Blood and Justice (24 page)

He jumped from his car, and ran over to the metal door at the back of the building leading into the employee area. He eased it open and peeked inside.

All clear.

He hurried inside and tucked his lunch into his locker, pulled out his cap, and he was ready.

He strode through the swinging doors and into the store like nothing had happened.

But it had.

A shipment of several skids of tissues had arrived. They’d been advertised in the flyer, and were to be piled mountain high, and put on special sale. Jeremy’s job.

A page hadn’t turned him up, and so Mr. MacKay had been limping around the store for the past several minutes, looking for him. He finally determined Jeremy wasn’t there.

Jeremy was intent on straightening up some cans a careless customer had moved around. A few belonged on another shelf, so he’d moved them to their correct display, and was surveying his job.

“There you are Jeremy.” The boss sounded mad.

Jeremy turned. “Yes, Mr. MacKay.”

“Are you late again?” he fumed.

“Just a few minutes late, sir. I had a small problem.”

MacKay wasn’t tall, but he towered over Jeremy as he gave him his new orders.

Jeremy slunk away, cursing silently.

He set up the display of tissues as the scumbag boss had directed. He was satisfied with the job he’d done, and stood back and admired it when he was finished.

A few minutes later, he was paged to come to MacKay’s office.

He walked to the back of the store, and swung open the door to the office.

“Come in Jeremy. Sit down.” MacKay seemed a little bit calmer now.

Jeremy came in and sat on the edge of the chair. He looked at MacKay. “You paged me, sir?”

MacKay cleared his throat. “Jeremy . . . I’m sorry to have to say this, but I have to let you go.”

“Go where, sir?”

“Uh, I’m firing you, Jeremy.”

Jeremy looked stunned. He didn’t say anything, just stared.

“Did you hear me, Jeremy?”

“Yes . . . yes, sir,” he said quietly, and then asked, “But why?”

“Because you’re always late, or taking time off.”

“It won’t happen again. I promise you.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve already decided,” MacKay said firmly.

“But I need this job. I have bills to pay. Taxes. Food to buy . . .”

“I’ll give you an extra week’s pay, and pay you for today, but that’s all I can do.”

Jeremy was dazed. Now what would he do? He got up slowly and turned to leave.

“You may go home now, and pick up your pay at the end of the week as usual,” MacKay said.

Jeremy left the office. He went to the break room, opened his locker, grabbed his lunch bag, threw his hat in the garbage bin, and stepped out the back swearing to himself all the while.

Chapter 39

Monday, August 15th, 10:05 AM

BENNY Flanders was hungry. He hadn’t had anything to eat today, and yesterday’s pickings had been sparse. His stomach had rumbled all night, seeking sustenance.

He sauntered lazily down Pine Street, a middle class neighborhood in central Richmond Hill. He looked left and right.

Soon he saw a possibility. A house with no vehicles in the driveway. He crossed the road and leaned casually against an old Maple tree while a car drove by. After looking up and down the street, and seeing no one else, he dashed over the lawn and stopped at the side of the house.

He peeked in the window. Nobody. He crept around to the back of the house and looked through the back door. He could see the kitchen. Nobody.

Moving carefully, he circled around the house and back to the front door. He climbed the steps, rang the doorbell and waited.

He grinned. Looks like nobody’s home.

He looked around cautiously, and then jumped over a railing and hid behind a bush. A woman was pushing a baby carriage up the street. He waited until she passed, and keeping low and tight against the house, he circled back until he was at the rear door again.

He examined it. The outside screen door opened, but the inside door looked secure. He tested the knob. Locked.

Backtracking a little, he crouched down by a rear window leading to the basement of the dwelling. He smiled grimly as he removed a small knife from his side pocket. He flipped open the knife, and worked the blade in between the window frame and the glass. He struggled with it a little while, and then heard a pop. He pushed gently, and the window swung open.

He climbed through feet first, landed like a cat on the concrete floor, and then stood and looked around at the usual junk one would find in a basement. Old cabinets, chairs, a broken table, and a bunch of boxes full of stuff lining the side wall.

