Dire Means Read online

  Mark nodded.

  “Then you’ll be fine. You’re gonna end up with a better car than your Camry after your claim. As for the stuff in your place, what do you own that a thug would want?”

  “TV, computer…not much I suppose, but—”

  “Ha! You gotta learn to relax and enjoy life, Buddy, or you’re gonna kill yourself from the inside out!” Todd emitted a cackle that returned his voice to its usual grating volume. “And I’ll get your door rekeyed tomorrow. Don’t worry about it!”

  “Alright, see you then,” Mark said. He hesitated at his apartment door.

  “Want me to check your closets for ya?” Todd’s laugh echoed throughout the courtyard as he continued to his own apartment.

  Someone hissed, “Shhhh!” out of their window before slamming it shut.

  “Oh relax!” Todd shouted back.

  Mark couldn’t sleep. Each time he dozed off, any sound—each click of a closing door in another part of the complex or the footsteps of a neighbor passing by his front door—opened his eyes. He imagined the bitter irony of Ty and his accomplice using his own car and keys to come rob him again.

  He finally fell into a restless sleep at 5:00 a.m.

  §

  At 6:30 a.m., Mark’s clock radio alarm jolted him straight up in bed even though the sound was familiar. The pain that invaded every joint of his body lingered and he groaned as he got up.

  In the bathroom, he noticed the swelling in his eye had gone down, but a dark patch had developed under it and there was no way he could hide it.

  The shower and fresh clothing made him feel better and that was progress. “Baby steps—good,” he muttered as he paused to look around his apartment, trying to remember if there was anything else he needed to do while he was out today.

  He exited his front door and tucked his folded notes into his pocket as he walked the few steps to Todd’s front door. Todd had offered to drive Mark around town to help with the identity damage control and other chores. Mark knocked on Todd’s screen door and then peered in. Todd never locked his front door.

  “Todd?”

  “Enter!” Todd’s voice came from the back of his apartment. A few moments later he came out of the bathroom in his underwear, brushing his teeth. He held up a finger for Mark to wait and ducked back into the bathroom to spit.

  “Where is our tour today going to start?” Todd said, with his irrepressible, buoyant mood.

  “I need to drop by the DMV, my bank and then I can rent a car to take care of the rest on my own.”

  “Like hell you will. Just use my car until you get your insurance settlement. I won’t need it while you are using it during the day.”

  “Naa, I don’t want to drive your car. I get nervous in it. I don’t know how long I’ll need it. I’d just rather have my own.”

  Todd shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Fine. Suit yourself.” He tucked his pulled-out pockets back into his shorts and stepped into his flip-flops by the door.

  They walked from the apartment complex to a house next door. Todd pulled the frazzled rope handle to open the garage door. Inside, Todd flipped back a car cover to expose a pristine, black ‘63 Corvette Stingray.

  “There she is,” Todd said. He paused with the car cover halfway off and looked over to Mark. “You sure you’d rather pay for a subcompact rental instead of driving mine for free?”

  “Yeah,” Mark replied, swiping his hand across the mirrored finish of the car’s hood. “I’m nervous just standing next to her.”

  “Hey, Buddy, it’s only a car!” Todd reminded him.

  “Yeah, but hey Buddy, I’m not rich like you,” Mark replied. Todd laughed.

  Todd’s fortune had come to him easily. He was an only child and his parents had died in a robbery ten years ago when he was only eighteen years old. The family trust contained assets that yielded something over six thousand dollars per month in dividend payments for Todd’s use. He embarked on an instant career in surfing.

  His grandfather died a year ago followed only three months later by the death of his grandmother. A phone call from the executor of their estate informed Todd that he was sole beneficiary of an inheritance estimated at over four million dollars. Todd was rich, yet chose to live in an apartment buildings he owned near his beloved beach.

  Todd drove them both to Bonfiglio Café and entered to the sound and smell of bacon sizzling on the grill. Althea slid two ceramic mugs of hot coffee under their noses before they could even pick up their napkins.

  “The usual?” Henry mouthed to Todd from the grill so as not to disturb those listening to the news broadcast.

