The Trash Collector

The Trash Collector
by Sonia Suedfeld


The sound split the silence like a clap of thunder.

Stephen Shaw bolted awake, his body jerking off the bed in a tangle of arms and legs trapped in damp, cloying bed sheets. His head grazed against the bedside table on the way down, and then he was flat on his back on the hardwood floor, staring at the ceiling of his room in the murky light of dawn.

It took a second for the pain to pounce. Touching the side of his head, his fingers came away wet and sticky and he could smell the sweet, metallic odour of blood as he drew in a lungful of stale, hot air.

He glanced at the silent alarm clock and saw that it was twenty after five.

“Shit,” he roared as he pulled himself to his feet, using the edge of the bed as leverage. How could he have forgotten to set the damned thing again?

The sound that had woken him ripped the silence anew, and this time, there was no mistaking it. Still tangled in the sheets, Stephen hobbled to the window, yanked back the dirty brown drapes and stared at the street below. He could just make out the silhouette of his boss through the open driver’s window of the Ford pick-up idling at the curb. He could even see the glowing tip of Earl’s cigarette dangling from his lips as he once again pushed hard on the horn.

Hooonk!

“Hold on to your horses, you fat son-of-a-bitch,” Stephen growled as he tore the sheets off his body and picked up the clothes he’d thrown off the night before. Slipping into his jeans, he pulled a grey t-shirt over his head, and grabbed two, any two socks from the floor, his steel-toed boots and the change from his dresser. Rushing down the stairs and out the front door, he ran in his bare feet across the driveway to the truck and threw open the passenger door. The air was so humid, it was like running through hot water. Already, he could feel his t-shirt clinging to his back, and the sun hadn’t even risen yet.

It was going to be another scorcher of a day.

“Well, well, well,” Earl Manning drawled, all three hundred pounds of him sweating and shifting behind the wheel, as he watched Stephen pull himself into the cab. A smirk turned up the corners of his mouth while sweat ran in rivulets down his round face and dripped like raindrops down the front of his shirt. “Late again. So what is it this time, Stevie-O? Too much partying? Hit the booze a little too hard last night? Or did you finally get yourself some pussy, eh?”

One sucker-punch is all it would take to wipe that smug look off Earl’s fat face, Stephen thought with a sudden rush of rage, but his hands remained loose and still in his lap. He could see it all - feel it all - his fist smashing into the bulbous nose, the snap of breaking cartilage under his knuckles, the blood spurting, spraying, splattering down the front of that doughy face.

Nice. But it wasn’t going to happen. Not unless he wanted to trade his freedom for a barred window in a ten-by-ten cell.

Fortunately, Earl appeared to be suffering enough as it was, sweating profusely, his face like an overripe tomato, his breath coming in short, wheezy gasps. Stephen smiled, unable to deny a certain sense of satisfaction as he watched his boss sweat in the heat, melting like an ice cube on a patch of hot asphalt in July.

“Something’s wrong with my alarm,” he lied and started pulling on his mismatched socks and boots. “It didn’t go off.”

Earl grunted in response, put the gear in drive and pulled the truck onto the road. There was no conversation as they drove, just the barely audible wail of a country song playing on the radio and the chug of the engine as the Ford ate up the miles. In no time, they were pulling into the dusty yard of the city’s Department of Waste Management.

Earl parked his truck in the employee lot around the back of the brick building. He lugged his enormous lunch box out from behind his seat, locked up, and met Stephen at the front doors. Separating in the office, Stephen headed to the bathroom while Earl logged them in, signed for keys and perused a few department memos. Meeting up again, each grabbed - despite the heat - a cup of what passed for coffee from the dispensing machine and headed out to the yard where a row of green garbage trucks sat like giant, slumbering insects under a broiling sun.

“What’s the route today?” Stephen asked once they were settled in the cab of number 24 and Earl had started the engine and cranked the AC. He’d only been on the job a few weeks and still wasn’t familiar with all the routes in the city.

“Shit, Steve, it’s Friday, ain’t it? We always do the west side on Fridays,” Earl said in his wheezy, whiny tone as he adjusted the rear-view mirror and mopped his brow with a stained handkerchief. “Mulberry Heights, y’know?”

Stephen noted the smug look on his boss’ face, the rolling of the eyes, the nearly imperceptible shaking of the head. But he felt no rage now, no urge to ram his fist into Earl’s fat, sweaty face. Instead, he found himself smiling, a real ‘happier than a pig in mud’ shit-eating grin from one ear to the other. He couldn’t help it.

