Page 79 of Crow
The streets were dark and quiet. He’d made sure to park three blocks to the east, over on Tejon Street. Across the road, lights glowed beyond the thin curtains in some of the windows at Madera Crossing. For a split second, he wondered if the cute housing investigator would be roaming the halls. What was her name?Angie.He snapped his fingers.That’s it.
A low chuckle rose from his throat. She was someone he wouldn’t mind bumping into. He almost did in the stairway that day, then his efforts were thwarted. A scowl raced across his forehead, but he shook it away.
“Concentrate,” he muttered under his breath.
There was a job that needed to be done. Anger coiled in his gut, ready to strike. Then a slice of a quarter moon slid out from behind a cloud illuminating a bit of the road. Shoving his hands in the pockets of the hoodie, he walked toward the apartment building.
A grin twisted across his face when he spotted the garage door propped open. The carelessness and stupidity of people was something he could always count on. The man slipped on leather gloves, then entered the building.
The predator roamed the hallways, one floor at a time, knowing that some of the tenants would be peering through the peepholes on their doors and holding their breaths. That he invoked such awe, such fear, empowered him. After a lifetime of trying to please everyone and disappointing everyone, he finally held the winning cards in his hands.You should see me now, old man. I hold life and death in my hands. No one fuckin’ messes with me.
The man slowly opened the stairway door to the third floor. There was a scumbag he was especially interested in confronting that night. Anticipation mixed with rage as he tried the corner apartment’s doorknob. It turned. Excitement streaked through him as he slowly pushed the door open.
The tenant lay on the couch. Beer bottles, several pipes, and numerous roaches were strewn around a scratched-up coffee table. The man wore Bermuda shorts and the predator could see the scars and burns on the tenant’s legs. They repulsed him.
“Wake up, asshole.” He kicked the side of the couch with his tennis shoe.
The tenant grumbled slightly then went back to snoring.
“I said wake the fuck up.” He sank his fist into the sleeping man’s stomach.
“What the fuck?” The tenant’s eyes snapped open. “Who are you?” he asked as he struggled to sit up.
Adrenaline surged through the predator’s body. “Shadow man.”
The tenant swung his arms out in a vain attempt to reach for the wheelchair, but shadow man gripped the man’s wrists.
“You’re not going anywhere. I hold your useless life in my hands.”
“No, please. I never done nothing to you.” The man’s thin voice grated on shadow man’s nerves.
“That’s the point, asshole—you’ve never done anything worthwhile, have you? You’re just taking up space.”
“No, please. I …” the tenant’s voice trailed away as tears streamed down his weathered cheeks.
A cruel smiled slashed across shadow man’s face as he pulled a knife out from the pocket of his black jeans. The blade glimmered in the dim light.
“It’s showtime,” he whispered before descending upon the weeping man.