  “Sure thing,” Todd answered.

  Mark waved his hand, “No” and smiled, holding up an onion bagel he’d taken from a counter basket to go with his coffee. Henry slid some cream cheese and a butter knife down the counter to Mark.

  Up on the television, the morning news anchor revealed that Edgar Hayden, the postal worker reported missing yesterday, had triggered FBI involvement in the Santa Monica missing persons case since he was a federal worker. The screen showed Hayden’s wife and two small children, a boy and a girl, standing outside their home. Mrs. Hayden pleaded for the public’s help in finding her husband. She was in tears, clutching her daughter who then began to sob, burying her face into her mother’s side. Mrs. Hayden reported nothing unusual about Edgar Hayden’s recent behavior and, like the families of the other missing people, she ridiculed the speculation that Edgar had disappeared of his own will. “He would never do that.” She glared at the camera. “Our marriage is strong and he loves his kids.”

  The reporter promised more information on any new development as soon as they got it and the news broke to commercial.

  “You think somebody got those folk all locked up in one place?” Henry asked no one in particular.

  “Hell no! That there is the work of a serial killer,” a man in an orange hard hat said. “These disappearances are no accident! I told my wife and kids to lock the door and not to open it for anyone—including me.”

  “Yo wife ain’t in no danger,” answered a white-haired black man in a suit sitting at the opposite counter. He wiped his mouth and stood up to stuff his change into his wallet. “Them folk’s was all took while out ‘n’ about. Didn’t nobody break into nobody’s house to take nobody!” he said. “Look like from them folks that’s missing—safest place to be is home.” Then he put on his tan wide-brimmed hat and headed for the door. “Thank ya, Henry,” he said, lifting a wave to Henry without looking back.

  Todd was halfway finished with his meal before his first words to Mark. Food was one of the few things that could keep Todd quiet. “You think those people are going to turn up?” he asked.

  “I hope so. After what that old timer just said, I’m realizing that I’m out ‘n’ about all day every day for my work,” Mark said, flicking a bagel crumb from the counter.

  “Aaaaah, don’t worry,” Todd said with his mouth chock full of eggs and potatoes. He held up a finger for Mark to wait while he swallowed hard. “They’ll catch whoever’s doing it,” he said.

  After breakfast, Todd’s Corvette turned heads as it growled down Washington Boulevard. They stopped at the DMV so Mark could get a temporary driver’s license. As they passed by several groups of young people, girls gave him the thumbs-up sign and yelled while their male companions stood by, some visibly resentful. This always happened in the Vette.

  “All this attention could have been yours alone today, Buddy,” Todd said. He waved to two attractive women who giggled and tried to thumb a ride.

  “Thanks, but they’d find out it wasn’t mine. Besides,” Mark said as he turned in his seat to look back at the girls, “those girls would jump into your car when they don’t even know you and people around here are disappearing?”

  “Dude, you gotta learn to live in the moment! You’re too cautious!” Todd elbowed Mark, who just shook his head. “Anyway, all the missing people are from Santa Monica. We’re at least a mile a
way from there!” Todd threw his head back in a huge laugh that cut through the sound of his car.

  Mark remembered Uncle Leon’s claim that Mark had a train of unpaid favors following him, and the only way to use up his surplus of favors was to take some risks. Would accepting Todd’s very expensive classic car for a week be risky enough? Too risky, Mark thought. And totally out of his comfort zone.

  After a visit to the bank with his new license, he replaced his ATM card, completing the errands necessary to get him his own reliable transportation.

  Todd dropped him off at the car rental agency and within twenty minutes, Mark came out and told Todd that he was good to go. Todd saluted and his Vette roared out of the parking lot, turning the heads of everyone within two blocks.

  Mark’s rental car, a Toyota Corolla, was brand new. It didn’t have the acceleration of Todd’s Vette, but would sip gas and was more than adequate for Mark’s transportation. He stopped at his cell phone carrier’s store and got a replacement phone. Then he called his voicemail and discovered thirteen new messages from clients needing various types of computer help. He scribbled their numbers and needs on the back of his rental car agreement and then continued onto the hardware store for a new doorknob. There was no way he was going to wait for Todd to replace his locks.

