Psycho Sunshine 18+

Slater

This backwoods, banjo playing, uncle-daddy ass town has been surprising to say the least. When I first got the call over a week ago, telling me this is my new location to infiltrate for some intel, I thought it was a hoax. Just another dead end.

Especially when I first got here and saw several grown ass men wearing blue jean overalls... and nothing else. They didn't even have shoes on, for fuck's sake. 

And if one more Betty-Sue smiling ass bitch invites me to their church on Sunday, I'm going to drive my car into it. But after only two days of listening to the small town gossip I quickly realized this is exactly where I need to be.

For the past eleven years I've been hunting down answers as to what happened to my brother. He ran off when shit got tough and then a few months later his body was discovered in the back of a semi-truck. The driver had no idea a dead body was back there or even when it could have been placed in his rig since he was driving for a while. I finally tracked down an associate of his who's been locked up in prison and the guy told me last he heard, my brother was moving down south to some middle of nowhere redneck town called Slapout in the state of Alabama. So now I'm here, looking for answers and trying to find his killer.

I lock the door to the rental house I'm staying at before I start walking down the picturesque streets of town on my way to the local diner. The town would be an ideal place to live if it wasn't for all the... people in it. This fucking diner has been my primary source of intel. I don't even have to ask questions to find things out. I just sit my big ass down in a booth and keep my ears open.

People around here love to run their mouths and gossip about shit. Most of it is garbage, like who some bitch named Amy-Lynn got knocked up by and what shade of whore red lipstick the pastor's wife was wearing recently. But occasionally I catch whispers that can be useful. Like a recent murder of a corrupt Judge that is nowhere near being solved. I'm jealous of whoever got to be the one to kill the slimy bastard if I'm being honest. Turns out, there've been quite a few unsolved murders around here over the years. Quite odd since this town is roughly the size of my ball sack. Most people don't bat an eye since the people turning up dead typically end up being the types that should have been swallowed at conception. Like my brother.

I enter the diner and immediately seat myself in the booth in the back corner that gives me the best vantage point. I've claimed this spot as mine since I got here.

The overworked waitress brings over a glass of water and tells me she's already put my order in and it will be out shortly. That's one good thing about small towns. People memorize things about you and make waiting on things easier. I come to this diner at the same time every afternoon and order the same thing to eat. I don't even have to open my mouth at this point to speak to people. It's nice. It doesn't stop me from looking over every person present everytime I'm here, though. Someone here isn't what they seem.

Someone in this town is killing people. And I believe that same person is the one who killed my brother eleven years ago. Now I just need to do what these small minded people can't do; figure out who that person is.

My thoughts are interrupted as a woman who looks like she's about to step onto the Mrs. America stage rudely sits in front of me in my booth. She smiles coyly at me as she bats her huge lashes like she's trying to take flight. I just stare blankly at her, making her uncomfortable, if the way her throat swallows is any sign. Well, that makes two of us.

She clears her throat and steels her shoulders like she's preparing for battle. "Excuse me, sir. I couldn't help but notice that you're new to town. I thought I would introduce myself and formally welcome you to Slapout. I'm Charlotte Grady. I'm hosting a barbeque this weekend at my home and you have the pleasure of being invited." She practically purrs as she holds her manicured hand out to me like I'm supposed to kiss it. Fat chance, country Barbie.