The steps to the main floor were to the right. He climbed them cautiously, just in case someone was about. When he reached the top, he swung open the door and stepped in. He listened intently a moment, and heard nothing. So far, so good.

Straight ahead was the kitchen. He could see the fridge and stove from where he stood. He crept across the tiled floor and into the kitchen. The clock on the wall ticked, the fridge hummed, and Benny breathed, but all was otherwise still and quiet.

The fridge proved to contain a harvest of food. Some leftover chicken, half a meatloaf. Stuff to drink, veggies, and more. A real feast. Benny’s mouth watered. He made several trips back and forth from the fridge to the table, as he chose the items he planned to devour.

A cupboard by the sink contained plates. He slid one off the stack, and then selected a knife and fork from the drawer underneath.

He pulled out one of the hard wooden chairs from the table, sat, slipped a paper napkin from its holder, and tucked it under his chin.

The can of Coke fizzed as he popped the tab. He took a long swallow, and then breathed out contentedly.

He piled his plate high with food and eagerly set about devouring it. It didn’t take long, and soon he set back, rubbed his belly, belched a couple of times, and sighed with satisfaction.

He sat a minute and formulated further plans. Anything valuable would probably be upstairs. Maybe he could find some jewelry or something to make it worth his while. Or maybe even some money stashed somewhere. Let me try that first. Any money would be in an office, if there is one.

He got up and went to the living room. He spied what looked like an office leading off from there. He pushed the door open. Yup, it’s an office. He went behind the faux oak desk and sat in the swivel chair. A computer sat darkly on the desktop, along with a stuffed penholder, and a small lamp. Rather organized. He tried the center drawer first. More pens, pencils, writing paper, paperclips. The side drawers contained some file folders, a stapler, a checkbook, and lots of empty space.

But no money.

He looked around for a safe. He stood and examined behind pictures, in a cabinet, and anywhere he could think of, but still no safe. He folded his arms and stood still for a minute. There didn’t seem to be anything worthwhile in here.

I’ll try upstairs.

He left the office and wandered around the rest of the main floor. He spied the stairs leading to the second floor, near the front of the house, by the front door.

He hummed to himself as he climbed the steps. Reaching the top, he saw two bedrooms, and a bathroom. He poked his head through the door of the first room. Hmmm. Appears to be a teenager’s room. There won’t be anything there. The other room must be the master bedroom. He tried the closed door and it swung open silently. He stepped inside and looked around.

He saw a queen sized bed on the far wall, piled high with fluffy pillows, and covered with a pure white comforter. To his right was a walk-in closet. He poked his head in there. Just clothes. To his left was a door leading into the bathroom. There was a dresser along the side wall, and a vanity on the other.

He went to the vanity. It had a big mirror in front. He looked in the mirror and made a face. The mirror made a face back at him. He laughed and continued looking. There was a bank of small drawers in the front, and he popped them open and closed. Nothing interesting there.

On the top of the vanity, there were rows of little containers and holders, containing makeup, lipstick, hairbrushes, tweezers, and all kinds of other junk he had no interest in.

Ahhh! There it is. A small jewelry box over to the side. He slid it forward and lifted the lid. A couple of rings, a necklace or two, and some earrings. It didn’t look like a major score, but he dumped the contents of the box into the side pocket of his overcoat, patted his pocket shut, and tossed the box back.

He took another quick look around, decided there was nothing else worth scrounging, and headed for the door.

My work is done here.

He stepped into the hallway and stopped short as he heard someone moving around downstairs. The tap tap of shoes across the tiled floor, leading from the front entrance to the kitchen.

He held his breath. Should he dare to creep down the stairs and make a dash for the door?

He heard a gasp from downstairs. It sounded like a woman, and it was coming from the kitchen. He heard her running around, and then the unmistakable tone of a cell phone dialing. Three numbers. He swore to himself. She was calling 9-1-1.

She must’ve seen the food and plates he left on the table. He cursed to himself again and wondered what to do.

