It was all Li’l Abner—put together as providence allowed. To judge by the evidence, Eugene had built a platform and slapped a dwelling on top of it. Then he had added and demolished and tweaked and rearranged, depending on what he’d stolen or found or maybe even bought outright. There was one whole room where the outer wall was made entirely from doors, and Eugene had popped a few panels here and there to caulk in glass for windows. He had siding made from rusty sheeting off some kind of grain bin and roof shingles that were road signs upended and nailed down. He’d made lavish use of tar paper and tin flashing, and he had a chimney pipe that was a culvert he’d probably pulled out of somebody’s driveway. He’d fashioned a deckside toilet out of a plastic water tank. Everything went straight down into the bayou, which filled me with desperation for a tetanus shot. Tommy’s nose bled for longer than was interesting or convenient. We finally ended up packing his nostrils with balled-up pages from a Cabela’s catalog just so he’d shut up about the leakage.
