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| panda-like calm through fiction | |||||||||
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Green Thumb
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Dagney had been in the office since six, and two hours later she was still waiting for her coffee to kick in. “Dagney?” It was Sharpe.
“Sir,” she said, her mind still on the reports she was reading. “I keep getting complaints from McLoughlin’s superintendent about Derek’s farm. Haven’t you and Nelson checked into that?” “Nelson swung by there last Thursday, but Derek wasn’t in,” she lied, pretending to look at the calendar on her desk. “I need the both of you to head out there today. Can’t have that asshole spilling captan in the damned drinking water again.” Dagney stood up, and wrapped her coat around her shoulders while she watched Sharpe walk back to his office. She grabbed her keys and the bagel she still hadn’t started, then paused a moment to look at Nelson’s empty desk, and sighed. She called him from her car, got no reply. He didn’t call back for another hour. “What the fuck man?” “I fell asleep on the couch- passed out. Meredith wouldn’t let me in the bed.” “Can’t say I blame her. You never made it out to Derek’s, did you?” “Shit.” “Yeah. I’ve been on this dirt-ass road to his farm for forty-five fucking minutes. And Sharpe thinks your ass is in the seat next to me.” “… sorry.” “Is there anything I should know here?” “Derek’s been dodging inspections, but he’s not a bad guy. Nothing worse than a couple fines for improper chem. disposal.” “And that captan incident last year.” “Shit, yeah, that, too.” “How the fuck did you forget it? They traced captain from the toilets in a VA hospital to his farm.” “So? The EPA downgraded captain to ‘not likely’ a carcinogen.” “Yeah, but the most recent complaint comes from some kids at the school who were hospitalized.” “Fuck.” “Yeah. And while he might have cleaned up his captan storage, his permits say he’s also got a metric shit-tonne of fertilizers. If any kids come down with organophosphate poisoning no amount of ass-covering will protect you.” “Dag- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t put you in this position.” “No, you shouldn’t. Fucking dwell on that while I’m cleaning up your mess.” She was being cruel, but it wasn’t anywhere near the first time he’d left her in the lurch; in fact, she had a hard time remembering the last time he hadn’t. He was easily the most consistent thing in her life. Rob Derek’s farm was one of the few family owned farms left in the county. It wasn’t well kept; Derek’s father had been a lousy farmer but a decent businessman, and had managed to pass only the former skill set along to his son. But he understood where the line was; he made sure his pesticides license was up to date, since that was an obvious way to call attention to himself, but just driving by his grain warehouse she could see a half-dozen potential violations. She pulled up to his modest house, at least half of which looked like it was patched with old fence boards. There was no bell on the door, so she knocked with the flat of her palm. No response. She knocked again, louder this time. “Department of Agriculture. You’ve got an inspection.” There was a heavy thudding of bare feet on hardwood floors, then the door swung wide. Derek wasn’t wearing anything, unless you counted a pair of too-small boxer shorts clinging for life to his ankle. More disturbing, he seemed to be covered in a green fluid from the middle of his chest to his knees. “I’m an inspector with the Department of Agriculture.” “Got all my permits,” he said, and started vigorously scratching himself. “That’s correct, but this is a surprise inspection.” He eyed her suspiciously, then looked down at his own nudity. “I like to be naked.” “I need to see where you store your FIFRA applicable chemicals.” He was taking big, deep breaths with his eyes closed; Dagney was a little worried she was going to have to resuscitate him. When he opened his eyes they were wide and wild, his mouth hung open and his tongue flicked spastically around as he yelled: “Why won’t you let me be naked?” “Sir, I’m not the police and could care less about indecent exposure. But I do need to inspect your fertilizers and pesticides. You certainly have the option to put on pants- I’d personally prefer it if you did, and that’s part of why I tried to call ahead- but the decency of your exposure is beyond my purview.” “You’re purty.” His hands went up in a grabby motion and he started pushing them towards her chest; she seized his wrist, slammed a handcuff around it. “Now that will not be tolerated,” she said. “For my safety, I’m going to cuff you. You’re not under arrest at this time, but given the state of things I think we’ll both be safer this way. Would you like to at least pull up your underpants before I put on the other cuff?” “Yes ma’am,” he said, chastened. He wriggled the boxer shorts around his tube-socked foot, then around his bowed legs. “You still storing your pesticides in the little red barn on the south side of the property?” “Yes,” he said, but realized too late maybe he shouldn’t have, looked up at her, an animal anxiety in his eyes before he quashed it, and as calmly as he could followed it with, “ma’am.” “How much do you know about the history of organophosphates? They come from World War 2 Germany. They were being researched as pesticides, but the Nazis decided to divert the research into nerve agents instead. VX has a similar pedigree, actually. Are you on anything right now?” “No ma’am.” “I’m not DEA, and I don’t give a crap. But unless you’re on something, then that miosis- dilation of the pupils- might mean organophosphate exposure. And you’ve been salivating- maybe you’re just hungry, maybe you’re just a drooler, I don’t know you well enough to say, but that also hints at organophosphates. You should get yourself to a doctor.” They reached the barn, the door open just a sliver. Dagney reached for the handle to pull it open enough for them to enter. Suddenly Derek kicked at her, only managing to throw