Chapter 4
As McKenzie parked the truck on the side of the road, John glanced around nervously. McKenzie picked up on the feeling and agreed. He wondered if the truck would still be here when they came back out, or at least most of it. Part of him felt like an ass being so critical of people dealing with the lower end of life in a city. He was used to living off of a retirement check from the military and the low pay he made from the clients he got. But his client base was nothing above middle class, and he did well to have his little place out by the Suwannee River, even if it wasn’t fancy.
These guys, this neighborhood, gave off a feeling of danger. People walked around with gazes lowered, glancing at him from the sides of their eyes. Yelling could be heard from several houses, and police sirens seemed to be the neighborhood background music. McKenzie got out of the truck and stood surveying the immediate area as John nervously stood on the other side.
“Stay here at the truck, I’ll go knock on the door and see if our guy is home.” John nodded as McKenzie headed up the broken concrete sidewalk.
Taking a deep breath to cleanse away the distractions around him, McKenzie raised his fist and knocked on the wobbly frame of the screen door. Seeing the pictures of Bobby’s ex-wife and their kids, McKenzie found himself surprised that she would let then come here. Then again, maybe it was the kid’s idea, or perhaps court ordered, although the boy was old enough to not to have to follow custody rulings. Shrugging, McKenzie knocked again.
Finally, the door opened, and McKenzie was wondering if he had the wrong house.
“Is Bobby Andrew here?” Her eyes widened and the door was slammed in his face.
McKenzie stared at the door, dumbfounded before banging his fist on the frame.
“I’m trying to find out where his kids are and if you can’t help me I’m calling the cops! Right NOW!” McKenzie yelled over the pounding.
The door opened again, a crack, a dark brown eye staring at him.
“How do you know Bobby?” Her accent confirmed her Cuban background, her face pretty even with the look of confusion furrowing her brow.
“His ex-wife came to me, I’m a family friend. If I can’t get answers, she’s calling the police out here.”
“I don’t know where he is, he was yelling about everyone bothering him about the kids and he just slammed out the door and left.”
“Does he live here?” McKenzie tried to glance in the room behind her, but she kept the door open only wide enough to show half of her face.
“Sometimes. He doesn’t always come home. I can’t help you, cuz they’re not here.”
“Can me and my partner come inside and check around, so that we can tell Bobby’s ex not to send the cops here?” McKenzie watched her carefully as she glanced back before turning back to him.
“No, I don’t let people in if Bobby’s not here. I’m sorry.” She gave him a half-hearted smile and shut the door again.
McKenzie refrained from banging on the door again. Taking a deep breath, he headed back to the driver’s side of the truck. John watched him with raised eyebrows as he climbed back in the passenger seat.
“Now we move down the road a bit and wait,” McKenzie mumbled as he put the truck in gear and headed to a house several driveways down.
With the boarded over door, piles of garbage in the side and front yard, McKenzie was comfortable that homeowners wouldn’t be an issue, if anyone really owned this dump. Huffing in aggravation, he slid down in the seat, angling his head to see the driveway of Bobby’s house.
“You think she’s hiding something or just scared?” John glanced down the road behind them.
“Both, and I have a feelin’ she’s going to have company soon, or she’ll take off somewhere.” McKenzie sat back in the driver’s seat, a headache already building behind his brow.
John pulled an old paperback out and began to read, his eyes occasionally scanning the mirrors and streets around them. McKenzie settled on keeping the house in focus, the slightest movement being noted. When a dark sedan pulled up less than thirty minutes later, he was pleasantly surprised. He had expected it to take a bit longer, that she would need time to hide or clean whatever she didn’t want him to see.
No one got out of the car as the young woman left the house and went to the back door on the right side. She slipped into the vehicle and it pulled away. McKenzie waited another ten minutes before getting out of the truck. John sighed heavily, not needing to voice his concerns on them trying to break into a house, illegally, during the day, in a bad area. McKenzie could almost swear he could hear the words in John’s brain as though they were being spoken aloud.
