Vengeance (16 page)

Chapter 18

I figured the best way to be sure D-Bag wasn’t home when I broke into his place was to watch him leave with my own eyes. So I parked on the street four houses down. It was as far away as I could park before my line of sight was interrupted by a large evergreen in a neighboring yard.

I was about fifteen minutes early, so I kept the engine running for the heat. When I got warm, I turned the car off for a few minutes, until the heat dissolved, then repeated the cycle. Partly, I was conscious of the gas I was wasting. But I also thought an idling car might attract some attention. The fourth time I started the engine, I chuckled under my breath at the realization that the sound of a car starting over and over might attract just as much attention. Even the sound of an acorn hitting the ground might lure people to their windows on cold, still winter afternoons.

D-Bag trotted down his steps and jumped into his car right on schedule. He zipped away without letting the engine warm up, which was fine by me. After he had turned the corner, I rolled past his house to make sure there was no activity. I continued around the block, up the alley, where I parked behind his neighbor’s garage. I poised the car door against the frame without slamming it and sauntered up the alley, surveying the rear-facing windows of the houses. No one was looking back out at me. I let myself in the picket gate alongside D-Bag’s garage. I checked for onlookers a last time before trying the knob to the walk-through door of the garage. Luckily, it was unlocked. I was worried the racket of kicking it in would have drawn attention.

From inside, I unlocked the overhead door, opened up one side of the vacant two-stall, fetched my car, and closed it in the garage. It wasn’t that I was afraid someone would see an unfamiliar car and call the police while I was in the house. But they might remember if questioned by the police later on. Honestly, that seemed like such a remote possibility that it probably was paranoid to hide the car. Still, I didn’t need to be seen walking up to D-Bag’s front door and out again, either. So hiding the car gave me peace of mind and made my approach up the narrow sidewalk to the back door of the house seem natural.

This time the door was locked. But my elbow was on deck. One firm thrust knocked in one of the panes intact, though it shattered on the floor. Once inside, I felt safe. If no one had seen me come in, there was no chance they’d notice me now. It reminded me of the few times Aiden and I had worked together. We broke into a few houses and small businesses. I always got the biggest thrill coming and going, but felt at ease inside the place. We were careful about only breaking into places we knew had no one inside. We’d have to hold back our laughter as we scampered back to his car with a TV or coin collection in our arms. It was some of the best fun we ever had together. For filial bonding, nothing beats criminal hijinks.

It was dark as a cave with all the lights off and curtains drawn. I had no idea whether D-Bag’s neighbors were familiar with his work schedule, but even a casual glance would confirm his car was not home and, ergo, neither was he. So I couldn’t risk flipping on the lights.

The kitchen door with its one missing pane had no curtains, letting in enough winter dusk for me to survey the room. I opened drawers until I found the inevitable junk and tool repositories. There were a few loose batteries in one, but no flashlight. I had time to go back to the car and drive off to get a light. It wouldn’t have taken twenty minutes. But the more movement I made – especially now that the headlights would need to be on – the more likely I’d be seen.

As I deliberated, the squeak of a hinge and the clap of a storm door rushed through the hole in the back door. The glow of a floodlight shone through the bare door windows and I stepped to the side to stay in shadow. Rapid footsteps. I leaned over the sink and carefully peeled apart the light curtains to peek out. It was just a neighbor hurriedly taking out her trash in sweat pants, a t-shirt, and a pair of snow boots that looked untied and too large. Once she dropped the trash in the can, she picked up the pace, folding her arms across her chest. She had underestimated how cold it was and was in a hurry to get back inside. That and the fact that her floodlight probably blinded her to anything beyond her path meant I had nothing to worry about.

The funny thing was that I didn’t feel I was doing anything wrong. It’s not that I thought breaking and entry was all right because it was a drug dealer’s house. It wasn’t even because I could justify what I was doing in terms of Aiden. It’s just that while I was safely hidden in the house, there was no immediate fear of being caught. And that meant no chance of facing a penalty – of going to jail. That’s how it worked. You could do whatever you wanted as long as no one was looking.

