Chapter 26-Home Is Where the Heart Is
Disclaimer: I do not own Moonlight. I'm just making up stories here.
A/N: Do you know what happens when you call pest-control to get rid of the termites that are eating your house and garage to the ground? The little devils go back underground and pop up under the gazebo two doors down! What had been your problem now belongs to your neighbor. That's a pretty good analogy for what's happening with Max in this chapter. Read on but grab the bug-spray!
Max saw the motley gathering of people in front of his building from a block away. Curious, he slowed to the speed limit as he drove past and tried to check out who they were and what had them so interested. They seemed to be pawing through clothes and odd pieces of household items that lay strewn across the sidewalk and gutter.
A thread of unease uncoiled in his gut as he gunned the car into a U-turn at the corner and came back up the street, passing the cluster of people again and parking in the yellow striped Unloading Zone for the defunct business next to his office.
"Hey! I saw that first!" yelled one skinny boy in baggy shorts and a torn T-shirt. He grabbed at the pair of jeans that an older teen had jerked out of his hands.
"Too bad! They're mine now!" the kid jeered as he danced around behind the growing group to avoid the smaller boy who had launched himself at his legs. He wasn't quick enough though and the tackle brought him down to meet the sidewalk with his nose while the first boy ran off with the hard-won jeans that were sure to be way too big for him.
"You little prick! I'll break your fuckin' neck!" yelled the downed teen. However, the impact of his words were lost as he cupped his dripping nose with one hand and grabbed a dingy white T-shirt from the heap of clothing with the other to staunch the flow of blood.
Max picked up a jacket from mound of clothing just before a woman old enough to be his grandmother could wrap her knobby fingers around it. It was his. He'd bought it two years before from a local second hand store because he thought the logo was cool. All this stuff was his! And a good deal of it was walking away in the arms of the various street-people and locals.
He ducked instinctively as a black plastic trash bag whizzed past his head and landed in the middle of what was left of his belonging on the sidewalk. It started a frenzy of arms and hands reaching out to tear open the sack and devour its contents.
Christ, they were like sharks smelling fresh blood in the water.
He gave a war hoot and rushed into them, knocking a couple of kids and one old man aside, and retrieving the bag by sheer surprise. He managed to get it back to his car and into his trunk before the howls and shouts of threats could turn into a physical attack. If they rushed him he wouldn't have a chance of fighting them off and finding out why his personal effects were being hurled out into the street like tomorrow was trash day.
Glowering, and giving them as wide a berth as he could manage, he sidled alongside the building and stood in the doorway to his office. The man on the other side was twenty years older, a good hundred pounds heavier and stood at least seven inches taller than Max's five-foot-ten. His face was beet-red and he was chewing on a fat unlit cigar while he emptied the drawers from Max's desk into another black garbage bag.
"Hey man! What the fuck are you doing?" Max entered the room and looked around in disbelief. The drawers where he kept his clothes and personal items were empty and lay haphazardly in front of the built-in cabinets. All the papers from his case files that he kept in one of the lower drawers had been dumped in a large plastic garbage can sitting in the middle of the room. He noticed with alarm that the box springs and mattress of his bed had been upended and were leaning against one wall exposing odd bits of trash and various pieces of unwashed underclothing beneath the skeleton of the bed frame.
The man who was the cause of all this destruction straightened from his work and slowly turned to glare at Max. When he recognized him he grinned maliciously and bit down on the soggy end of the cigar with teeth that were stained brown from tobacco.
It was an effort for Max to stand his ground as his landlord lumbered toward him.
"I'm throwing your shit…" he paused to take the cigar out of his mouth use it to point at Max, who stood shivering with outrage in front of him. "…out of my building!"
"You can't do that! This is my stuff!" Max replied trying to muster a belligerent tone while facing the huge man.
"The hell I can't. You don't pay the rent…you don't get to live here and you sure as hell don't get to store your fucking shit here." The man held a sheaf of papers under Max's nose before pitching them forcefully into the trash bag.
"That's illegal! You can't just throw my stuff out on the sidewalk. You gotta give me notice. I'll…I'll call the cops!"
A nasty grin spread across the big man's grizzled face. His head swiveled slightly to one side as he worked a bit of loose tobacco to the end of his tongue and spat it on the floor, but he never took his eyes off of Max.
