Lesson of a Lifetime - Who'll Watch the Watchers Part I

He knew right where to step so the old plank floor wouldn't squeak. Slowly, barely breathing, eight year old Orin crept toward his sister's room. He'd heard the crying and groaning often lately, but wasn't sure what it was. Mornings after the noises, he'd ask his sister why she was crying. She'd just look at the floor. “it's nothin' Orin,” she'd say. “Just mind your own business.”

The door was closed but Pa was mean had and kicked a hole in it one day when mama ran out of beer money. Pa got raving mad when there was no beer in the ice box. The shoe hole was way low. Orin crouched down silently and squinted up into his sister's room.

Not much to see but Pa's fat naked ass pistoning up and down. Bell was sobbing and kept saying, “stop, stop, stop. Please Daddy, you're hurtin' me!” Pa just kept grunting like a pig, raising up and thrusting down. He finally groaned loudly and stopped moving. Pa got up on his knees, and Orin saw his ham like arm go up. There was a loud slap. Bell cried out in pain, then went quiet.

Pa rolled off the bed and muttered, “that was real good, Bell. 'Member, tell your mama and I'll have to kill y'all. Her 'n you 'n yer brother Orin.” He wiped his sweaty face on a filthy tee shirt. “This is our special secret.”

Back in his own bed, Orin lay awake that night thinking about what he'd seen. He couldn't stop thinking about it all the next day. He questioned his older brother “What's a man doing when he sounds like an animal and making a girl cry?”
Wylie told him, and Orin promised himself to get a little girl and try it as soon as he could. He couldn't imagine anything better.

Growing up, Orin enjoyed his new sport every chance he got. When he was sixteen he made a big mistake. A girl who's name he never knew, was more scared of her own pa than Orin's threats. She got home bruised and bloody, and refused to tell her brother or mama how it happened. Then, her daddy came home and swore she'd get another whippin' if she didn't tell him. Through her tears she told what Orin Swank had done.

In the seventies, people in the Florida 'glades frequently meted out their own justice. The seven year old's daddy was a two hundred sixty pound citrus truck driver. He was tough, simple and justice was black and white. When he got done beating Orin Swank unconscious, he thrashed Orin's daddy too. When old man Swank got out of the hospital Orin got yet another beating.

Lying in a white hospital room recovering from cuts, bruises, and a broken leg, Orin swore he's see that no little girl would ever tell on him again.

Who'll Watch the Watchers? Part II

“God? Ya hear me? I got a real problem here. Everybody's lookin' fer that little gal, and I just know they're gonna get me. Oh God! I shoulda fed her to the 'gators....I know, Lord. I really messed up this time. She seemed like a nice little girl. I just couldn't do that to her. I figgered leavin' her there would take care of it all by itself. What if she's still alive out there? What if some dumb cop stumbles over her? I'm dead! That's what!”

Orin Swank slowly got up from his knees and looked around the tidy bedroom. His wife, Nellie, had gone off to her job at the Third Baptist Church, and would be typing up this week's sermon on the preacher's new fangled computer by now. “Rev. Jim Bob Snales would be speakin' 'bout the little girl from his church who was missin' the last 3 days.” Swank was thinking. “Jenny and Hark Strong would be sobbin' will be in the front pew, red eyed, and lookin' pitiful. The congregation will be lookin' sideways at 'em, feelin' sorry and thinkin' bout the casseroles and salads they'd be takin' to the Strong's house later that afternoon.”

You see when one family has a problem in Florida's rural swamplands, everybody pulls together. Nobody has to make it alone in hard times. Everybody has always agreed that's what neighbors are for.

Little Jeanie Strong went off with her bike Tuesday afternoon. She hung her Christmas digital camera 'round her neck, kissed her little doggie goodbye, and shouted to her momma. “I'm goin' picture takin' Momma! I'll be back in awhile!” The last thing her momma and her beagle, Horner, saw of Jeannie was her straw colored hair bouncing as she skipped off down the dusty road, pushing that old red bike. Now, it's Friday morning, and there's demons fighting in Orin Swank's beer soaked brain. “Why didn't I just feed her to the 'gators?” he asked himself for the hundredth time. “I'll just give it 'til evenin' then go back and finish the job,” he thought. Until then, he sat under the shade of the scrubby pines out back of his trailer and drank Pabst Blue Ribbon, ponderin' his multiple mistakes.