While the floodlight illuminated the kitchen I turned from the sink and scanned the room. On top of the fridge, behind some folded up grocery bags, I saw what looked like the handle of a flashlight. I wiped the dust from it with a hand towel and aimed it at the floor to test it. The batteries were nearly dead. The floodlight switched off with an almost audible return to darkness – darker because the sky was completely opaque now and due to the contrast of having adjusted to a degree of light. I felt my way back to the junk drawer and swapped out the batteries in the dark, feeling more self-satisfaction than my bit of resourcefulness warranted. It wasn’t as if I had just broken down and reassembled a semi-automatic pistol while blindfolded. I tested the light again, with brilliant results. D-Bag deserved points toward a merit badge for keeping fresh batteries on hand.

I shone the light past the fridge, down a short hall into the dining room, then switched it off. Until I confirmed the front curtains were closed, I didn’t want to throw too much light around. I could get a mental footprint of the place and navigate through the dark.

It wasn’t a large house, but I still wanted to make my search efficient. With any luck, the ledger would just be sitting on the coffee table, clearly marked, “Ledger of Drug Deals.” But I supposed even someone with a name like D-Bag would be smart enough to not just leave something like that lying around. With his clientele, it wouldn’t be a shock if the place was broken into regularly. Druggies looking for a free score, or maybe even to steal his product and make some cash. He probably should have gotten an alarm, or at least a dog.

I decided to take a quick tour of the place and see if there was a home office or a safe or any conspicuous spot to start looking. But first, I reached back and locked the deadbolt on the back door. I grinned at the futility of locking a door with a busted out window. Still, there was a certain peace of mind that came with locking it. If anyone did come through that way, at least I might hear the lock as it turned.

I passed the fridge and entered the dining room, giving a quick swipe with the flashlight. In the living room I snugged the curtains together all around the room before getting ambitious with splashing the light around. Still, the less light the better. I sat on the middle cushion of the sofa and surveyed the room, keeping the light low, then switching it off and laying it beside me. The décor wasn’t what I had expected from a drug dealer. All the furniture looked twenty years old. It was in good shape, but the style dated it. The sofa was off-white, with a pink and green and light blue floral print. The accent tables and the letter desk against the far wall had those ornate, spindly legs. The oval wall mirror was encrusted in a faux gold frame. And the walls were papered with vertical stripes that seemed to have vines growing up them, all topped off with a darker accent border at the ceiling adorned with blossoms. All the house needed was an overpowering smell of chicken broth to convince me it sheltered a seventy year-old shut-in.

The coffee table was oval and looked like solid wood. The surface was immaculate except for a single deep scratch several inches long. When I shined the light on it, its luster was almost liquid. The table was clear except for a white doily on which sat a shallow porcelain dish shaped like an enormous maple leaf, holding a puddle of potpourri flakes. Silk flower bouquets adorned matching porcelain vases on two of the accent tables. I was disappointed to not find Bruce Lee posters and speaker wires running up the walls.

Fortunately, the cleanliness extended to all rooms of the house. If the place had been cluttered, it would have made searching all the more difficult. As it was, the search went too easy; there was nothing to find. The bathroom was remarkably clean. I checked between the folded hand towels, then did the same to all the linens in the closet. I found myself trying not to disturb his belongings. With any luck, I was going to get what I needed without him knowing I had been through his house. Maybe it would have been faster to just shake everything out and throw it all on the floor as I proceeded, but I didn’t see the need to toss the place.