himself off balance; he fell hard into the earth and mud. “Don’t touch her! You can’t touch her! She’s mine!” Dagney noticed that several leafy vines trailed out of the open door; they had kept it from closing all the way. They ended at the corner of the barn in a bush of leaves, propped up with chicken wire and sticks. She could make out several different varieties of plants by the leaves: pumpkin, cucumber, squash. Dagney opened the barn door. It was dark, so she felt for a switch. It was on a dimmer, and had apparently last been set at mood lighting, and as she turned around she understood why. Strewn about the floor were a woman’s clothes: red stiletto pumps, a red miniskirt and an even mini-er top. The “woman” was lying on a pink flannel blanket, mostly stained a deep green. Red silk stockings were stuffed with vines, and torn under vinyl crotchless panties; a matching bra was filled with hefty green winter squashes. Between them a still-growing pumpkin torso made her almost look pregnant. Her arms were cucumbers tied together by their vines. Her head was a turban squash turned on its side, its lumpy top almost resembling a face, and painted over this was a heavy lathering of lipstick and eye shadow. Her hair was a combination of a long auburn wig and more green tendrils. The vegetable doll laid peacefully back with its legs splayed; There were dents from a pair of knees in the flannel between them. Dagney put the doll out of her mind, and focused on the sludge pooling in various places on the ground. It seemed to be leaking from a variety of different canisters, poisons, pesticides and chemicals. At least some of it made up for the green stain growing across the flannel blanket- the same green muck spread across Derek and his dainties. At that moment Derek burst into the room, having stumbled to his feet; in standing he’d managed to drag his boxers back around his right ankle. “I love her!” he bellowed, and the words seemed to jiggle with his bare belly and engorged member as he ran. Dagney moved to the side and he ran straight into a post and fell onto the ground. “Those pesticides are leaking into the groundwater. We think they’ve made some kids at McLoughlin Elementary sick.” “You don’t have to tell me about my land. I know my land. Biblical.” Dagney sighed. “No person shall transport, store, dispose of, display, or distribute any pesticide or pesticide container in such a manner as to have unreasonable adverse effects on the environment. Now you are going to be arrested. And I’m pretty sure that was an attempted assault.” Dagney put a hand under his sweaty arm and pulled him up. He stumbled groggily, and she lead him outside, and set him against the side of the barn. She’d called Hazmat and the sheriff’s office when she heard a cracking sound from inside the barn, and assumed it had to be one of the aging pesticide containers breaking. Instead, she saw a wide fracture split down the center of the pumpkin belly, like orange lightning. Rhythmically the chunk of orange skin swelled forward, until it broke. Out of the pumpkin womb crawled an infant, entirely human save for its green complexion, and soft tufts of clover on its head instead of hair. It gurgled at her, spitting out seeds and stringy pumpkin flesh. Then its hands slipped out from under it, and the baby fell onto the dirt. It regarded her curiously a moment, then began to wail. Instinct grabbed hold of Dagney, and she rushed over to the infant, took it up in her arms. She had no idea what the child’s existence meant- aside from the fact that a farmer could have a lovechild with his sexcrow. But she did know that whatever it was, it was looking up at her with a little baby’s eyes, and it trusted her. She knew it didn’t deserve a life of scientific prodding. She knew how long it took for responders, and she didn’t have long. She wrapped the child in her coat and walked out of the barn. Derek, still laying where she’d left him, was drenched in tears, snorting pitifully. “You can’t have her… you can’t take her away…” he blubbered; she didn’t bother to tell him to shut the hell up. She’d just gotten the baby into her trunk when the hazmat crew, riding in a county fire truck, arrived. Derek continued to ball until the lead detective at the scene asked Dagney, “Is there anything in that… thing we might need for evidence?” Most of her instincts told her to burn it- that the plants would be better off as ash than as his tarted up screwcrow, but something in his quivering face made her melt. “I can’t think of a reason, no. Besides, I like you too much to ask you to scoop it up.” “Thank you,” Derek said, a newfound humility in his voice. Dagney bent down. “I’m pretty sure that’s the organophosphates talking. I imagine once you’ve got your brain unfried you’re going to go back to eating your vegetables in a nonsexual way.” He blinked at her, and she worried she may have talked him out of getting treatment, then walked away. She stopped a mile away and moved the baby into her passenger seat, and called Sharpe. “Yeah. I had to call the sheriff. It was a whole thing; And he kept showing me his green thumb. I’m pretty sure my coat is soaked in poisons and I’d like to go throw it in the wash. You mind if I send in my report from home?” “Sounds fine. Wait, what was it you said about him having a green thumb?” “He was covered in pesticides and plant juices- dyed green. And he had a rage-on, sir, an anger erection.” “Oh. And where was your partner during all of this? “He got called away, farmer had some livestock acting funny; at the time the inspection seemed less important, so I told him I’d handle it. And from what he told me it ended up being a calf with indigestion.” Sharpe paused, as if measuring in his own mind how much of it he was going to believe. “Hmm. Well, good work, anyway.” “Thanks. Bye,” Dagney said, then hung up, and dropped the phone into her passenger seat. The baby cooed at her, and for the first time since she’d plopped it onto the seat she looked at it. “Oh, yeah. What the fuck are we going to do with you?” |
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