~
Jorge had got the details from the internet kid and was now sitting in his Buick while admiring his new shoes. He had a real penchant for snakeskin boots and these were super fine. He bent down to graze his fingers over the purple scales and they felt divine. Quickly turning his attention back to the house he saw there was still no movement. This was the boring part of the job, the waiting, the boredom. It was a job of two worlds - either hectic, villainous excitement or just waiting.
He flicked open his lighter and lit a cigarette. Something about the way Zippo’s burned always pleased him and he remembered the smell of the motel walls from last night as they peeled down in flames before his eyes. Arson wasn’t his favorite act of violence. He thought it would maybe come second to slashing. He sat in his car and remembered his childhood fondly; summers in Puerto Rico with his grandparents, and cold winters in Chicago in a neighbourhood he pretty much had free reign over.
One of his favorite hobbies was to torch random people’s cars just to watch the ensuing chaos. But that fun came to an end when he set fire to a young mother’s VW as she jumped out for a moment to run an errand. He hadn’t realized that her six month old son was in the back fast asleep. He had to lay low after that even though the kid survived but still…. He had gotten cocky and complacent, sloppy even. After that he just stuck to abandoned buildings and stolen vehicles, and as he got older the habit faded he only threw lit matches for cash. It was a peculiar skill he was rather good at.
In the wing mirror he noticed an old, beaten up people carrier in that particular shade of beige that only old folk like.
“That must be him,” Jorge whispered to no one in particular as he lit a cigarette.
He breathed out the blue smoke and watched it dance on the breeze. Across the road an old yet athletic man was carrying in groceries from his car while talking into an outdated cell phone. Jorge watched him from the comfort of his car through his beady eyes and smiled as he thought about what he’d do with him. He eventually tucked his cigarette into his cars ashtray instead of flicking it out the window – they weren’t finding his DNA on the crime scene - and swaggered over the street. He pressed the doorbell. Silence. He knew the old man was in there, he was just playing hard to get. Reaching out a sweaty hand he pressed the doorbell again. Still silence. Jorge soon tired of the old dude playing coy and he knocked on the door loudly.
“Who is it?” the old man called.
Jorge could hear the panic in his voice. He obviously wasn’t used to visitors. In his strongest Puerto Rican accent, he put on especially for privileged white people, he playfully yelled:
“Yo man! Girl Scouts! You wanna buy some cookies?”
The old man immediately blustered into the hallway and Jorge could see him through the blurred glass.
“What do you want?” he was terrified but nevertheless tried to stand his ground. “I have a gun you know?”
“So do I,” came the glib reply from the Puerto Rican with the dazzling smile. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” that playful voice again.
“I have no cash in the house!” was all the man could say to try and placate the terror he was feeling.
“Look man I don’t want your money. I just need to talk,”
“Please leave! Or I’m phoning the police!”
But it was too late. As he reached out to the phone that lay by the front door Jorge had smashed in the glass with the handle of his gun and unlocked the door. He instantly grabbed the man by his cardigan and pushed him into the wall.
“Don’t play games grandpa….”
“What do you want?”
“You’re Carl Reiner’s father ain’t ya?”
Suddenly the old man’s face turned pale and Jorge could see the fear in his eyes.
“Take that as a yes,” he put him back down on his feet. “So what can you tell me about him? Is he here?”
“No he’s not here. Hasn’t been in a long while,” his voice shook with sadness.
“Well you won’t mind if I take a look around then?” Jorge said menacingly as he began to knock ornaments from the mantel piece and books from the shelves.
He was enjoying himself and this was part of the interrogation process that Jorge loved. The fear in people’s eyes as he violated their personal space was priceless. But more than anything he loved the way they looked so helpless. He glanced over to Reiner Senior who wasn’t trying to stop him from trashing the place. Jorge walked into the dining room and knocked a glass off the table like a naughty child. It shattered loudly on the floorboards and Reiner flinched at the noise. Jorge saw how scared he really was.
“Look please….I don’t know what you want and I don’t know where my son is. Haven’t seen him in years,”
“Is that so?” Jorge could see honesty behind the old man’s eyes. He knew he was telling the truth but still…. He wanted his playtime.