I moved upstairs, again keeping the light low in case I could be seen through the windows. There were two bedrooms and a bathroom. The first bedroom was at the front of the house and was cut from the same cloth as the living room, complete with an embroidered bedspread. There was a chest and dresser, so I started going through the drawers. The contents were keepsakes more than clothes. One drawer contained nothing but handkerchiefs, all folded into neat squares. Another was fitted with a velvet tray sporting an array of tie tacks, broaches, and pins. There were drawers of baby clothes, newspaper clippings, and even boxed Christmas cards. A quick scan of the bedside tables revealed a Holy Bible and not much more. Even a motel room would have had a phone book. The closet was the next likely place to look, but as I slid shut the drawer from the nightstand, I heard a car door directly in front of the house. Had someone seen me? Was it a patrol car? I was near the front window, so I leaned over and pushed the curtain enough to see from the side of the window. It was D-Bag’s car, complete with the lit pizza delivery sign on top.

I could see his dark figure rushing up the walk. Someone had called him! No wonder he didn’t need an alarm. He had his neighbors watching the place. He burst up the wooden porch steps and across the porch in three bounds that I could feel echoing in the floor. I froze. He stabbed the key in the lock and had the door open before I had a chance to hide.

Then, for a moment, I had no idea where he was. Had he gone to the kitchen and found the broken pane? Was he fetching a gun from the sideboard in the dining room before going room to room to find the intruder?

My heart was pounding so hard I barely noticed the first footstep. But then another, and I knew he was on his way up the stairs. I looked to the open door and saw the glow from the living room light spilling up the stairwell. But it had only been a few seconds since he came through the door. He hadn’t had time to make it to the kitchen and back. He didn’t know about the back door. Was D-Bag just stopping at home in the middle of his shift? Maybe he had forgotten something. I had to hope that was all it was. My mind raced to confirm that at least I hadn’t left any signs of my presence in the living room. He didn’t know I was up here. But once he made it to the top of the stairs, he would see the open bedroom door and I’d be screwed.

He hadn’t made the turn at the landing yet. He was taking his time on the stairs. I had ten feet or more to cover to get to the door. I timed his footsteps and made an extra-long stride, pausing with my legs spread over a four foot span, then again with his next step, and once more until I reached the door, where I gathered myself to a normal stance, grasped the door knob, and turned the handle so the latch would be recessed in the door. Then I swiftly closed the door to within an inch of the frame, halted its momentum, and eased it the rest of the way against the door frame. Within a second, I felt the vibration through my feet as D-Bag stepped onto the second floor. Then the clack of a switch and golden light peered under the door into the room I was in.

I held the door steady against the frame, not daring to let go of the knob as even the faintest click of the mechanism might catch his attention. My heart was still sprinting, and I was trying to control my breathing, letting smooth breaths in and out through my wide open mouth, like a muted variation of Lamaze. When I heard the door to the opposite bedroom open, I carefully repositioned my feet to either side of my door, just in case they would have been visible under the door when he returned in this direction. Straddling the width on the toes of both feet, I realized that if he had any reason to enter this bedroom, I had no way to hide. There was a closet door just to my right. I could try to release the handle slowly then duck inside the closet. But it was too big of a risk. If he did come my way, I’d have to be ready to jump him. He’d be completely taken off guard. And this was a guy I could take in a fair fight, anyway. Just a lanky six-foot tall pizza delivery dope runner.

It sounded like he was rummaging through cassettes or CDs. Probably had a musical craving that needed itching. I could hear him cursing under his breath. My calves were trembling from holding that ridiculous pose, but I was starting to feel less anxious and more amused. Even if I were wrong and he didn’t leave right away, what was the worst that could happen? I jump him and make him hand over the ledger. He wasn’t going to call the police. Absurd as it was, if the neighbors reported me, I could be in trouble. But if D-Bag caught me in his house, it would probably do nothing more than save me the trouble of searching the place. I started to wonder if I shouldn’t sneak up behind him while he was in his room. That thought was discarded as he came marching into the hall. My heart leapt into my throat. Despite rationalizing the situation, there was a primal reaction to my perceived predicament. But D-Bag slapped the light switch off and headed straight down the stairs.