Friday. Mulberry Heights. 2234 Hillside Crescent. The stately Tudor in stark white with black trim and shutters around massive front doors and arched windows. The three-car garage off to the side, the shiny red Porsche parked in the circular drive. Flowers and trees everywhere, rolling lawns so perfect and green they looked painted. A dream, yes. But nothing compared to the lady of the house.

An angel, she had long blonde hair and a face so beautiful he’d felt dazed the first time he’d seen it. She was perfection from head to toe, with long legs, a sculpted behind and large breasts that nearly spilled out of the tight tee-shirts and bikini tops she’d been wearing each of the three previous times he’d seen her. Always, she’d be washing the Porsche, yielding a sputtering hose in one hand and a soapy sponge in the other. And always, she was wet.

A wet dream.

Stephen couldn’t believe he hadn’t remembered that today was Friday. He’d been looking forward to Fridays ever since he’d laid eyes on her that first week on the job when they’d stopped in front of the Tudor and he’d seen her looking back at him and smiling sexily in cut-off shorts and a wet t-shirt that outlined every curve of her breasts.

Just thinking of seeing her again in a short while made everything bearable. The heat, the throbbing in his head, even the stench of Earl’s sweat. Nothing could dampen his spirits now.

Except the worry that today she wouldn’t be there, reaching across the hood of the red Porsche with a sponge in her hand, throwing her sexy smile his way. Just because she’d been there three weeks in a row didn’t mean she’d be there today, and the thought of not seeing her made the pain in his head throb all the more.

Especially when at that moment, Earl pulled up to the first house on their route, and Stephen had to climb out of the air-conditioned cab into the sweltering heat and start hauling bins that stank of rotting meat and dirty diapers and the devil only knew what else.

Two hours later, they pulled up to 2234 Hillside Crescent. Sunburned and drenched in sweat from head to toe, Stephen hopped off the back of the truck and looked up at the house. His face split in a wide grin when he saw her hosing down the Porsche, dressed in nothing but a tiny, black bikini and soap bubbles glistening in her hair.

There is a God, Stephen thought as he made his way towards the bins standing at the side of the driveway, his eyes never leaving her. He saw her turn to look at him, wet blonde hair swinging around her shoulders as she smiled at him. Smiling back and waving, he removed the lid off the first bin, hefted the heavy garbage bag out of it and started towards the truck. Hoisting it inside its giant maw, he turned back and froze.

She was standing at the foot of the driveway, near the bins. One hand was cocked against a curvy hip, the other held a green hose gushing water all over the ground.

“Hey,” she said, taking a few steps closer and offering him the hose, “it’s so hot out here today, I thought you might like to cool down a bit.”

Stephen smiled as he took the hose from her, making sure to maintain eye contact and to touch her hand as he did so. Her eyes were the colour of the sky at dusk, velvety blue, and he felt himself drowning in her gaze.

“Thanks,” was all he could think of saying as he brought the hose to his lips. He drank like a camel after thirty days in the desert, gulping the clear, cold water and splashing some of it over his head and face before handing the hose back to her. “You’re an angel.”

She laughed. “Hardly. I’m Samantha,” she said, standing up on her toes to flick a lock of hair out of his eyes.

He felt the barest brush of her breasts against his chest as she did so, and it took every ounce of self-control he had not to reach out and touch them.

“Nice to meet you,” he said instead, and busied himself with grabbing hold of the second bin, his eyes never leaving hers. “I’m Stephen.”

“Well, Stephen,” she purred, rolling his name off her tongue as she watched him work, “you really should come back and see me some time. Like tonight, for instance. I’ll be all alone.”

His hands stopped what they were doing, his eyes flew to hers. She was smiling and looking at him from under her lashes, and her fingers were trailing down her throat to the swell of her breasts. Christ, she wasn’t kidding.

“Hubby out of town?”

“Uh-huh. I’ll be stuck here all by myself, with no one to keep me company.”

Stephen grinned as he grabbed the last bag. “Pretty lady like you… that’d be a shame.”

“So you’ll come? About nine?”

“Sounds great.”

He let the last bag sail into the maw of the truck, pressed a button and watched the compressor swallow the trash out of sight. Then he climbed up the back of the truck and turned to look at her as they started to roll down the street.

She was blowing him a kiss.

