Chad Sanborn [Sanborn - The Grifted Girl

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Chad

The Grifted Girl

Chad Sanborn

One

D ale Longneckerslouching in the dark cab of his truck. Watching the Doles farmhouse up the road. Betting tonight will be the night.

Wishing old man Dole would get his ass in gear and haul out his trash. That way Dale could get on with what hed come out here to do on this cold February evening.

Then Dale scolding himself. For chrissakes, cut the man a little slack. Lost his wife not two weeks ago.

Still, Dale was pretty sure tonight would be the night.

Naomi Dole wasnt old at all. Only sixty-two. Dale knowing firsthand that cancer didn't give two shit how old a person is.

An image of Dales own dead father flashing through his mind. Cigarette dangling from the crook of his mouth. Skinny arms, like Dales, sticking out of a white T-shirt smeared with grease. His old man wrenching on the fifty-seven Chevy that had been his dad's one true love.

Dale yanking himself back to the present.

Had been a little more than a week since Dale, conducting his business research, read in the newspaper funeral notices that Naomi had passed on.

Right then, Dale immediately started the clock on the Doles.

Hed been scavenging pills long enough to know hed have to wait about a week after the funeral before pilfering their garbage. That was about the soonest a person could get far enough through their sorrow to begin cleaning house.

So a week after seeing Naomis funeral notice, Dale went to work. Three nights now hed been watching their big stone house.

Dale thinking the old man better toss out her meds soon. Otherwise, it wouldnt matter how many pills he finds in the bottlesit wont come out to much more than minimum wage when factoring in all the hours Dale had put in on the job.

A floodlight on the side of the house kicked on, sending Dales pulse racing. The garage door yawning open.

Harlan Dole, a large plastic trash bag in each hand, walked out of the garage. Heading around the side of the house facing Dale. Dale watching the man all the way out back to his burn barrel.

Harlan dropping one trash bag, then the other, into the barrel. Harlan standing slump-shouldered and motionless. Staring down into the barrel.

Dale feeling bad for the poor guy. Must feel like tossing the first shovelful of dirt on her grave all over again.

Harlan looking up into the glittering heavens before trudging back into his empty house.

Dale giving it a long minute. Part silent respect, part making sure the coast was clear. After what felt like a sufficient moment of silence, Dale sliding out of his truck.

The cold stinging his eyes and nostrils. Dale slinking along the side of the asphalt road. Stepping down one side of the ditch and up the other. A quick look around before climbing through the wire fence and onto the Dole property.

Keeping low, trotting toward the burn barrel. Wanting to get there before the motion-sensing light on the side of the house shut off. Didnt want it kicking back on, giving Harlan a reason to check outside.

Dale peering into the burn barrel. The smell of old smoke and rust hitting him in the face. Pulling out the two garbage bags before sneaking back across the big yard to his truck up on the road.

Quietly placing the bags of trash in the bed of his truck. Considering both. An owl hooting somewhere off in the night. Probably after some desperate critter, Dale thought.

Dale first lifting the bag on the right. Giving it a light shake. Listening for the tell-tale rattle of pills in plastic bottles. Hearing nothing.

Giving it another shake to be sure. Still nothing.

Setting down the bag, picking up the other. Giving it a light shake.

There it is, that rattlesnake sound.

Using his teeth, yanking off one glove. His fingernails tearing into the plastic skin of the bag.

His movements causing the pills to rattle. Dales bare hand boring through the guts of the trash. Slimy banana peels. Damp coffee filters full of grinds. Egg shells. All manner of slick, gooey kitchen waste.

At last, Dales locating a pill bottle. Felt papery, though. Probably in a paper sack.

Dales fingertips following the contours of the sack. Once he had it fully in his grasp, pulling it toward him. Working gently, slowly. Until finally his hand and the white paper sack emerged like a newborn from the bag.

Holding the white paper sack up against the stars to get a better look at it. Looked to be four or five bottles of meds in the bag, all full. Naomi must have gotten her prescriptions filled right before she kicked.

Didnt do her much good but would do Dale just fine.

For a second Dale considered rifling through the sacks content right there beside the road, see what all hed scored. Instead, deciding it was best to get the hell out of there. Hed take inventory later.

Dale standing up and thats when he noticed the figure coming toward him. A shadowy outline. Appeared to be a man out for a walk.

Past ten p.m.? In February? Dale thinking, This shit dont add up.

When the figure was close enough, Dale spoke up first.

Hey, there. Nice night.

Sure is, the figure said, still coming.

The voice sounding younger, not as deep as Dale expected.

What are you doing out here? the figure said.

Dale not missing a beat.

Oh, out picking up all this litter. Man, dont people realize this is the only earth we got?

The figure, in a puffy winter coat, ball cap and hooded jacket, stopping when he reached the grill of Dales truck.

Sure about that? the figure said. Looks to me like youre out here going through a dead womans garbage looking for pills.

Thats crazy, dude, Dale said. No, I was out driving. Came upon all this crap strewn all over the place. That aint right. So I stopped and picked it all up.

Thats funny, the figure said, because it looked like you wormed through that fence, scurried over yonder and stole that garbage out of that burn barrel.

Dale thinking shit, this son of a bitchs been watching me the whole time.

I aint gonna lie to you, Dale said, Not again, anyway. Thing is, Naomi, she dont need them any longer. Being free of earthly pain and all. So Ill make sure they all go for a good cause.

Your addiction?

No, my billfold, Dale said. Pillheads around herell pay top dollar for this hillbilly heroin. Its the natural pharmaceutical circle of lifereuse, recycle and what have you.

Dale staring at the figure, assuming he was staring back at him but couldnt see his face. Neither of them speaking for an awkward moment.

Finally, Dale saying, Well, I best get home. My bitter half will be all up my ass about where I been.