Gunnar In The Carrels
A Note to Readers:
Welcome to what I am calling Season 2 of Gunnar In The Carrels. Anyone who hasn't read Parts 1 through 10 (what I am now going to call Season 1), relax! You are officially absolved. But don't let that stop you if you feel inclined as it will certainly help your understanding of events.
What you are reading is the first draft of a potential novelette? novel? written on the fly. Events and timelines are going to shift around as they find their natural level. Go with it.
Most of all, thanks for reading and feel free to comment.
S02 P01
S02 P02
S02 P03
S02 P04
S02 P05
S02 P06
S02 P07
S02 P08
S02 P09
Part 10
It started off as an inarticulate roar of rage as he charged across the parking lot towards the other men. Walt was reminded of a bull he’d once seen going after a cat that strayed into its paddock.
David Larsson had literally lowered his head and was full out running, tie flying behind him, mouth wide open as he gave voice to his fury.
Walt switched the camera to video mode and pressed record.
“You stupid morons! What the fuck? How could you possibly be so stupid? Did you really think that much shit was going to fit in a pick up truck? Are you really that moronic? You stupid goddam farmers! Goddam you goddam farmers!”
David had reached Jim Belson, who was standing back watching as Paul worked the controls on the dump wagon and Ron called out guidance. He started to poke Jim hard on the breast bone in time with his tirade. “You-are-all-so-fucking-stupid. You can bet your stupid goddam farmer ass that I am going to sue each and every one of you. I am taking everything you morons own and I am going to wipe my ass on your piss ant little family farms and then - you know what I’m gonna do then? I’m gonna sell your goddam granny and grampy’s place to China, you morons, that’s what I’m gonna do.”
He was warming up to his subject now, shrugging his shoulders like a fighter as he turned to include the other two idiots in his curses. It felt good to give himself over to his anger for a change, instead of keeping up his public persona.
“Do you know why you morons will never evolve enough to lift yourself out of the stinking shit heap, like the rest of us? Because you’re too fucking stupid. This…” he gestured to the enormous pile of wet manure that had slumped into a rounded mound covering the front of his cadillac right up to the top of the windshield. “This is evidence of evolution in action. It’s only a matter of time before you stupid shit farmers and all your little shitty children die out!”
He stopped suddenly, wondering if he had taken things too far even for this situation and he glanced around to see if Al had shown up with his lawyer yet. He couldn’t see Al’s car, but he did notice that Jenny had emerged from inside the restaurant and was picking her way towards the scene, holding a lapel of her suit jacket over her nose. His own nose began to register the overpowering stench again now that his rage was subsiding and he stifled a gag.
Walt, still recording and taking this opportunity to include Town Councillor Jenny Kobayashi in the frame, saw a look pass between Ron Andersson and his friends that David Larsson missed. Ron's face assumed a slack look and he ambled over to David, scuffing the soles of his boots against the tarmac a little, as he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. Walt noticed he placed himself between David and Jim.
“Gosh, mister. Me and my buddies here sure are sorry. You’re right that that load is way too big for my truck. I told Paul that but he said it would fit and, you’re right that I’m ‘stoo-o-pid’ as you say, but Paul here, he’s the smart one.”
Ron removed a five dollar bill from his wallet and extended it to David. “It surely is our fault and we’d be happy to pay to get your nice car cleaned up. Is that a cadillac? I thought when I pulled in here that that surely looked like a caddy. I ain’t got much on me but here’s five bucks and, guys, you come over here and give this guy what you got in your wallets too and we’ll all call it square. I got a buddy who can shine your car up perfect and he’ll give you a deal if you tell him I sent you.”
At first, David was speechless. Did this guy really think five bucks was going to cover this?
“David, what the hell happened?” Jenny stood slightly behind him, ignoring the other men. “How are we going to get back to Anneville?”
"Just shut up, Jenny."
The farmer moved closer to him and David became aware of the physical size of the man. He wasn’t as tall as David or as lean, but his frame was broad and densely muscled. The hand holding out the five dollar bill looked huge and heavy.
“You’re not David Larsson, the mayor of Anneville, are you?” The hand withdrew the five, shoved it in a pocket and re-extended itself. “Oh wow. It is such an honour to meet you. Hey guys, it’s the mayor. Come say hello to the mayor.”
Walt watched as Paul stealthily slid two fingers through the black filth covering Larsson’s car before walking over and extending his fouled hand. “You don’t say! The mayor. Well, let me shake your hand, Mr. Mayor. It sure is an honour to meet the legendary David Larsson. I heard you screw more women than Hugh Heffner. Is that true, miss?” Paul addressed himself to Jenny. “Do you happen to know what number you are in the list?”
A cold wave of realization washed over David as it occurred to him that these men were mocking him. This was not a random accident. He looked again for Al’s car as Jenny backed away several feet before she turned and walked back into the restaurant.
“My name is Ron Andersson,” the man in front of him was saying. “My wife Elsa used to work for you. You might remember her, but I doubt it. You forgot about her the minute you drove away from that retirement home, didn’t you? Leaving her there to find her own way back like you did. That was just wrong. Mean.
“See, that’s what I don’t get about men like you, Mr. Larsson. I can understand loving women so much that you want every one you see, even when they’re married and decency should say you leave them alone. What I can’t understand, what I can’t stomach, is that you treat them like shit. Like a big ol’ pile of shit. But then again, I’m just a ‘goddam stupid farmer’, as you put it.”
Here, the other man, who was actually carrying a dollop of the filth in his naked hand like a puff of whipped cream, raised that hand and wiped the stinking mess down the front of David’s new, hand tailored silver suit. All three of the farmers started to grin.
Unlike his son Gunnar, David placed great value in his perception of himself as a ‘man’ with all the attributes ‘manly behaviour’ required. He followed sports and played golf. He pumped iron at the gym with his trainer. He organized a fly fishing adventure each year for his closest friends and partners. Occasionally, he’d take a colleague out of town to the strip clubs.
In short, David was well aware that there was only one course of action for him, as a man, to take now and he saw the trap. He couldn’t remember anyone named Elsa Andersson but he didn’t doubt that he screwed her. He just wished this inevitable confrontation were about someone more memorable. More worth it.
He knew what he had to do.
David gathered his strength and hurled himself at Ron Andersson, the force of the impact carrying them both back towards the cadillac. They grappled with each other’s shoulders, pitting strength against strength, teetering together and pushing apart, trying to land close proximity jabs until one of them slipped on the loose gravel and they tumbled together into the big mound of manure, both of them instantly covered but continuing to rain blows, grappling for each other in the slick muck.
Behind them, Walt Hammond looked up from the display of his camera. He wondered how he was going to frame this story and hoped he'd be able to work in the word ‘muckraking’. “Holy mother of God,” he breathed as he returned his eyes to the recording.
Further back, the cashier from the variety store had come out of the store and was also recording the action using his cell phone. “Holy shit, Nelson,” he commentated as the two figures continued to roll together on the filth covered asphalt. “You are not going to fuckin’ believe this shit.”
Even further back, watching from the door of the restaurant, Jenny Kobayashi took in the figure of Walter Hammond, editor of the Anneville Transcript, filming David as he committed the biggest mistake of his career which would likely turn out to be political suicide.
“Shit,” she thought, unironically. She was going to need a new plan.