  On the drive home, he turned on the radio and heard that a ninth person had been reported missing. Two friends of a missing woman reported that she exited a movie to use the restroom and never came back. Police closed and taped off the theater until they could complete further investigation.

  A little after four o’clock, Mark turned his rental onto his street and parked. As he reached the top of the stairs he saw that his front door was about six inches ajar. Todd’s door in the next unit was completely open, which was typical for Todd. Mark, on the other hand, never left his door unlocked—much less open. Something wasn’t right. His pulse quickened as he walked closer to his open front door. He had no doubt that he had closed his front door securely and locked it that morning. Mark forgetting to lock a door would be like Todd forgetting to talk.

  A new possibility gave him some relief—perhaps Todd had already begun work to change the locks. Of course! That made perfect sense.

  He paused just outside the open door and leaned to listen. Silence. Only the chatter from a neighbor’s TV spilled through an open window. He took a closer look at the doorknob. Todd hadn’t changed it. Something was wrong.

  “Hello?” Mark said, leaning in. No response.

  He pushed the door open and stepped in. He saw a hollow space where his TV and stereo had been and his heart sank. Sofa cushions and paperwork littered the floor. He saw overturned chairs and all his cabinet doors wide open—two of them pulled all the way out and laid on their sides on the floor. The refrigerator door was wide open and the plastic on his new case of bottled water was cut open with two bottles missing. On his living room wall magic marker scrawled the message, “Still ain’t done bitch.”

  “No, no! Aww, no!” Mark moaned, sinking to his knees.

  He threw his door shut and when it slammed, the whole unit shook. He heard heavy footsteps thump from behind the wall, startling Mark until he realized they were from Todd, probably running to his rescue. Mark stood up and walked to the middle of his living room and grabbed his hair with both hands. He pivoted, surveying the loss and damage.

  Todd opened the front door. “Buddy, what’s wrong with you?” he said. Then he saw the condition of the apartment and gasped. His eyes went back to Mark.

  “What’d I do? What’d I do to deserve the last two days of my life?” Mark said.

  Todd’s face went pale.

  “So I was right,” Mark said. He picked up a sofa cushion and threw it across the room where it knocked over a photo that had no resale value for the thugs. He sat on the cushionless sofa and sighed, “They came back.”

  He noticed an unusual concern on Todd’s face. “What’s your problem?” Mark asked. “What are you staring at? Why are you quiet?”

  “I saw some guys here about an hour ago,” Todd confessed.

  “What?” Mark stood up.

  “I saw two guys, well dressed, knocking on your door.”

  “And you didn’t call the police?”

  “They said they were detectives and were following up on your case. I told them you weren’t going to be back for at least an hour. They said they would wait around for you. I went back inside my place. I didn’t hear a thing. I didn’t let them in—they must have picked the lock.”

  “Did they show you badges?” Mark said.

  Todd nibbled his cheek.

  “They didn’t have badges!” Mark yelled. “Those weren’t the police, Todd—they were the thugs that robbed me, stole my car and obviously that wasn’t enough because now they’ve put the cherry on top of their sundae with the rest of my stuff! What did they look like?”

  “One big, one skinny. Black. Both clean shaven. Both wore suits.”

  “That’s them! Don’t you remember my description?” Mark said. He pushed Todd out of the way and went to investigate the bedroom.

  “Look, I’m really sorry, Buddy. I would have kept an eye on them but they said they were police…”

  “Yeah, police wearing suits they bought with my credit cards.” Mark came back into the front of the apartment carrying his phone. “How could you not realize—never mind,” Mark said, shaking his head with his eyes closed. “Look, it’s not your fault, Todd. Don’t worry about it.”

  “I had no idea, Buddy. If I can do anything to help you out, just say the word. I’ll buy you new stuff.” Todd’s tone was unusually low, and he stepped back out the door to give Mark a chance to gather his thoughts.

  Mark stood and went to examine his front door. There was no sign of any damage or forced entry. The job had been clean. Entry, most likely, by simply turning a key—his key.

