by Mac Flynn
My apartment building was a good twenty minutes away from work, but it was the closest place I could find without paying more in rent than I made. The last half of my long walk took me into the tough neighborhoods. The blocks of towering old brick buildings almost swayed in the wind as their ancient, drafty windows glared down at me. A third of the streetlights were out and graffiti covered the alley walls between the six-floor buildings.
I reached the stoop of my apartment building and paused on the bottom step. The light over the front door was out, but I could just make out a familiar figure seated in the doorway with their back against the front of the building. Hobo Harold. Nobody had any idea if Harold was his real name, but he answered to it. The guy was a sort of smelly mascot for the apartment building, and had been for ten years. Most of the time he could be found seated at the top of the stoop in the recessed doorway. His worldly belongings consisted of two thick blankets, one of which he always sat on, his clothes, and a large leather duffel bag, the contents of which he never revealed to anyone.
Harold was about fifty, or maybe seventy, with a scruffy gray beard, thinning hair, and a toothy smile. His summer garb consisted of a worn pair of jeans. For his winter garb he added a thick wool shirt and long coat that looked like it'd seen better days during the Revolution. The American one, not the one in the 1970s.
"Hey, Harold," I called to him as I trudged up the short flight of steps.
"'Morning, Miss Luvena," he replied
I pulled out my apartment keys and smiled. "It's evening, Harold."
He looked up at the sky and squinted. "I guess it is. Where'd the time go?"
I would've suspected he was into drugs or alcohol, but he did neither. He looked haggard, not high.
"Sucked away by employment," I quipped.
He furrowed his brow and shook his head. "No, I don't think it's that. I don't have none of that. Haven't for a long time."
I put my key into the locket and turned it. "I don't know if I should envy or pity you, Harold."
Harold shuffled deeper into his array of overcoats and worn, soiled blankets. "Neither, Miss Luvena. I get along." He had a way at pulling at heart strings even after they'd been stretched tight by a long day in the service sector. I pulled out a dollar and handed it to him. He grinned and tipped his head at me. "Thank you, Miss Luvena. It means a lot to me."
I smiled and stepped a foot inside. "No problem, but don't spend it all in one place."
He tucked the dollar into his myriad of pockets and nodded. "I'll try not to, Miss Luvena."
I waved at him and entered the lobby of the dingy old apartment building. The small space was just large enough for the desk at the rear, and on the right side of that were the narrow stairs that led up to the rooms. The owner of the apartment building, an older gentleman with tired eyes by the name of Mr. Marvin Copo, sat on a stool behind the desk. One elbow was propped up by the desk and in his other hand was the paper.
I walked up to the desk and nodded at the archaic form of news distribution. "You still read that?"
He looked up and smiled at me. "Evening, Miss Luvena." He picked up the paper and folded it shut. "I thought I'd catch up on the world for a bit, so I bought a paper. Don't know where I'd get my news except from the old gossips in this place."
"There's always the internet," I suggested.
He shrugged and returned to his paper. "Can't wrap my head around that thing and all them pages. I'll stick with the devil I know."
I swept my eyes over the front page. "So what's the devil telling you today?"
"That the rich are getting richer except the ones that are having their things stolen," he commented.
I raised an eyebrow. "That thief again?"
He nodded. "Yep. The cops don't know who's doing it, but it's got all them swells on Park Place Avenue up in a bind." I frowned. That was the second mention of that street in less than two hours. Copo flipped over the paper and shook his head. "Maybe they'll catch him, or maybe they won't, but at least he's giving me some entertainment."
"Mind if I borrow that paper?" I asked him.
He looked up and raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said it wasn't no good."
I smiled and shrugged. "You live and learn."
He shook his head, but pulled out one section and passed the rest of the paper over to me. "All right, but don't go messing with the ad section. I'm not doing look at it."
"I promise I'll be careful," I assured him as I turned to the stairs.
My apartment was located on the third floor. I unlocked the door and stepped inside. The lights were already on, and a woman was in the small kitchen. She was hunched over a frying pan with her back to me. A few swear words floated over to me.
"Damn it! Why the fuck won't you obey me!" she growled.
I smiled and walked over to the chair, couch, and coffee table that made up our living room. "Trouble with the sunny-side eggs?" I guessed
She yelped and spun around. In her hand was a egg-splattered spatula. She glared and shook the spatula at me. Bits of egg flew onto the kitchen table that stood between us.
