump fists. “No dude, I’m just looking for the Hanson Brothers. Seen them around?” Mike strokes his chin in thought and shakes his head. “No, they don’t come by here much. They fuckin love hockey though, man. They’re always playing hockey.”
I nod, ruminating over every facet of my case so far. Mike stares at me impatiently. “If you don’t need anything else, could you quite possibly fuck off?!” he yells and motions towards the overflow of customers. I roll my eyes; everyone is a fuckin asshole.
I decide to check out the ice rink and of course they’re there, lounging in the stands, ice skates still on and hockey sticks held like staffs. I run over to them before they can get away and breathlessly yell out as I approach, “I need to talk to you!”
“Gotta make an exscape,” one of them whispers, and I stand on the bleacher before them, a resounding “No,” already fleeing from my lips. I eye them each in a row, staring down dark eye holes. “All the girls think you guys are worth being scared of. Any thoughts on why that is?” They collectively shrug like the three stooges, and look at each other, perplexed. “They don’t care about hockey,” one of them offers, and another agrees, “Yeah, yeah.” The last one stands up and walks off the bleachers towards the locker room without saying a word. “Hey, dude!” I yell out, and turn back to the other two. “What the fuck was that? This is fuckin serious, alright?!” One of them shrugs. “He had to get away,” he mumbles and the other joins in. “He couldn’t stay.”
I look at them both, studying their stance and behavior, before realizing that they were most likely just idiots and not kidnappers. I accuse them, “You live your life like cretins,” and turn to walk away. “Yeah, yeah,” they repeat and laugh to themselves. Fuckin weirdos.
I’m sitting back in the lounge, meditating to “Fragile Weapons,” and trading in my disappointment for something more tangible. “Another one, Chickpea,” I motion at her and she saunters over, the evening glaze already taking over. “What?” she drawls.
“Beer, Chickpea. I’m asking for a new beer since my glass is empty.” I sigh. She giggles to herself. “Oh, shit, sorry, baby. I’m coming down something nasty from eight ballin’ this morning. Did you capture those creepy hockey guys?” I shake my head, annoyed that my glass is still empty. “No, its not them. You shouldn’t be scared of them, they’re just a bunch of nerds.” She shrugs and says something dumb like, “Nerds are the ones who go nuts and start shooting everyone.” She shuffles back to the bar and fills me up, pointing at the pint so I’ll come get it. “You are the best bartender ever,” I shout at her sarcastically. She winks and blows me a kiss.
Hours pass, and it’s the Lawrence Arms’ turn to play that night. They do half a set before Brendan Kelly crashes into the drum set, blithering like every other drunk idiot. It’s funny and we all laugh with him. It’s a nice distraction from the case; I’d been racking my brain for hours trying to figure something out. Who could walk around unnoticed, snatching up the sweet and helpless?
Chicken saunters in and sits next to me. With his elfish face and permanent scowl, Chicken is his own brand of evil, but I know the only kind he takes part in is self-destruction. “Man, that Blag Dahlia is into some crazy shit,” he mutters, and I look up at him suddenly. “What do you mean?” I press, and he glances sideways at me. “Dude, he’s, like, obsessed with little girls. Did you ever read Nina? He’s fascinated with the power of a preteen’s sexuality, it’s kind of fucked up.”
“Just little girls?” I ask, filling up with helium as I rise out of my seat. Chicken shakes his head, incredulous. “I don’t know,” he barely whispers, sadly. “I’m not really sure what’s going on in his head.”
“How do you know this?” I demand, and he sneers. “You calling me a liar?” This whole damn town makes me want to wallop my head into a wall. “NO,” I roar, “Roach is missing, along with other girls, and I’m fuckin looking for them.” Chicken knits his eyebrows together. “Oh, ya, I heard about that. El Hefe’s wife, Jennifer, too. Well, I was at Fat Mike’s last night and Blag gave me a ride home. Dude, his car is creepy, like he’s got all this girly stuff in it.”
“Girly stuff?” I inquire.
Chicken nods slowly. “Yeah, like purses and makeup, so I asked him why he had all that shit. He said he hangs out with a lot of young girls.”
I mull over the facts. “I should probably go talk to him then.” Chicken laughs sourly and shakes his head. “I would not want to go over there, dude. Good luck.”
I get to Blag Dahlia’s house and its scarier than Havok’s place. The building is black and almost looks abandoned, fire damage on one side and spider webs everywhere. I consider right then and there about just forgetting the whole detective thing. Fuck all of these crazy people, my daughter, Violet, doesn’t need to grow up in this town. I don’t want her to be kidnapped or a drug addict. Suddenly, Kepi’s sad face pops into my head, and I worry about all those missing girls.
“Fine!” I yell out to myself and a moment later the front door dashes open. Blag pokes his head out, his familiar triangle patch of hair almost hanging into his eyes. “What are you doing here?” he asks gruffly and I clear my throat. “I need to talk to you, mind if I come in?” Blag’s eyes shift back and forth, nervously. “Now is not a good time,” he grumbles, moving back to close the door.
I lean against the door with my whole body, forcing it open and knocking Blag on his back. “What the fuck!” he shouts and scrambles to get up. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”
“Where are they?” I demand and his eyes tell me everything. “I know they are here, I know it’s you, now fuckin tell me where you put them.” Blag lunges at me with fiery vigor and I duck, narrowly avoiding him. I run deeper into the house, barking out names, “ROACH!! JENNIFER!” I hear rustling upstairs so I go for it, hopping the stairs like hurdles as the commotion gets louder. Running down the hallway I can tell exactly what room it is, and of course its locked.
Maybe I imagined Violet’s in there, or maybe it was the adrenaline, but I bust right through that door, leaving it in splinters. Roach and Jennifer are tied up and gagged, sitting on the floor, while 12-year-olds mill around the room, putting on makeup, talking and painting their nails. They look up disdainfully as I untie Roach and as soon as the gag comes off she screeches, “Thank CHRIST, get me the fuck out of here!” As she helps me untie Jennifer, I ask, “What is going on in here?”
Jennifer looks sick. “They’re his concubines, he fucks a different one every night. He just held us here to take care of them.” I’m shocked and I stand to command the room. “Girls!”
They continue to talk and ignore me. “GIRLS!” I shout, and they are quieter, shadowed eyes peering at me mindlessly. “Go home to your families,” I plead, “be children again.” Most of them run out the door but immediately come back. “Blag won’t let us!” they cry and I stomp out to the hallway where he is standing by the stairs.
“You abuser,” I spit out, “you child molester.” He is taller than me but I still get into his face, staring him down. “You fuckin coward, forcing young girls to fuck you. If this town had law enforcement, you’d be dead.” His eyes flash and he looks past me at the girls in the hallway. “Fine, I don’t need them,” he snarls and barricades himself into another room. I turn back to the girls and point to the stairs. “Go!” I order and they all scamper off together, twins in their youth and made up faces.
I walk back to the room where a few girls remain, obviously smuttier ones. “I ain’t got no family,” one of them shrugs, and the others lounge around, looking at their nails. “Stay if you want to stay,” I suggest, and walk down the stairs to the outside with Roach and Jennifer. “Only in Mattersville,” Roach murmurs, and looks at both of us. “Now who’s ready to get smashed?”