Disturbia (The 13th)

by Tabatha Manuel

  Disturbia

  (The 13th Series)

  by

  Tabatha Manuel

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright © 2012 by Tabatha Manuel

  http://TabathaManuel.blogspot.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews. This is a work of fiction. The author invented the characters. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Kindle, Edition, License Notes

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  Friday, July 13, 2012 7:00 am

  “You got 24 hours dammit.”

  Sal startled from the yelling and banging on the door awoke from his deep sleep.

  “You hear me in there, you fucking prick,” the shouts continued. Finally, the banging stopped. “Lazy piece of shit,” he heard mumbled through the wood door only a few feet away from his cot in his studio apartment.

  The sun struggled to poke its way through, but was overshadowed by the dingy paper shades taped up to the small window near his cot. The apartment was more like a six by eight cell in a prison. It was lifeless and gloomy matching what had become of Sal's life.

  He rubbed his forehead trying to fight the throbbing in his temples. The night before had been like many others within the past 13 months – filled with tequila, rum, topped off with a Budweiser. Anything to help him take the edge off and go to sleep. Ever since his wife had called it quits on their marriage, kicking him out of their home in the suburbs, life just hadn't been the same. Sure she kicked him out, but soon thereafter she found herself also homeless when the sheriffs tossed all of their belongings on the front yard in the sale. The home had been foreclosed. Their once perfect suburban life of when he worked as a customer service manager in a food processing call center had been destroyed due to budget cuts and layoffs. His once beloved wife and most prized possession had nothing to do but be the perfect housewife and tend to his every need. Even though, it wasn't much, his sixty-five thousand annual salary was more than enough to satisfy their comfortable, yet modest lifestyle. With nothing to do but collect unemployment, his manhood and will to live had subdued. Drinking became his saving grace. It was his only escape. And as the days lingered with him as a drunkard mess, Susan sought her own independence and started waiting tables. And that's when she found the strength to rid her life of him. Broke and with no one to turn to, Sal began working in an auto parts factory making a measly eight dollars an hour, which could barely pay his rent in the run down building he moved to on Detroit's east-side. Oddly enough and also because of her hourly minimum wage, it wasn't too long after they split that Susan also found herself in the slum, close to where he had moved, renting a one bedroom ranch in a neighborhood full of burned and abandoned houses. To Sal, the void of losing his wife,was unbearable. And liquor was the only way he could cope with his new found reality.

  He slowly sat up and rubbed his eyes. Aw another day. What bullshit awaits me today. He reached on the floor near the right side of the cot and grabbed the remote control. Not wanting to admit it, but he was actually grateful that the landlord had thrown a fit. As annoying as it was, he served as Sal's alarm clock. One more tardy and he would get more than docked for his pay. He would actually get fired. He had only been on the job for three months. The job had come just in time too. His unemployment checks had just stopped and he was down to his last penny.

  The morning news flashed across the screen.

  Today will be a scorcher with record breaking highs going up to 105 degrees. The heat index will make it feel like 110. This is odd even for July in Detroit. We haven't had temperatures this hot since 1964.

  The screen flashed to the seven day forecast that showed after today temperatures cooling down to around the average of about 85 degrees.

  Great day for taking the family for a swim Mike.

  The camera focused on two male news anchors dressed in black suits talking.

  Sure is. Everyone keep cool on this Friday the 13th. Drink plenty of water and try to limit your physical activities until at least the sun sets.

  He pushed the off button cutting off the chatter between the anchors as they continued about the temperatures. It started to irritate him. He hated the heat, especially this type of heat, but he figured there was nothing he could do about it and was irritated he had to leave out today and go to work. He wished he could lie in the air conditioning all day. Not like his apartment had it. It was stuffy as hell in there and would surely be unbearable by mid afternoon.

  Sal stretched his arms and let out a loud yarn mixed with an “Oh shit,” and then got up and headed to the kitchen which was only three steps away. Instead of the tall fridge he was accustomed to, he reached down low for the miniature icebox that most kids had stored away in their college dorms. His eyes glowed as he placed his hand around the brown glass bottle. Last one, gotta make a run to the store on my way home today. Don’t forget.

  The cold beverage refreshed both his dry mouth and his sober brain. Sobriety was the enemy. It reminded him too much of what he had lost. He stepped over the clothes he had on the night before, almost tripping over his torn leather belt, and moved pass the piss filled toilet, making his way to the shower, only to be reminded that the shut off notice for his hot water went into effect today. After the brutal shower that left him feeling even dirtier than he had before he stepped in, he lay back down on the dingy sheets on his cot and closed his eyes - just for a second before he started another day in paradise.

