Chapter 3 – Luka
D amn doorbell cameras and the rotten bastards capitalizing on them. They made work for an honest fellow like me ten times as hard. The easiest way to disable them was to have an animal knock them down. But there was no way I would risk hurting an innocent creature.
Using the ball launcher, I began to pelt the yard and house with bright white balls every so often. When enough golf balls littered the street and neighborhood yards, I sent one straight into the lens of the camera.
The home security device shattered.
Grinning, I sent a second and third just to be certain. It was unlikely the police would do more than drive by. And the owners wouldn’t bother to come back when nonsuspicious behavior was reported. The husband was at the supermarket—where he worked as an assistant manager when it wasn’t football season at the high school—and the wife was sleeping with a client. Not that the husband was the victim. His internet history was full of questionable subscription sites he ran. But he was careful to make sure his athletes were always eighteen when he asked them to model for him.
I ghosted to the door and slipped inside. There wasn’t anything of interest. It was an average home of an average blue-collar family—albeit one that kept secrets from each other. The urge to cause mischief flickered in my mind. By the time I explored each room, the desire became unavoidable. So I made things more interesting. There was a pad of paper in a drawer, and I found a pen on the counter. Using some tape, I attached the note to the fridge door. A rough laugh bubbled from my throat as I admired the harbinger of chaos.
But…on the chance that the beautician beat her husband home, I left the same note in several other places around the house.
There was a noise out front, and I froze in the master bedroom.
I would not be caught with a sticky Playboy in my hands. I dropped the magazine back in the nightstand drawer with only a half-finished note before slipping to the window.
The cops were walking up and down the street, but they were simply muttering about the golf balls. They tried the front door again, and I heard them say to check the back.
My heartrate spiked deliciously. We rarely had incidents with the law, so this was a special kind of excitement for me.
When the screen door was jiggled, the fat fuck out there didn’t know he was being watched by an individual who no doubt had a higher kill count than him.
“Let’s check the other houses, but I think it was just some kids doing a prank,” the head officer said.
“Good little deputy,” I chuckled before writing three more notes. These were for websites the wife would want to check. But my masterpiece was the permanent marker message I scrawled on the wall. Thick, bold letters the size of my hand brought both spouses’ secrets to light.
By the time I was done, the cops were far down the street.
I flicked the latch and sauntered into the sun-kissed backyard. The heat baked off the pavers surrounding the tiny built-in swimming pool. There were leaves and clippings on the surface. The plastic furniture was cracked and broken. Weeds choked the grass. So much for the paradise oasis, their rental advertisement mentioned. It sucked.
There were no more security cameras. It was easy work to use a plastic bank card to break into their pool house, which had been converted into a studio living space.
“From heiress to impoverished maid-slash-waitress,” I said in a long breath. “Oh, princess, how the mighty hath fallen.”
Circling the space, I knew before I started looking through her personal belongings that there was nothing important here. The noose made of rope that sat in a bowl of seashells was interesting, but I chalked it up to salt-life vibes. Vivian had kept her legal name, not bothering to change it or try and hide. She was here, living her best life.
That spark in her mocha eyes.
She was living .
Another hard breath whistled from my lungs. “What does that feel like, huh? I can’t remember.”
That feeling was little more than dust in the wind. Few of us were lucky enough to catch it. For those of us who had it plucked from our grasp? The phantasmal curse was heavy to bear, scarring our very souls with its unrelenting claws.
Shaking off the heavyweight, I paged through the books, but it was the suitcase under the bed that held the most surprises. Vinyls and even a few 8-tracks. They were carefully packaged with bubble wrap, but I could see the titles.
Vivian liked classic rock.
I sat hard on my butt.
It was like opening the best gift on Christmas morning. “Holy shit, baby girl, who the hell are you?”
Lost to myself, I didn’t hear the car pull up to the metal carport. The slam of the door ripped me from my trance. I shoved everything away and stood. The only personal items were the clothes, books, records, and the shells on the nightstand.
Otherwise, this might as well have been a hotel room. No, correction, a shitty motel room with peeling wallpaper, crappily laid tile, and cabinets that were only painted to look nice.
I watched in fascination as the beautician entered the side door. Her scream shot through the yard a moment later. Gleefully chuckling, I grabbed what few small items would fit in my pockets before I slipped from the pool house, locking the door handle behind me. I couldn’t take the music collection. That grated on me.
If there’s time, I’ll come back for them.
Strolling back to where I’d hidden my rental car, I contemplated how best to make my move. It had to be soon because the drive was long if everything went well. If things went badly…. They won’t! Dimitri was counting on me. I wouldn’t let him down. Being prepared for any possible outcome was just good business sense.