He watched her until she disappeared from sight, but the grin on his face lasted the rest of the day. When they finally pulled into the yard at almost four that afternoon, he was covered in sweat and grime several layers thick, he stank of garbage, and he felt tired to the bone. But still he grinned and only laughed when Earl looked at him suspiciously, rolling his eyes.

Life was good. And it was about to get a whole lot better.

Back at home, he guzzled a couple of glasses of water and then a beer, peeled off his sweat-soaked clothes and stepped into the shower. He let the cold water soothe his burnt skin and tired muscles while he soaped his body twice, shaved the stubble off his face and shampooed his hair. Clean and feeling human again, he towelled off and dressed in khaki pants and a white cotton shirt, rolling the sleeves up to his elbows.

Then he sat in front of the TV with the remote and a micro-waved pizza, counting down the minutes until it was time to head back to Mulberry Heights and a certain hot blonde waiting for him.

Samantha.

So beautiful. So sexy. So much like the others.

The blondes, the redheads, the brunettes of his past. They’d all been gorgeous, lonely, desperate women and he’d had them all. In more ways than one.

When it was time, he pocketed his wallet and a few other items he would need, brushed his teeth and headed out the door to his car. The air was still muggy, heavy and hot in his lungs as he fired up the engine and turned the radio to his favourite rock station.

The Rolling Stones were wailing on about getting no satisfaction. Stephen smiled at his reflection in the rear-view mirror, feeling confident that in just a little while, he’d be getting all the satisfaction he could ever want. And he wouldn’t even have to try.

“You old devil,” he said, winking at himself in the mirror while raking his fingers through a tangle of black curls. “You’re gonna knock her dead.”

He laughed out loud, threw his old Honda in reverse, and backed out of the driveway. Singing along with Mick, he drove with all the windows down, the hot breeze stirring his hair and some papers left on the dashboard. Halfway to Mulberry Heights, he spotted a liquor store and decided to pull in for a bottle of wine. He selected a nice Chardonnay in the forty-dollar range, had it gift-wrapped and set off once again.

The clock on the dash told him he was five minutes late when he finally parked the Honda a few doors down from the white Tudor. Grabbing the wine, he locked up and started walking towards the house.

The sun hung low in the sky, painting the underbellies of clouds with streaks of pink and orange as it started its descent to the horizon.

At the massive front doors, he rang the bell and heard it echoing inside. Soon, he could hear the clicking of high heels on hardwood floors, followed by the sound of locks sliding free, and then the door swung wide open.

And there she was in a black sundress and strapless heels, tanned skin glowing, blue eyes dancing, blonde hair cascading like a waterfall over the swell of her breasts. She was so beautiful she took his breath away.

“Hello, handsome,” she purred, a sexy smile tugging at the corners of her red lips as she accepted the wine he thrust out to her. “I’m so glad you came.”

And with that, she pulled him into the cool interior of the air-conditioned house, closed the door and set the wine down on a table. Then she pinned him against the wall, pressing her breasts into his chest and her lips to his. Stephen groaned deep in his throat and used both hands on her buttocks to mould her body into his. He felt heady with desire and the scent of her perfume wafting around him.

“Samantha,” he breathed.

God, he wanted her. Right here, right now on the cold hardwood floor, but she was pulling away and starting down the hall, and he had no choice but to follow her. His heart thumped madly in his chest, his blood was boiling, he was on fire for her.

“In here,” he heard her call out from a room at the end of the hallway.

Stephen followed her voice.

And entered an empty family room. There was no hot, sexy blonde lounging naked on the leather couch or standing in nothing but heels in front of the open French doors overlooking the pool.

“Hello?” he called out, looking around.

“Out here.”

The voice was coming from outside. He crossed the room to the doors and stepped out onto a covered patio the size of his whole apartment. Potted flowers and shrubs led the way down a few steps to the pool area. Further out, beyond the fence marking off the property, the river was a silver ribbon threading through miles of dense forest.

When he turned and finally saw her, his breath snagged in his throat.

She was in the pool, her smile unmistakable as she lifted a hand out of the water and crooked a finger at him.

“Come here, big boy,” she purred in her sexy voice.

Stephen didn’t have to be told twice. He moved down the steps, staring at the silhouette of her naked body shimmering through the water as he stepped around the clothing she had tossed to the ground along the way.

Her back pressed against the side of the pool, her head resting against the edge, he approached her from behind.

When he was level with her, he knelt on the patio stones. One hand reached out to touch her hair and the side of her face while the other dipped into a pocket.

“Ummm,” she moaned, pressing her cheek into the palm of his hand, “come join me. The water feels great.”