  ***

  Miguel squinted his eyes as the sun beamed while he stepped outside to grab the morning paper. He wasn't expecting any deliveries today. He glanced at his watch that read 7:15 am and he knew it was too early for the mail to come anyways. That made the brown box sitting at the front door of the convenience store even more baffling. Miguel knew for a fact that it wasn't there the night before he climbed the fire escape to his apartment upstairs. Still yet, he bent down to pick it up. While still lowered to the ground, he heard a lady scream and he abruptly glanced up to see a man forcing a woman in the car. For a second he thought maybe he could save the dark woman with sandy brown hair from the cocky dude with the white undershirt on, but then the thought quickly vanished from his mind as he remembered the neighborhood he was in. This area was ruthless and so were the people. He would probably end up in the truck of that man's car if he interfered. And even more disturbing to him was the fact that the police would show up hours after the incident, if they even bothered to answer the phone at all.

  Just from the short time of being outside, he already had droplets of sweat forming on his forehead. His back started to feel wet and his red t-shirt began sticking to his olive skin. Wanting to escape from the heat, he then carried the light box inside to prepare himself for what was almost opening time.

  Miguel plopped the square box on the counter behind the register. He noticed the box had no return sender. It was only addressed to Lucky's Beer & Wine. This had never happened since he had been owner since taking over the store when his father died, but he figured anyone who wanted to send him free merchandise was more than welcome. It looked like candy. The wrapper was red and had black stripes painted on it. In the middle was just the number six. The box was full of the stuff and all together there had
to be about 3,000 little packages of it. Miguel turned it over to read more about what it was, but the information was limited. The only thing it read was:

  Synthetic Kush. Not For Human Consumption.

  His mind quickly referenced to the Internet where he had saw a similar product called Spice that had been used by teenagers and weed smokers to get high. He remembered seeing some reports that the drug shouldn't be mixed with liquor or any other drugs or the user could suffer hallucinations. But since he hadn't heard of it being illegal or having any real side effects on anyone, he decided to make some money off of it and market it like candy. He made a small display with about fifty packages near the register. He figured he could sell a couple for a quick profit and maybe even try a little himself. If it could help him relax then that would be a good thing. He was stressed by the overwhelming debt his father had left with the store. Creditors were breathing down his neck and he was on the verge of bankruptcy. If something didn't happen quick then he could kiss the store and his father's entrepreneurial dream goodbye.

  Time had slipped by quickly and 9:00 am crept up on him like the grim reaper. Friday was a day he wasn't looking forward to. Summertime with all the kids out of school and with nothing to do, they would surely, like every weekend, be hanging in front of the store coming in and out – some buying, but mostly stealing what little they could find. In this poor neighborhood, stealing was a way of survival, especially for kids whose parents' food stamps ran out by the middle of the month. He figured that went with the territory, and out of pity, he fought them as little as possible.

  He pulled the bolt off the door, clicked off the alarm and went back behind the register where he glanced at the 12-gauge leaned against the back wall.

  ***

  Sal slammed the door of his beat up Lincoln he had just recently purchased. It was 15 years old and on its last leg. Susan had got the explorer in the divorce, leaving him one bad leak away from public transportation. He looked up at the huge warehouse. Damn I hate this place. Hesitation crept in his mind and he was ready to turn around and bail on this place today. But then he remembered that he needed the money more desperately than he needed peace of mind, so he reluctantly moved forward and stepped through the steel doors to take his post on the factory line. He reminded himself that the eight dollars an hour he would make today would be worth it, and he would be happy that he had stayed next Friday when he got his paycheck. He could barely breathe as he made his way up the gravel and through the wire gate. The humidity was drying out his lungs and brought back childhood memories of when he was sick with asthma.

  “Sal, my man,” a chubby guy with a baseball hat with a D printed on the front said. He outstretched his hand and they both greeted each other with a slap to the inside hand.

  “How's it looking today?” Sal said.

  “Shit, better than being outside in the fucking heat. But Raymond is on some shit today. He's watching us like a damn prison warden.” Raymond was the line boss. Sal had a couple of run-ins with him, with Raymond writing him up for attendance and loud talking on the job, but overall he thought everything was pretty okay with Raymond. And his job.

  “Oh fuck, well I'll stay out of his way today. Little pussy,” Sal said and then they both laughed.

  The small black and white TV mounted on the wall above their work area had on the morning news. At first the factory workers were engaged in frivolous conversations about sex, bills, and the playoffs, but then the gruesome story caught Sal's attention and he was suddenly engrossed in the breaking news of the day.

  Breaking News: The police are now calling the five mutilated bodies the work of a serial killer. The latest victim is a Hispanic woman in her early to late twenties. Police have yet to identify the identity of the victim. The following is a composite of the suspect.