The first mistake was grabbin' a local kid. “Shoulda gone over to Hendry or Charlotte County. Grabbin' her right here in Glades County was just dumb. What was I thinkin'?” Orin popped open another Pabst and tipped it all the way up, draining it in under 15 seconds. The more beer, the clearer his head.

The second mistake was not killin' her after he had his fun. She'd been a good time, alright. He got that old tingle in his crotch all over again, just thinkin' about her screamin', kickin', and cryin' fer her momma ta come save her. He'd have to do another soon. Waitin' six months between times is just a waste of his youth, he figured.

The third mistake would be to let her be found. “I've gotta go out there and make sure the deal is done,” he mumbled half aloud.

“What's that, Big “O”?” his brother Wylie asked. “You say somethin' ta me?”

“No, Wyl, I was just thinkin' out loud, I guess.” He looked at Wylie and said, “I'm gonna go fer awhile. Save a few cold ones fer me, Bubba. I'll be back 'fore dark.”

Paint mostly peeled off, bare metal rusting in the central Floaida damp, Orin's beat up old “K” car roared down the back lanes and dirt trails leading deep into the Glades County swamp. He turned automatically into the familiar trail. He parked the old Plymouth and walked the rest of the way. It was a ten minute walk through the murky swamp, taking care to avoid the wettest spots. Orin was half surprised, and all let down, to see an disheveled head of blond hair bobbing around in the small dry clearing. “Shit,” he muttered. “Can't believe those 'gators passed up a tasty treat like that.”

“Hey Mister Orin,” Jeanie called out cheerfully. “Did you bring my Snickers? You promised me a Snickers if I waited right here, and I did!”

“Little Jeannie! There you are, now! Everyone's been lookin' fer ya, and I'm the one who found ya!” Orin yelled. “Now you stop that talk 'bout me leavin' ya here. Keep yer mouth shut and I'll take ya home ta yer momma. Aren't ya glad I found ya?”

Very confused, and unsure of her memory of the last few days, Jeannie decided she must be wrong about Mr. Orin leavin' her out here in the swamp. He came and saved her. “Thank the Lord for Mr. Orin,” she thought. “Sure Mr. Orin. Thanks for findin' me. I'm thirsty, and I think I missed dinner,” she told him, clinging to his waist.

A muddy swamp boot nuddged a small digital camera toward the swamp and pushed it deep into the mud. 911 was dialed on a cell phone. “Hello, 911. What is your emergency?”

“This is Orin Swank and I've just found little Jeannie Strong. You know, the missing 10 year old from Glades”

“You found Jeannie Strong?”

“Yes, mam.”

“How do you know it's her?”

“Ah.....I'm from her church.”

“Where y'all at right now?”

“Off in the swamp. A little dry spot.”

“What you near, sir?”

“'Bout 2 miles from Route 39 just north of the Baptist church, m'am.”

“I see. Let me speak with her, please.”

“Sure. Jeannie, tell the nice operator you've been found and you're alright."

“Hello. This is Jeannie. Mr Orin found me and I'm alright.”

“Are you hurt. Jeannie?”

“No, I'm fine. Mr. Orin says he's gonna take me to my momma. I'm thirsty!”

“Let me talk to Mr. Orin, please Jeannie.”

“Hello. This is Orin Swank.”

“Mr. Swank. Tell me exactly where you are. I'll have a rescue crew there in a few minutes. Is it safe there? What's the easiest way to get to you?” The operator asked quietly, watching the GPS locator on her computer screen find Swank's cell signal. With a nod to the other operator, Florida State Troopers were on there way to the swamp.

Then, as a carefully calculated afterthought, she said coldly, “That little girl better be fine, Mr. Swank. Troopers are on their way to your house, too. You stay with her and keep her safe 'til rescue gets there. If she's hurt, we know who to talk to.

“Oh, don't worry m'am. She's safe as can be with me. Safe as can be, she is, alright. Why, I love her like my own.” Orin couldn't believe they'd suspect him of doing anything wrong. A God fearin' man like him. Why, the very idea is ridiculous! His prayers were answered, and he'd been shown a pathway out of his predicament. “Praise the Lord”, he sighed leaning back against a cypress tree. He could hear sirens getting closer and smiled with satisfaction.

911 operator Thelma Cotton clicked the call with Orin Swank off and turned to the operator in the next chair. “Charlie, nobody was lookin' for that girl way out there. How'd ya s'pose Swank knew to go pokin' 'round so far from her house?”