"Go ahead. Call them." His voice growled deep and so softly that Max had to strain to hear him. "We'll see what they have to say about that bag of white powder I found hidden under your bed. It sure looked suspicious to me plastered to the bottom of your bed. I'll bet the cops would be real interested in taking a look at it while they're here talking to you about your fucking 'stuff'."
Max's face blanched and he looked again at the dismantled bed. He had 'acquired' the cocaine from the boyfriend of one of his ladies over a year ago. He'd taped the bag to the bottom of one of the bed slats which was now standing upright in the corner of the room next to the stained mattress and box springs. He didn't use the stuff. His drugs of choice were cheap. Tobacco, booze and occasionally some pot. But he'd kept the coke thinking he might be able to sell it if he ended up needing cash in an emergency.
His landlord leaned toward him, the smell of cigars and Chinese food on his breath causing Max to suspend his breathing involuntarily.
"Some big private investigator you are! You hide coke under your bed? What a fucking moron." He turned back to his work.
"Look…I…I've got some money." The man stopped tossing papers into the garbage can and gave Max a glare over his shoulder. "Three-hundred dollars!" Max added hoping that it sounded like a lot more than it was.
The man snorted and stuck the cigar back in his mouth. "You ain't got jack-shit. But even if you did three hundred dollars is a drop in the piss bucket for what you owe me."
"Okay…okay…five! I got five hundred!" He actually had eight hundred from the sale of the ring he taken from Beth's apartment. It had been a lot more valuable than he'd originally thought. He'd done business with the pawn shop owner before and had managed to work a good deal with him.
The older man's eyes narrowed and he turned to face Max again.
"Show me," he said roughly.
Max pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and thanked god that he'd hidden three hundred under the insole in the right boot he was wearing. He didn't want the guy to see how much cash he really had.
The heavy man rolled the cigar from one side of his mouth to the other while he looked at the five one hundred dollar bills fanned out in Max's hand. Chewing on the sodden tobacco he considered Max and how he might have obtained such a sum of cash but quickly decided it really wasn't of any concern to him. He reached out with a thick fingered hand, grabbed the money and had it pocketed with surprising swiftness for a man his size. Max gaped at his empty hand.
"I'll get you the rest in a couple of weeks. I got a job coming up that's gonna pay real good."
"Yeah. Right. And I've got a diamond mine in my basement." He shoved the plastic garbage can toward Max with one booted foot. "If you want this take it and get out."
The stunned look on Max's face caused the big guy to laugh. "Your stuff on the sidewalk is walking away. If you want any of it you'd better go get it now. "
"But….but I just gave you five hundred dollars!" The pitiful whine he heard in his voice made him cringe.
"Yeah. And you still owe me seven and the rent's due again in three days," the landlord yelled. "Now take your shit and get the hell out-a-here!" He kicked the garbage can again and it toppled over, papers and folders sliding out of the interior and across the floor.
Max stooped to gather up the files and lift the can upright. "What about the rest of my stuff? I can't take it in my car. I'll have to come back for it."
"You ain't got nothing 'cept what's in that can and what's out on the street. The way I look at it I now have a furnished office and efficiency apartment. The rent just went up thanks to you! Now get the fuck out before I call the police myself you little prick." He advanced on Max gripping the cigar in his teeth and matching the roar of his voice with a bear like stance.
Max backed toward the door dragging the half-full garbage can, keeping it between him and his erstwhile landlord.
"I have connections you know!" His voice sounded high and wimpy even to his own ears. Max hated himself almost as much as the brute standing in the middle the room. "You'll be sorry you messed with me!"
The man turned once again and looked at Max like he was dog turd he'd just noticed on the floor. In a show of bravado Max lifted his chin and stared back. A sudden forward lurch from his landlord startled him and he stumbled backwards, only keeping his balance by hanging on to the handle of the green rubber garbage can. A second later he realized the humiliating high-pitched squeak he'd heard had come from him.
The man laughed uproariously until he was wheezing for breath. He took the cigar out of his mouth and pointed it at Max, still chuckling at his pale, open-mouthed face.
