Dead Street

I merged right in with the shadows and put the key in the lock. It opened easily. I turned the knob and pushed the door open. Nothing was in the way. My miniature flashlight was enough to lead me through the three floors of the building and illuminate dirt and dust that had collected on old-fashioned furniture and rotted rugs on the floor. It was hard to tell if this place had been empty for ten years or a hundred. Nobody had been here in the last five years of my time at the station house. Once, back there in the wild days of city crime, this must have been one hell of a command post. But no sign of that was left any longer.

Without disturbing anything, I went back down the dust-heavy stairs and stopped halfway down. Bucky Mohler had been here. Where were his footprints? Curious.

At the bottom landing another flight of stairs led into the cellar. These weren’t fancy like the ones above. They were constructed of heavy planking, wider than usual, bulked up with massive timbering. They didn’t even squeak when I went down them. A pair of rats scurried across my path, running from the thin light of my flash. Then I moved the beam across the area.

Except for where I was standing, the entire house was resting on solid earth. There was a coal furnace and electrical boxes next to me, some tools propped against the flatly carved dirt walls. The contractors had most likely laid down the foundation blocks that ran around the house, then just built the rest of the structure up from the dirt. Damn. What kind of building codes did they have then?

Another couple of rats skittered away in the floor debris and I aimed the light down on them. Two pairs of red eyes looked back at me for a couple of seconds, then they broke and ran. I saw in the floor mess what might have been footprints, but nothing I could be certain of.

Something was all out of kilter here. I couldn’t tell what it was, but there were ways to find out. When I turned and went back to the stairs, I looked at the shovel and old pickax that leaned against the wall. The pickax was pretty old and the shovel hadn’t been used much.

Things had taken a strange turn since I’d been here. It wasn’t like the old days when all the crazy details could be laid out before a team of experienced pros and the answers would come back in no time. This business of being retired from the department wasn’t all that hot. I still had irons in the fire, and one of them was taking me back to Sunset Lodge.

Davy Ross took me to LaGuardia Airport, and when I got off in Florida, Darris Kinder was waiting for me with the throaty roar of his hopped-up Sunset Lodge police vehicle telling me where he was. “Miss Brice informed me when you were getting in.”

“Like coming home again.”

“Good trip?” It was a subtle question that only a couple of cops would recognize. He knew damn well something was happening and wanted to know if the waters were calm.

“Very good trip, Darris, but it’s not the last.”

The answer was enough. He understood what I meant.

And Bettie was waiting on her porch, the dome light behind her showing through her lightweight sundress so she almost looked naked. I heard Tacos make that happy growl of his and dashed out of the car and up the steps to grab my beautiful doll in my hands. I squeezed her waist the smallest fraction before she melted against my chest and her mouth was reaching for mine. It was wonderful wetness that I never wanted to end.

Then Tacos whined and pawed at my leg and Darris came up and laid my small bag down beside me and said, “Glad to have you back with us, Jack.”

“Thanks for the ride, pal.”

“Any time. Everything okay in New York?”

“Crazy, but it’ll get straightened out.” I paused for a little bit and added, “How about here?”

“Under control right now, but something’s in the air. You know what I mean? That full moon feeling?”

“I sure do, Darris.” I watched his face and he caught the tone of my voice. “We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”

He got back in his car, waved me an okay and drove off.

I sat in a rocker beside Bettie and put my hand on hers. The dog saw me and his tail did that floor-banging bit again. I said, “Honey,” but got no further.

Bettie said, “I like that word.”

So I said it again. “Honey... do you have any... souvenirs from when you worked at Credentials?”

“I’m not sure. Dr. Brice made sure I had a few personal things like that, thinking they might help me some.”

“Did they?”

“Not really. I was blind. I couldn’t see them.”

“Are they here?”

She took her hand out from under mine and stood up. “I’ll get them.”