He made a decision. He had to try it. He crept down the stairs, but the steps that’d been so quiet when he went up, had now decided to squeak.

He was sure she would’ve heard that.

He took the rest of the steps three at a time, and had just reached the front doors when he saw a blur behind him. He twisted the knob. She must’ve locked it as she came in. Too late. He felt a glancing blow on the back of his head. It stunned him briefly, and he ducked down, and half-crawled, half-ran, into the living room.

She chased him, swinging a pot. One he’d left on the table.

She didn’t seem to be afraid as she pursued him across the room. He jumped behind a couch in the center of the room, making a barrier between them, and then spun around and faced her.

She was probably in her mid-thirties, and he couldn’t help but notice she was pretty good looking. But she also looked to be in good shape physically, and could probably beat him into meat patties if she caught him.

She stopped and waited, not sure whether to chase him around the couch, or to wait.

“You’re trapped,” she said.

“I didn’t mean no harm,” he whined.

“I don’t mean any harm either. Just step over here and I’ll show you that, you coward.” She raised the pot menacingly.

“Ju . . . just let me go. I didn’t take anything.”

She advanced a foot or two. He crouched, ready to run.

“I called the police,” she said.

He was trembling now, his hands shaking. His voice shook as well, as he said, “Please lady, I was just hungry. That’s all I did, was eat a little food.”

“We don’t keep food upstairs.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I can wait here all day,” she said, “until the police come.”

He looked back and forth, and then back at her. He couldn’t find any way out, except past her and the pot she gripped.

She reached into a pocket in her skirt, pulled out her cell phone and dialed 9-1-1 again.

“9-1-1. What is your emergency?”

“I called a few minute ago.” She gave her name and address. “I have him trapped in the house.”

“The police are on their way. They’ll be there shortly. Does he have a weapon?”

She grinned. “He doesn’t appear to have any weapon, but I do. I’m holding him off with a pot.”

“Please don’t endanger yourself in any way ma’am. It may be better for you to leave and let the police handle it.”

“I’ll be careful,” she said.

“Stay on the line ma’am. The police will be there shortly.”

Benny looked around again. He had to make a move.

She left the phone on, and as she slipped it into her pocket, he made a mad dash for the door. She swung the pot and he thought maybe she’d broken his backbone. He stumbled to the floor, rolled a couple of times, slammed against the wall, and jumped to his feet.

She hit him again. The pot sang as she caught him on top of the head. He fell again, and then he was up, stumbling into the kitchen toward the back door. He twisted the lock, and then the knob, yanked the door open and dove through head first, landing on his back with a thump.

The pot connected with his shoulder as he rolled to his feet. He lost his balance, staggered a moment, and then dashed across the deck, jumped the three steps to the lawn, and vaulted the hedge.

“Police. Stop.”

He looked over his shoulder as he ran toward the neighbor’s property. A cop was leveling a gun at him. He didn’t stop. He felt sore all over and a little dazed by the blow to the head, but he continued to run.

He glanced over his shoulder again. The cop was running too, two of them now, and gaining on him.

He rounded the neighbor’s house and headed for the street. The cops followed, ordering him to stop.

The police car was parked at the curb in front of the house. He dashed toward it, and whipped open the door. The keys were in it. He jumped in, started it up, and sped away, the driver’s side door swinging on its hinges as he careened down the street.

In the rear view mirror, he could see the cops, still chasing him on foot. He chuckled. He took a left at the intersection without looking, bumped over a curb, and spun back onto the asphalt.

Main Street was straight ahead, so he gunned it. He touched the brake to avoid a pick-up truck as he spun through the red light, making a left onto Main. The truck whipped around, tires squealing, and came to an abrupt stop, its wheels plowing sideways into the curb.

Benny stomped on the gas pedal again.

Dead ahead, right out of nowhere, a cruiser was sitting at right angles on the street, blocking his path. He slammed on the brakes. His car spun sideways, did a bit of a hop, and then plowed broadside into the tail end of the cruiser.