Stephen fixed the moment in his head. The perfume of honeysuckle wafting in the hot, humid air. The thrilling song of a thousand frogs down by the river. The feel of sculpted bones beneath warm, flawless skin.

The time was now.

Slowly, he brought his hand out from his pocket, catching the tiny glint of steel out of the corner of his eye. Then he raised his arm over his head as far back as it would go and brought it down with every bit of strength he had.

The knife sliced through air.

In the next instant, water exploded in front of his eyes as a body rose from its depths. Plumes of it arced through the air, drops of it stung his face.

Samantha stood in waist-deep water a few feet away, her naked breasts glistening in the gathering twilight.

But he didn’t notice. All his attention, every fibre of his being, was riveted on the small black thing she held tightly with both hands. A small black thing dripping water and pointing straight at his heart.

A gun.

“Freeze! FBI! Drop your weapon. Now!”

Even as she was shouting the words, dark shapes began to materialize from all corners of the property, stepping out from behind trees and shrubs and lawn furniture. In a matter of seconds, he was surrounded by men in dark clothing and bullet-proof vests. Dozens of men, all of them toting shotguns trained at his head.

It had been a sting all along. An undercover operation. A trap. And he’d fallen head-long into it, lured by the beauty of a woman.

It was all over now.

Stephen let the knife fall from his fingers, watched it tumble into the water and disappear from sight. Then slowly, with his hands on the top of his head, he stood up.

“Okay, boys, I’ll take it from here,” he heard a voice drawl from behind him and he whirled around to stare into Earl Manning’s fat, sweaty face.

“Well, well, well, Stevie-O, if you could just see the look on your face right now.” Earl laughed and slapped his thigh. “Priceless.”

“You’re a cop?” The question slipped out before he could stop the words.

“I’m sorry. I guess this must be one hell of a shock for you. It’s bad enough finding out that the woman you were hoping to screw and slash to tiny bits tonight is actually an agent posing as a decoy. And now you’re finding out that your boss isn’t actually your boss. That sucks, man. So let’s start over and get properly introduced, shall we? Special Agent Earl Manning, FBI. And you must be Connor Jones, a.k.a. Rick Harding, and more recently, Stephen Shaw. Wanted in four states for murder.” He thrust out a meaty hand. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

“How…?”

“Having a little trouble there, aren’t you? Well, it ain’t rocket science, Mr. Jones. We’ve been on to you for a while now. Couple of months. You wouldn’t know this, it wasn’t in any of the papers, we kept it to ourselves, but you fucked up with Caroline Matthews. Remember her? Hot little brunette in Denver, Colorado? I know, there’ve been so many, it’s hard to remember them all. Working as a garbage collector in all those cities, posing as a nice guy looking for a little action on the side. All those beautiful, lonely women falling for you. And you collected them all, didn’t you? Just like the trash you collected for a living. But this one, this Caroline Matthews, don’t you remember her? You slashed her throat, stabbed her over two dozens times, raped and sodomized her corpse, and left her dead body hanging from a hook on her bedroom door. Ring some bells?”

Earl spat on the ground. “Ah yes, it’s coming back to you now, isn’t it? You were always careful, I’ll give you that. You brought and took away your own weapon, you used fake names and condoms, you knew about trace evidence, you wore gloves. But you had to touch this one, didn’t you? You just had to take off the gloves and touch her bare skin with your fingers, didn’t you? I bet she felt lovely and soft, like a peach. But it was your downfall, my friend. We lifted a print from her cheek, an inch from her right eye, and the rest as they say, is history.”

“And now you’re history,” another voice said and Connor turned to look into Samantha’s face.

He hardly recognized her. Gone was the flowing hair and skimpy clothing. Dressed in a severe suit with her hair secured in a tight bun behind her head, the only sexy thing about her now was the glint of ice in her eyes.

“You bastard,” she hissed at him, “I hope you rot in hell.”

Then she turned to Earl Manning and the other officers and issued the command. “Cuff him, boys, and take him away.”

Earl was all too happy to oblige, snapping the cuffs on tight while he recited the Miranda warning in a loud, gleeful voice, smirking and rolling his eyes the whole time.

Connor’s last thought before he was escorted back through the house and out the front to a waiting police car was that he should have decked Earl Manning when he’d had the chance that morning.

It was his only regret.

(Note: This story received an Honourable Mention and appeared in the Tall Tales and Short Stories Vol. IV anthology, published by Tall Tales Press in 2006.)