I don’t hear anything.
I have my thumb on the switch that’ll activate the stun gun while I quickly but quietly make my way to the master bedroom. Nothing else matters right now. Just focus: find the drugs and then move on. I’m going on too much adrenaline to know any better. I clear the kitchen. There’s nothing there, so I continue, clearing the same bedrooms before the master.
The master bedroom looks the same, the bed and the blacked-out window and the nasty clothes. I move to the bathroom and everything is just as I’d left it.
I look out the bedroom window, scan the block. I unlock the window latches and slide it up halfway so I can hear better what’s outside.
The first thing I do after that is lift the bed’s mattress. Nothing but a few porn magazines. I look under the bed. A mess of shit under there—shoe boxes, old socks, underwear, assorted clothing, two thin clear plastic storage containers. I reach under and pull those out first. It looks like there are more magazines inside, but I open them and toss them in the middle of the floor. I pull out the shoe boxes and do the same thing. A couple of them are empty, and the other three contain expensive Jordans. I toss the contents along with the boxes in the middle of the floor.
I look out the window again. No car. The block is quiet.
Back to the room again. I do a slow survey: a cluttered nightstand with a single drawer beside the bed next to me, the door to the closet, the bathroom, a dresser on the left side of the window, black construction-type trash bags that appear to be stuffed with dirty laundry, on the floor near the center of the room, dirty carpet; a large stuffed teddy bear with a red ribbon, likely a gift from one of his girls, sits in the corner to the left of the dresser. I hear a car with a heavy, familiar engine outside.
My heart races for a moment, and I peer through the curtains. Nothing but a UPS truck passing the house and heading east. I focus my attention outside for a moment, then back to the room.
I like teddy bears, so I grab it by the ear and squeeze the fat belly. Doesn’t feel like anything’s in there, but you never know. I pull out my knife, flick it open with my thumb, and gut the thing. I was hoping drugs would spill out, but there’s only white stuffing. I pull it all out until the teddy bear looks like a bear puppet with sad, fallen eyes. I toss it in the middle of the room, then go back to the nightstand, where I pull out the drawer.
A small .38 with duct-taped grip. I like that, so I put it in my backpack, along with a box of live rounds. Always good to have another throwaway gun. You never know. The drawer also contains assorted packaged condoms, two prescription pill containers, and several other loose live rounds that look like 9mm. I take one of the pill containers, look at the label; it reads “OxyContin.” It was prescribed to a “Marianne Oliver,” a name I don’t believe is associated with anyone in this household. I pick up the other one and it also reads “OxyContin” and is prescribed to the same person. More than likely pulled in a robbery, or traded in exchange for crack by someone who burglarized her home. Looks like fifty-plus pills from both containers combined.
“Nice,” I say to myself, and drop them in the backpack.
I hear a car door slam shut.
Looking through the window, I see Jordan Super Fly strolling leisurely toward the house.
I shoulder my backpack, grip the stun gun, and run as fast as I can downstairs to the living room.
I make it to the door just as I hear him shuffling on the porch and saying, “?Cabrón!”
I quietly set my backpack on the floor and position myself so I’ll be behind the door as he opens it. But he doesn’t; he just pushes at it, and it barely opens. I hear more shuffling. I get the feeling he won’t come in, and might just call for that backup. I gotta assume they can get another ride from 16th and Park if they have to. I don’t even think about it. I pull out my wallet to reveal my retired detective’s badge, ’cause I’m not worried if he can read. I hold it in my left hand and tuck the stun gun against my thigh with my right.
“?Cabrón!” I hear again outside.
I step to the other side of the door, can barely make him out, but I can see enough of him to see that he’s about to tap in some numbers on his cell. I swing the door open, holding my badge in the air.
“?Policía!” I command, but not loud enough for the whole neighborhood to come to alert.
He’s right next to the door, about a foot from me. The cell phone he’s holding drops to the ground, and I know he’s about to bolt, so I flip the switch and stun the shit outta his belly.
“?Aiyee!” he cries, and slumps forward into my arms.
I manage to catch him while still holding my wallet and the stun gun. He’s thin and no more than a buck fifty, so I easily drag him in and let him drop to the floor under the window to the left of the door. I kick his feet away so I can shut the door.
He’s moaning, and I’m pretty sure he shat himself.