Level Zero by Dan McDowell (debian ebook reader .txt) 📗

Creeper Joe chuckled. “Not at all. Not at all. I can’t answer complicated questions off the cuff like that, and neither can… Wayne. Heh-heh.”

What does that even mean? Archaic, cryptic, or schizo?

Joe handed Ron an unmarked, white paper sack, twice folded, and soiled at the bottom. Gobs of spit flew through the air as he spoke, “Don’t open this ‘til later.” Creeper Joe stood up, walked to the front, and said something to the bus driver.

What are you saying?

The bus stopped without warning, and Joe exited. Ron opened the sack. Just inside, there was a severed, bloody tongue.

Good G…

The harsh odor of the spliced appendage caused him to faint. In what seemed moments later, Ron regained consciousness, observing the soiled paper sack in his lap.

“This is your stop, ain’t it, Ron?” the bus driver called through the crackling loudspeaker.

“Yeah, I’m going. I’m going,” he said.

How does one react to this kind of thing? I’m not going to say anything to anyone else right now.

He carried the sack under his jacket as he exited.

Upon arriving home, he placed the sack on the tiled floor near the front door.

I guess I’ll call the cops. Don’t know what else to do.

He collapsed on the couch, nodding off for a moment to escape the stress of the day and its peculiar end. There were three pounds on the front door.

Must be the cops.

Ron got up slowly to open the door, and then there were three more.

Hold your horses.

A police officer greeted him, “Hi there. We received a call on some… evidence you received. I’m here to collect it.”

“Yes sir. It’s in that sack right there. Forgive me for not wanting to touch it again.”

“Hold it. We’re not letting you off that easy. We’ll bring you in for questioning and work to rule you out as a suspect,” the officer said.

“What? I gave this to you. Shouldn’t that rule me out?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Richards. It doesn’t work that way. We’ve got mounds of missing person’s cases around here. Haven’t you been watching the news? I don’t know what the chances of matching this tongue to someone will be, but we might. Strange as it may sound, a calculated body part removal is almost always specific for a specific reason.”

“You mean… it could belong to someone known to ‘abuse’ their tongue?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, that narrows it to about 540,000. Nice going. All of my hard-earned tax dollars at work,” Ron said.

Remaining solemn or cordial looked to be a struggle.

I guess that struck a nerve. He’s fuming now.

“Watch it or I’ll write you up for contempt,” the officer said. “I shouldn’t say this, but, I’m sure it is another guy about like you — someone cheeky in the public eye. You guys get some weird followings, especially around here. I used to be in Jersey. There were homicides, murders, rapes, common garden variety crimes there. The things you see in the movies. The stuff around here. It’s worse, man. Who knows? There’s probably a joker somewhere that has every episode of your radio show taped, listening to it before bed at night, and playing your voice in slow motion — all because he’s attracted to the way it sounds. Better yet, maybe it’s a chick that’s got your face tattooed in the small of her back. Think about that as your ugly mug stretches across the top of her fat butt. You never know.”

“Nice one. Thanks for the bode of confidence… Officer?”

“Detective… Penske.”

“Like the truck?”

“Yep. Just like that. I won’t be cuffing you. Let’s just take a ride to the station to admit the evidence, and we’ll ask you a few questions. Your friend Wayne’s missing, isn’t he? You guys have pulled some strings to keep that one out of the press, haven’t you?” As they walked toward the police vehicle, Ron nodded his head.

“You know, Ron,” Penske said, “the case will get a lot more media coverage with the discovery of the tongue. It’s just too darn juicy a story not to get some air time.”

“Oh my…” Ron buried his head in his hands. “I hope you don’t link me to Wayne’s disappearance. He was a moody guy, you know — a depressed type. One day on cloud nine, the very next — back to his own personal hell. He wasn’t miserable, but most of the time, he was bitter. If we’re honest with each other, he was just flat-out aggravated. I mean, let’s face it. We’ve all had our moments. Riverton’s a depressed place — a miserable town with dark secrets that silently eat away at all of us, wearing us all to pathetic states of mind. I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now, though.”

“I don’t disagree. Let’s not get bogged down talking about that. As for Wayne, it sounds like you have a good profile worked up on him yourself. Are you a calculating type?” Penske asked.

“What do you reckon, Penske? We worked together for close to five years. The talk-radio scene has changed a lot since we first came online. We have eighteen seconds to get someone’s attention before they change the station on us. Our investors are forcing us to advertise mid-segment to avoid losing listeners, and we both hate it. What else can we do with change but embrace it?”

Keep it together. Everyone’s had a ride in a cruiser… who am I kidding?

Penske shrugged, twisting his lip with his index finger and thumb and said, “Not much, I guess. If you want to keep a job, I mean. Well, here we are… Precinct Three. You ever been in here before?”

Ron shook his head as he studied the facility,

The building’s not much to look at. It could double as an abandoned YMCA from the 60s. Full of vagrants, deviants, and invalids — sloppy stonework by a half-drunk mason. Roof tiles falling off… just dangling from the building. Even the adhesive filters are peeling off the windows. Council’s too busy financing its next street-level port-a-john to consider spending any more money on what’s needed. Go