Deciding on a brazen route, McKenzie walked along the cracked and broken sidewalk to the house and straight up the grease spotted drive. As he approached the front, he easily diverted to the side yard, stepping around a rusted out BBQ grill, an old bicycle, some faded blue plastic crates filled with empty beer bottles and continued around back. None of the windows seemed to be open, and the back door was locked.
Grinning at John, McKenzie pulled out the lock pick set and went to work on the door. John could feel his anxiety ratcheting up. Finally, after less than a minute, McKenzie stood and threw a cocky smile at John as he pushed the back door open.
“I’ll take the back end of the house; you start here in the kitchen. Look for anything that would belong to the teens and any proof or info that tells us anything about what could be going on.” McKenzie pointed around the kitchen before heading to the hall on the left.
John immediately went to work, checking drawers and cabinets in the kitchen as McKenzie headed down the short, dark path to three doors. The bathroom was behind one door, bedrooms behind the other two. The bathroom was a wreck, make-up and hair products covering the counter. The drawers contained more of the same. There was one toothbrush, and nothing looked like it specifically belonged to the teens. The toilet was gross and the tub hadn’t been cleaned in a year. McKenzie shook his head in disgust before heading into the spare room.
Trash bags and boxes contained miscellaneous clothing, shoes and other junk took up over half of the room. The closet was overflowing with more junk. The double bed was disheveled but held nothing obvious to McKenzie’s cause. Kneeling down on the floor, McKenzie winced out of a mixture of revulsion for the filth below him and the pain spiking in one of his knees. Putting both palms on the dirty carpet, he leaned down to look under the bed and was instantly rewarded.
A plastic card was just in reach for him to grab. Flipping it over, he saw a young girl’s face in an obvious professional school photograph, the name of the school on one side and “Catelyn Andrew Grade 11” at the bottom. McKenzie grabbed the bed to help pull himself up, brushing his knees and hands off. Pocketing the school ID, he went into the master bedroom.
Immediately it was clear that a man and a woman shared this room. If Bobby wasn’t here all the time, he at least kept a large majority of his belongings here. Clothing and shoes for both a woman and man were scattered everywhere. A framed photo of the Andrew’s kids sat on one nightstand next to a glass of cloudy water, a bottle of aspirin, and loose change. The other nightstand held a cheap romance novel, a tube of lipstick, and other clothing obviously belonging to the woman.
McKenzie began going through the dresser and nightstands, before repeating his kneeling to check under the bed. He was about to stand when he saw a crumbled piece of cellophane. Pulling it out, McKenzie noted the white powdery residue, and with a touch of his finger to the plastic and then his tongue, he realized Bobby had more problems than his dad realized.
Not much else was revealed in the back end of the house, so McKenzie headed towards the living room and kitchen with the hopes that John had found something more substantial. McKenzie had to restrain himself as he stepped out of the hall and saw John peeking out the window before shuffling back to a pile of mail on an end table. His friend’s nervous mannerisms were a cause of hilarity for McKenzie, despite his understanding of how someone tha
t had been through what they had, back in the day, would get to a point of borderline paranoia.
“Find anything?” McKenzie smirked when John jumped before giving him a glare.
“I think the woman was Marissa Mendez. The mail is all for her or Robert Andrew, Jr. Mostly the usual junk mail, government welfare information and notices for Bobby, plus letters from Marissa’s family in Cuba. Most of those were just the typical and boring ‘How’s America’ and ‘We’ll miss you at the reunion’ sort of stuff. John dropped the envelope he had been holding back into the pile and pointed toward the kitchen as he walked forward, “But I did find the good stuff in there.”
McKenzie followed John and stopped at the small round kitchen table. Several cans and boxes were sitting there, opened. The cans had the tops cut off along the outer sides, so they could be put back on. The boxes had the flaps open with little to no tearing. John handed over one of the cans, watching McKenzie’s face as he saw the rolls of money shoved in them.
