Time to channel my inner punk and don the armor of attitude. Straightening
my spine, I waited for Kayden to round the car’s hood, then followed him across
the desolate front yard to one of the doors on the end. With my sunglasses firmly
in place, I tried to spot our watchers.
A rapid spat of Spanish fought with canned laughter, while the dull thumps
of someone’s stereo competed for equal airspace. Behind closed doors, a baby cried, and a fairly impressive argument ensued in a brutal mix of Spanish and English. All we needed to make this complete was some pit bull bursting around
the corner, fangs dripping saliva.
Instead, we made it to the door where a dirty, white number eight hung
crookedly, without incident. Kayden knocked. The itch at the back of my neck grew, but I refused to give into the temptation and look around. We waited while
our summons went unanswered.
“Now what?” I muttered.
Kayden shot me a look. “Why don’t you stand over here?”
“Uh?”
“Get over here.” He snagged my arm and placed me between him and the
other doors. Then, he pulled a couple of small metal pieces from his pocket and
bent over the lock.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I couldn’t help myself. “Really, Your
Honor, it wasn’t what it looked like. We just forgot our key.”
Kayden ignored my commentary as he applied the picks. After what seemed
liked forever, he shoved his little tools into a pocket, and then grasped the handle. With a quick twist of his wrist the door opened. With Kayden on one side, and me on the other, we let the door swing wide.
“Tito?” Kayden waited for an answer. When none came, he stepped into the
silent interior.
I stuck close, shoving my sunglasses up. It took a few moments for my eyes
to adjust to the dimness inside. Long enough for the smell to hit me. Sickening
sweet, the nauseating stink of weed couldn’t be missed. Wrinkling my nose, I did
my best to breathe through my mouth. Unfortunately, that just made me cough.
“You good?” Kayden asked.
“Trying to avoid a contact high.”
“Good luck.” He closed the door behind us, shutting us in the hazy gloom.
I mourned the loss of fresh air but understood we didn’t want to encourage
the neighbors to visit.
The apartment layout was simple. Living room in front, kitchen in back, and
a short hall with possible bedrooms on the left. A battered, sheet-covered sofa slumped under the window to my right, a broken-down recliner, complete with
an ashtray resting on the arm, huddled in the corner. A coffee table squatted in
front of both, cluttered with various electronics including a TV sitting squarely
in the middle, the screen sporting a lovely starburst pattern.
“Guess someone wasn’t happy with the outcome of the game,” I quipped.
Kayden led the way down a threadbare hall.
I peeked around his back into a truly odoriferous bathroom that the CDC
wouldn’t even attempt to enter without protection. “There’s no way anything human could stay here.”