"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" she scolded me.
I plopped myself on the couch and leaned back with a sigh. The paper hung from my hand over the arm of the couch. "If you'd pay more attention to your surrounding you would've heard me."
"How can I hear a ghost?" she retorted.
I tossed the paper onto my lap and stretched my arms over my head. "Maybe have a Ouija board set up over the door? It might start spinning if a ghost comes around."
She snorted and returned to her cooking. "You're nuts."
I glanced down at the paper in my lap. The bottom-fold headline was in large, bold letters: Jewel Thief Strikes Again. Not a catchy headline, but I read further.
Police are baffled as another jewel heist hit the residential neighborhood of Park Place Avenue. This time a diamond bracelet was taken from the secret safe. There appears to be no forced entry, and the owner, the real estate heiress Miss Eileen Eres, was found unconscious beside the open safe. When interviewed by police, she told them she remembered nothing from that night but a pair of red eyes.
Felicia came up and set two cups of cocoa on the coffee table in front of me. She nodded at the paper. "It must've been a tough day if you're reading from that."
I tossed the paper onto the table and took one of the cups. A sip of the delicious chocolate and I felt better. My eyes flickered up to my friend who seated herself in the chair opposite me. "You happen to know of another dead-end job that's open?" I asked her.
She raised an eyebrow. "The boss bothering you again about the wilting flowers he forgot to water?"
I set down the cup and shook my head. "No, worse. He's got me running errands."
Felicia frowned. "Isn't that what Johnny's for?"
I shrugged. "Supposedly, but this rich guy came into the store just before closing time and demanded I take some of his order to an apartment on Park Place. He was going to cancel the order if I didn't."
My friend snorted. "Must have been a big order."
I tucked a leg underneath myself. "Yeah. He spent my entire month's salary in a few minutes."
Felicia blinked at me. "Seriously?"
I nodded. "Seriously."
She leaned forward and studied me. "This guy doesn't happen to be really cute, does he?"
I rolled my eyes. "A little, but he puts off this creepy vibe. And he tried to hit on me."
Felicia snorted. "I bet that got him far. Did you shoot him down or did he make a crash-landing?"
I shrugged. "I tried to shoot him down, but Vorax came from the back and shot me down."
"Damn. So where are all of these flowers going?" she wondered.
I picked up the cocoa mug and furrowed my brow as I looked at the contents. "That's one of the funny parts. Some of them are coming here."
Felicia frowned. "You didn't l
ike the guy hitting on you, but you gave him your address?"
I shook my head and looked my friend in the eyes. "That's what's so weird. I didn't give him my address."
"Maybe Vorax mentioned it?" Felixia guessed.
I snorted and took a sip. "He doesn't even know where I live."
Felicia shrugged. "Maybe he overheard you mutter something to yourself? You do that a lot."
I glared at her. "I never mentioned my exact home address while he was there." I slunk in my chair and took another sip as I replayed the confrontation in my mind. "There was definitely something weird about that guy."
My friend laughed. "Maybe that creepy vibe was just you trying to run away from a guy who was seriously into you. You don't exactly notice when they look at you."
I rolled my eyes. "If I want a guy to notice me it's not going to be some rich jerk buying flowers for some other girl."
Felicia furrowed her brow and rubbed her chin. "I see your point." A loud hissing sound alerted her to danger. She stood and walked over to the kitchen to where her frying pan awaited. "And so you've got to deliver flowers to his place tomorrow?"
I sat up and felt the color drain from my face. I hadn't even thought that the delivery would be to his own apartment.
My friend scratched her eggs onto two plates and grabbed a pair of forks. "Or maybe he wants you to meet his mom already and that's where you're going," she teased as she walked back to the living room. She set a plate in front of me and paused when she noticed my face. "You okay?"
I shook myself and straightened. "What? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. I just never thought he'd have flowers delivered to himself."
She plopped into her chair and shrugged. "I could be completely wrong about where you're going. Maybe it's his girlfriend and the ass just wants to show you what you're missing." She took a bite of the blackened remains of the eggs. Her face wrinkled and she put the plate down. "How about I take your mind off things with some nice Chinese?"
I looked down at my plate. The blackened eggs stared sadly back at me. I set the plate down and stood. "Agreed."
CHAPTER 3