"Oh yeah…you're one real scary son-of-a-bitch aren't you?" He waved one massive arm in Max's direction, dismissively. "Get the hell out-a-here, will ya? I gotta get this shit-hole cleaned up for my new tenant. I ain't got time to mess with you no more. Cause me trouble and you'll wish I had called the cops."
Max stood quivering from anger and embarrassment a moment longer before dragging the can out the door and down the steps to the sidewalk. There was very little left on the pavement and most of the adults in the group had moved on. The elderly woman was kneeling next to the pile sifting through the remains along with a few kids.
Max stomped into the middle of them, shoved what was left of his belongings into the garbage can and loaded it into his car.
After an hour of driving blindly around in a haze of rage he was out of cigarettes, almost out of gas and in a section of town that looked vaguely familiar. He was still seething about being tossed out on the street. It wasn't so much that he was currently homeless. The landlord had been right. The place was a shit hole and he'd planned on moving out just as soon as his financial situation had improved. Let the fucker have the furnishings. He would have left it all anyway when he moved. He'd just been trying to buy a little more time.
No…what really ripped him was the way the bastard had talked to him…and looked at him. Like he was trash. No better than those people on the street who'd been pawing through his belongings. One day the fat prick would regret that.
Max became aware that he wasn't driving any longer. He was parked along the curb in an older residential area. The reverberating noise of a lawnmower cut through his anger and caused him to focus on where he was. He looked around trying to get his bearings.
Neatly maintained modest homes surrounded him, the suburbia of fifty years ago. In another twenty it would probably be more like the part of town he had so recently resided in but for now it was home to young families and retirees. He was miles from the downtown areas he usually frequented and was just about to pull out and try to find the freeway again when he saw it. A church steeple about three blocks ahead.
He nodded to himself and pulled out into the light residential traffic. As he turned left at the corner where the church sat he felt a calmness sweep over him. He'd come at it from the back side, that's why he hadn't initially recognized where he was.
The street ended at a T-intersection. Left would take him back to the freeway or into the business end of the neighborhood. Cafes, grocery stores, mini-malls. A right would eventually lead him downtown on the stop and go two way streets. But going straight would take him into the parking lot of an apartment building and the haven he needed at the moment.
He could see her balcony overlooking a grassy courtyard. A chaise lawn chair and matching table sat beside what might have at one time been a small potted palm but was now suffering a lingering death from neglect. The balcony was directly off of her bedroom. A room he was intimately acquainted with.
His breathing slowed and his eyes closed. The quivering tightness in his muscles began to relax and, in his mind, he walked through her apartment and imagined what new secrets he might uncover from her dresser or bedside table. He wondered if she had noticed the ring was gone yet; or her necklace…or her silk panties?
His left hand slid into his pants pocket and caressed the delicate smoothness of her panties. Were her wrists and inner arms this soft? Or the skin that ran from her throat down to her breasts?
He groaned and thrust himself against his jeans.
He had never achieved complete intimacy with his ladies. He preferrer the one-sided relationships that allowed him to be involved in their lives without the risk of rejection Beth was different though. And he was beginning to think that this time he might need more than a piece of her lingerie to fondle in order to satisfy himself. He was already familiar with her apartment and her daily routines. But to lay with her and stroke her skin where her delicate underthings rubbed against her and absorbed her scent? To familiarize himself with the peaks and valleys of her body? The dry hollows and the moist sanctuaries?
A tear ran down his face, unchecked. Brought on by some combination of emotions he couldn't understand. Need? Control? Contentment? All that and more that he seemed incapable of categorizing.
Yes, he'd been right from the beginning. This time would be very different from all the others. This time he'd found the woman he could give his heart to. And home was always where the heart was.
MOONLIGHT MOONLIGHT MOONLIGHT MOONLIGHT MOONLIGHT
The lid on the stainless steel trash can snapped up as he stepped on the lever at the base of the container. With a soggy smack the contents of the skillet he held joined the remnants of his first two attempts to fix himself breakfast.
Flour, sugar, eggs, milk...what else could possibly be used to make pancakes? Mick remembered his mom whipping up pancakes for breakfast and his mouth watered at the memory of the light, airy delicacies with rich slabs of butter and maple syrup dripping down the sides of the stack. He hadn't thought of them in years but slowly his taste buds were awakening and remembering. And today they had remembered pancakes
He hadn't looked up the recipe because he'd thought it couldn't possibly be that difficult to make them. However, the batters he'd mixed had gone from thick heavy dollops of dough on his first try to a thin runny concoction that fried up to be…well…flatter than a pancake.