  The apartment itself had suffered relatively little damage, aside from a toppled lamp and some dresser drawers that were broken after having been pulled out and dropped to the floor. Mark went to his bedroom and sat on his bed amidst piles of clothes thrown there by the thieves as they searched drawers for valuables tucked away in obvious places.

  Mark took out his new replacement cell phone and took photos of his living room, kitchen and bedroom.

  Was it not enough that they had robbed him of his cash, car and ID? Did the threat on his wall mean they would continue to torment Mark because he had been an uncooperative victim? What else would they do?

  His thoughts went to his work. Suddenly, he jumped to his feet and ran to the sofa, adrenaline helping him cope with his day-old aches and pains. He reached under his sofa and felt, patting as far back as he could. He breathed a huge sigh of relief as he pulled out his laptop.

  Mark’s laptop was his primary tool for work, but losing it would have been more of an emotional loss than a tangible one. All his client information, calendar, address book and invoicing was saved online, tucked safely behind secure Internet connections and long encrypted passwords.

  He heard an awkward bang against the door and it swung open. Todd came in holding a thirty-six inch LCD television under his arm. “It’s not brand new, but hey, it’s better than nothing,” he said, setting it down in the empty entertainment cabinet.

  “You don’t have to do that, Todd,” Mark said.

  “Aaah, forget about it. I have two TV’s. You might still have one if I had interrogated those ‘detectives’ better.”

  “Thanks, and sorry about earlier… I owe you big time for all your help. I do appreciate it,” Mark said.

  “Think nothing of it, Buddy. I’m sorry life’s takin’ a dump on you, but think of it this way: how much worse can things get for you?” Todd broke into one of his loud laughs, but Mark’s wounds were too fresh to join him. “Are you gonna call the police?” Todd asked.

  “What good will it do? The paperwork is a pain and they aren’t going to get my stuff back for me. I’ll just put on my ne
w doorknob and try to get caught up on some work.”

  “Might make an insurance claim easier.”

  “My apartment isn’t insured.”

  Todd saw that he wasn’t helping Mark’s mood, so he said, “Why don’t I put on your new doorknob for you while you start putting your place back together?”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

  For the next hour, Todd went about installing the new doorknob, sanded and repainted the wall threat left by the burglars, and changed Mark’s mailbox key.

  Mark made some calls to reschedule with his clients.

  With the new doorknob and dead bolt in place and keys in hand, Mark thanked Todd who left for a jog.

  Mark wanted to get out of his apartment. He wanted to do something to take his mind off everything. He wondered if he might be able to find Uncle Leon again. Apparently he often visited a shelter called Soft Landing Shelter.

  Mark would go tonight. Even if he failed to find Uncle Leon, he might be able to volunteer in some capacity there.

  §

  Mark drove on Main Street through Venice into Santa Monica. Despite the crisp coastal evening air, the sidewalks bustled with shoppers. Some carried shopping bags while others sipped steaming drinks cupped with both hands on the patios of coffee shops and cafés. The reports of missing people had done little to stem the flow of tourists and locals who came out in the evening.

  He parked two blocks from Soft Landing Shelter House and began a chilly walk. While he waited at a pedestrian crossing, he smelled the pleasant aroma of something home cooked and perfect for this sort of weather. It could have been soup, or cornbread and beans—just fragrant enough to interrupt the salty breeze of the ocean air. A young couple holding hands walked up behind him to wait at the crosswalk. The woman argued with her companion about whether the aroma was coming from a restaurant or a house.

  The signal changed and they crossed the street. Mark could have sniffed his way toward the shelter blindfolded, as the delicious smell grew stronger.

  At the front door of the shelter he saw a line that crossed the porch, went down four steps, and wound its way to the street. He scanned the line looking for Uncle Leon, but didn’t see him. He pardoned himself to reach the front door, stepping between the waiting people. It was locked. The people who waited in line studied him, waiting to see if he would dare cut in ahead of them. He noticed a wooden carved sign above the front door that said, “A Soft Landing Shelter House.” Below it, smaller letters read, “Soft Landings for Hard Knocks.”