“Pretty clever. I think they used one of those TouCan battery powered electric can openers you see on television for the cans.” John observed.
“How do you know this stuff?”
“Got one.”
“Figgers, but I won’t ask what you have it for. Probably for your not so medical marijuana.”
“Sure,” was all John said.
The boxes had less than half a bag of whatever was in them pulled out, revealing three small bags of what looked like cocaine. A box of cereal also contained a cheap Hi-Point 40SW-B, Semi-automatic .40 cal with a 4.5” barrel and 10-round magazine. McKenzie raised his brows as he glanced at John.
“I took pictures with my iPhone as I opened them and what was in each one. I made sure to take enough pictures to show what the package was as well as what as in each corresponding container. I just can’t figure out if we should put it all back or take it, or what.” John shook his head, his face somber at the discovery in his friend’s kid’s house.
“Nah, we can’t take it. That would probably lead to other angry people with guns and drugs getting’ involved. I know he was using, though, not just selling. Empty baggie under the bed. Damn it man.”
“Rob may have a hard time with this. I don’t know if we should tell him yet, though.”
“I agree. He could either scare off Bobby when he does come around or get the police involved and those kids disappear forever. Cuban tempers, cocaine, money, and guns are not a great mixture for a happy family reunion.” McKenzie sighed, his face grim.
“I know where it all came from. I’ll put it back if you want to go over the living room some more.”
McKenzie nodded and turned back to the front of the house as John began closing all the containers and putting them back in the cabinets. Most of the mail was as John had described, so McKenzie moved on to checking the odd drawers and cabinets around the room. He did find extra ammunition for the .40 cal, a few empty powdery bags, and some odd notes scratched on random receipt backs and scraps of paper. Each had initials and acronyms as well as numbers that McKenzie assumed were dates and times. Although Bobby tried to be clever about it, if you knew military time and date formats, it was pretty easy to figure out.
McKenzie took pictures of what he could with his phone, knowing John would figure out what to do with them later, and headed back in the kitchen as John closed the last cabinet.
“John, let’s get out of here before your anxiety explodes and makes an even bigger mess in this place.” John rolled his eyes as they left through the back door.
McKenzie made sure to lock the door behind them and they headed around the house. As they reached the front corner, John grabbed McKenzie’s arm and pointed at the familiar sedan turning onto the road. They backed up and headed across the overgrown yard to the rickety chain length fence separating the backyards of the houses. John climbed quickly and carefully, McKenzie taking a few seconds longer as his knee began to protest. He was afraid of the fence collapsing under his weight.
John quickly darted across the yard and to the next fence, McKenzie behind them. This one was in worse shape and as McKenzie threw his leg over the top and began to drop the six inches down, the fence jerked at an angle under collapse, throwing him on the ground with his leg being wrenched between the touching top and bottom of the chain fence lengths. Pulling his leg out, he grimaced as he heard the tear in his jeans and felt the burn of the metal scraping his skin. John pulled him up, and they went to the far side of the house before hurrying to the front and down the sidewalk to the driveway and McKenzie’s truck.
They didn’t look back until they were seated and locked in. The car was already backing out of the drive and heading away from them, the woman assumed to have gone inside. McKenzie let out a breath and bent down to look at his pants. The jagged tear was only three or four inches long. He pulled the sides of the tear to see the damage to his leg. The scratch was deep but less than two inches. He looked up and saw John’s concerned face watching him.
“Just a scratch and I’m lucky that’s all it was.”
“Well, now you can limp around like the old man you are. Should we stop for a cane?”
“Shut up.”
McKenzie shook his head as he pulled out of the abandoned residence and headed back to the hotel. John watched out the window as they passed Bobby’s house, and gasped slightly as he saw the woman standing at the screen door, watching them drive by. Her face was blank, and her arms hanging loosely by her sides. McKenzie had quickly shot his gaze in response to John and frowned as his focus went back to the road. John shivered a bad feeling as they finally drove out of sight from the house.
The Old Farts In Miami Page 7