The last of the mixture went down the disposal, the dirty dishes went into the here-to-fore unused dishwasher and his hopes of enjoying a hot breakfast from his youth went up in smoke…much like his second experiment at frying the cakes.
He poured himself what was left of the milk, grabbed the last apple in the crystal dish on the counter and headed for the computer in his office to search for the elusive combination of ingredients that would satisfy his craving.
He barely heard the tentative rap on his office door as he passed it, stopping in mid-bite of the apple to listen. Times like this made him uncomfortably aware of the loss of his sensitive hearing. Two weeks ago he would have heard the footsteps in the outside corridor. And, if his guest had one, the beating of their hearts as they stood outside his door. Now he was uncertain if he'd even heard the knock.
The question was answered only a moment later with a more forceful assault on the door panel.
He set the glass down on the desk and walked warily to the office door. The message on his business voice-mail told callers he was not accepting any new clients and he didn't intend on making exceptions just because someone was bold enough to come to his office personally before making an appointment.
He opened the door sharply and stared at the disheveled man before him.
"Mr. Simons?" he asked. The man's normally neat and clean appearance had vanished. He needed a shave and looked like he hadn't slept for a couple of days. "Are you alright?"
"Hello Mick." His eyes darted to and fro meeting Mick's only briefly. "I…uh…Look I know you're not taking new clients. We called your number," he said quickly as he ran his hand over his closely cropped graying hair in a gesture of nervousness and frustration. "But…well…I just thought that maybe you could offer some advice to us since…you know…you come into the store a lot." He shrugged his shoulders and dropped his hands down to his sides in a gesture of futility. "We…uh. We're not very good at these things."
Mick shook his head. The man was rambling and needed help in directing his thoughts. In his experience Mick had found that short and to the point questions often helped put people back on track. "Are you in trouble, Mr. Simons?"
The grocer nodded and looked at Mick with a glimmer of hope.
"It's our boy, Austin. He's disappeared. The police haven't been much help and my wife thought we should get someone else who knew about this type of thing. I found your name in the phone book." He grinned half-heartedly and shrugged one shoulder. "You know, I would a-never pegged you for a private investigator."
Mick leaned into the hallway to see if the aforementioned wife had accompanied her husband. The older man turned his head to whisper confidentially to Mick. "She was real nervous about coming over."
The man extended his hand and beckoned to a woman standing a few feet away.
"Come on honey," he coaxed. "This is the man I told you about. He's been coming into the store lately. It's alright. He won't bite."
The woman approached and her husband wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She was tall and slender; her dark hair caught up behind her head in a low pony-tail. Even in her plain clothes she was an attractive woman and had been a real beauty a quarter of a century ago. Mick recognized her immediately although he couldn't quite remember her name. Allie? Ellen?
"Are you sure?" she asked looking directly into his eyes. How many times had she watched the color drain from those eyes as he prepared to nourish himself on her life's blood? Too many and yet not enough. No, never enough. She felt a tingle sing through her body as old memories surfaced. Brought to life again by his rapt attention to her.
Alan Simons offered the introductions. "Mick, this is my wife Elaine. Elaine, this is Mick St. John."
Elaine? The name fell into place. Elly. She'd called herself Elly back when she'd been a young college freshman and in Josef's employ. A sweet young more ways than one. Her blood had always had a dessert-like appeal to him.
She held out her hand and he watched her eyes widen in surprise at the warmth he generated now instead of cool familiar touch of twenty-five years ago.
He shook her hand and returned her direct gaze with a soft smile.
"Believe me…Elaine…my bark is much worse than my bite right now." He turned to include her husband and tilted his head toward the interior of his apartment office. "Why don't you both come in and we'll discuss your son. Maybe I can offer some help.
A/N: OK…so it looks like Mick might be taking a little time out of his vacation to step back into the PI world. You know what a softie he is when it comes to missing kids. And maybe he'll run across a good pancake house while he's out looking for Austin!
Thanks for reading. But your job is not yet finished. Press…the…button. Type…a…review. Make…nightcap…very…happy.