  The screen flashes to a sketch of a white male in his early thirties with oval shaped eyes and thick eyebrows.

  His name is David Robinson. The suspect's wife was found sawed in half in their bedroom on Detroit's east-side by her mother today. If you see the suspect, call the police immediately. Do not approach him as the police warn he might be armed and is considered extremely dangerous.

  A helicopter shot of the suspect's house and neighborhood flashed across the screen followed by the African American reporter interviewing one of his neighbor's. Sal thought that the neighbor, a little old lady with big pink rollers with a hair net over her head, reminded him of Lucy, his nosy ass neighbor who he absolutely loathed. Nothing bothered him more than a person who pried in his business. Not that he really had any lately. But still, he didn't want to share his misery with anyone. He wanted to wallow in his own self pity in peace. All the “how are you doing” and “what's a nice looking young man like you doing alone on a Saturday night” was enough to make him want to strangle the life out of her. Mind your damn business he would scream in his mind as he feigned a smile and swallowed hard every time they passed in hall.

  Lucky son of a bitch, he thought about David Robinson. At least he had the balls to do something about his misery. He was probably married to a bitch too. His wife was probably a two timing bitch who tried to leave him the minute shit started to go downhill just like my bitch ass wife did to me. The minute I lost my job and needed an outlet she bailed. I should have killed her too...I should have done the exact same thing as David Robinson. I hope they never find the son of a bitch.

  “Dammit Sal,” Raymond yelled. Snapped out of his own evil thoughts, Sal glanced up to see Raymond standing over him and a pile of door handles, which he was suppose to be placing on the car at his point in the line, surrounded him on the cement floor.

  “Oh, sorry boss,” he said as he stood up. “I guess I wasn't paying attention.” His face turned bloodshot red. Even though he hated the job, he knew how important it was to his survival. He had no other income and not a single soul in this world who would be willing to help him. Especially now that Susan was gone.

  “In my office,” he said. Sal stared at the floor in embarrassment. “Now,” he shouted.

  ***

  “You know I've been trying to stick up for you,” he said as he slammed the door. “But I'm tired of it. You come in drunk every shift, you show up late, and when you finally do get here...you fuck up.” Raymond sat down behind the messy old wooden desk.

  “I...well today was a mistake.” Sal remained standing with his hands cupped behind his back.

  “It's always a damn mistake,” Raymond replied. “Sal...,” he said as he folded his arms and put a stern look on his face. “My sup wanted to do this a long time ago and I've taken a lot of heat for you, but...but I'm afraid I'm gonna have to let you go.”

  From that second on, everything went in slow motion for Sal. Raymond's voice started to sound like a distorted track being remixed on a turn table. He played it over and over again in his head before the words actually registered.

  “I'm afraid I'm gonna have to let you go.”

  Sal hadn't expected this. He didn't see this coming. He was blindsided without a doubt. The embarrassment. The failure. The humiliation. He had been a supervisor himself...making triple this. He had graduated from college. A college graduate, for crying out loud...and now...and now he was being fired from a measly minimum wage job. All of a sudden he felt a rush of heat take over his body. Sweat poured from his hairline and down the sides of his face. The anger. The anger. The anger inside of him boiled over to capacity.

  “You'll get your pay for the rest of today. Please turn in your badge and door pass and see your way out.”

  “See my way out?” he asked. “Ahhhrrrrrrwwww you son of a bitch,” he yelled and grabbed Raymond's desk. He quickly picked it up and flung it to the opposite side of the room leaving Raymond's crossed legs and Kenneth Cole loafers exposed. Raymond was speechless and just sat there with his jaw dropped to the ground. He, at that moment, also had something take over his body. Fear. Sal was scaring the living shit out of him. His training had taught him to nev
er underestimate a disgruntled employee; there had been too many shootings, bombings, and hostage situations from sudden terminations. He had to think quickly on his toes. Staring deep into Sal's tormented eyes; he knew that when he reached for it that he had better have a tight grip. One of them was about to make a move and Raymond knew that his had better be successful.

  All of a sudden Raymond yanked his cell out of his holster on his hip and then he jumped up and back against the wall away from Sal. He quickly dialed the number to security. “Get in here...hurry. My office, my office now.”

  To his surprise, Sal didn't make another move. He just stared. He looked as if his spirit had departed from his body and he was void of any natural life, with only a soul possessed by the devil himself. Within seconds, three tall and overweight security guards with clubs raced through. As the door blasted open, Sal with his hands in front of him and in a grabbing position, tried to leap over the scattered papers and fallen desk items to get one last chance at snatching the life out of his overbearing boss. He knew it would be the last time he would have the opportunity. He figured that since Raymond had called security anyways that he might as well make them get their day's worth.