darkened road illuminated by my headlights.
We arrived in Charleston just before midnight. Harley gave me directions until I was driving down a street lined with small houses on either side. It looked like a working middle-class neighborhood, not a bad area, but it wasn’t exactly great either. We stopped in front of a one-story brick house with an attached garage with two large industrial-looking black bay doors that was almost as big as the house.
We got out of the car and walked across a small patch of grass that was in serious need of a mow. All of the lights were off and there weren’t any cars in the driveway. I looked around and whispered, “Harley, I don’t think he’s home.” It was annoying that we drove all the way out here and the guy wasn’t even around. “Didn’t you tell him we were coming?”
“No,” Harley replied, and then walked past me. “He doesn’t need to be here.” She hurried to the side of the house and lifted the latch to the back gate.
“What are you doing?” I squeaked, but ran to keep up with her because there was no way I wanted to be caught snooping around by myself. When I found her she was jiggling a small window up until she was able to make enough room for her fingers to fit through.
“Help me,” she called out, and so I stepped up and worked with her to lift the window. It groaned on the rails as we worked it open. It was in obvious need of a little WD-40, but with enough muscle power and persistence we were able to make enough room for Harley to slip inside. Seconds later she appeared in front of the back sliding glass door. She unlatched it and let me in.
“You need to hurry,” I said to her as I followed her through the disaster of a house. Beer cans, empty pizza boxes, and ashtrays full of cigarette butts were all over the place. Gross. There were clothes all over the hallway. I followed her into a bedroom, which was surprisingly neater than the rest of the house, but not by much. All of the clothes were thrown into one pile on the floor in the corner, and one half-empty beer bottle was on the nightstand. You could, however, see the brown carpet much better in here.
Harley pulled open the doors to the closet and then stood on her tiptoes to grab a medium-sized box. She laid it on the floor and was about to close the closet back when we heard keys slide into the front door lock. Harley’s eyes went wide as she looked over at me.
“Oh, shit,” she whispered. I searched around the room but didn’t see anywhere to hide.
“Shit,” I repeated as my heart started to pound a hole in my chest. We stood there like statues as footsteps drew closer and walked right past us into the bathroom at the end of the hall.
“Let’s go,” Harley whispered as she grabbed her box and ran from the room with me right on her tail.
We’d almost made it to the front door when a loud voice boomed, “Stop,” followed by the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked. We both came to a halt immediately and slowly turned around. The house was dark so I couldn’t see his face very well, but I did make out that he was indeed pointing a gun at us, so I lowered my eyes to the floor.
“Shit. Harley?” the guy asked. “What the fuck are you doing and what do you have in your hand?”
“It’s just a box of my stuff,” Harley replied, not sounding the least bit worried. “If you put down the damn gun, you can see for yourself, Brando.”
Brando? That name sounded familiar. When the light flicked on a man with tattooed forearms and tousled black hair stepped forward and I recognized him as the guy I’d seen with Mack the other night. Harley’s ex-boyfriend was Brando?
“Let me see.” Brando lowered his gun and grabbed the box from Harley. “Sorry, I gotta look. You know how it is.” Harley nodded as he ripped the tape off the box, then rifled around in the contents. I immediately thought it was strange. I didn’t know what he would be looking for, but I did know for
We arrived in Charleston just before midnight. Harley gave me directions until I was driving down a street lined with small houses on either side. It looked like a working middle-class neighborhood, not a bad area, but it wasn’t exactly great either. We stopped in front of a one-story brick house with an attached garage with two large industrial-looking black bay doors that was almost as big as the house.
We got out of the car and walked across a small patch of grass that was in serious need of a mow. All of the lights were off and there weren’t any cars in the driveway. I looked around and whispered, “Harley, I don’t think he’s home.” It was annoying that we drove all the way out here and the guy wasn’t even around. “Didn’t you tell him we were coming?”
“No,” Harley replied, and then walked past me. “He doesn’t need to be here.” She hurried to the side of the house and lifted the latch to the back gate.
“What are you doing?” I squeaked, but ran to keep up with her because there was no way I wanted to be caught snooping around by myself. When I found her she was jiggling a small window up until she was able to make enough room for her fingers to fit through.
“Help me,” she called out, and so I stepped up and worked with her to lift the window. It groaned on the rails as we worked it open. It was in obvious need of a little WD-40, but with enough muscle power and persistence we were able to make enough room for Harley to slip inside. Seconds later she appeared in front of the back sliding glass door. She unlatched it and let me in.
“You need to hurry,” I said to her as I followed her through the disaster of a house. Beer cans, empty pizza boxes, and ashtrays full of cigarette butts were all over the place. Gross. There were clothes all over the hallway. I followed her into a bedroom, which was surprisingly neater than the rest of the house, but not by much. All of the clothes were thrown into one pile on the floor in the corner, and one half-empty beer bottle was on the nightstand. You could, however, see the brown carpet much better in here.
Harley pulled open the doors to the closet and then stood on her tiptoes to grab a medium-sized box. She laid it on the floor and was about to close the closet back when we heard keys slide into the front door lock. Harley’s eyes went wide as she looked over at me.
“Oh, shit,” she whispered. I searched around the room but didn’t see anywhere to hide.
“Shit,” I repeated as my heart started to pound a hole in my chest. We stood there like statues as footsteps drew closer and walked right past us into the bathroom at the end of the hall.
“Let’s go,” Harley whispered as she grabbed her box and ran from the room with me right on her tail.
We’d almost made it to the front door when a loud voice boomed, “Stop,” followed by the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked. We both came to a halt immediately and slowly turned around. The house was dark so I couldn’t see his face very well, but I did make out that he was indeed pointing a gun at us, so I lowered my eyes to the floor.
“Shit. Harley?” the guy asked. “What the fuck are you doing and what do you have in your hand?”
“It’s just a box of my stuff,” Harley replied, not sounding the least bit worried. “If you put down the damn gun, you can see for yourself, Brando.”
Brando? That name sounded familiar. When the light flicked on a man with tattooed forearms and tousled black hair stepped forward and I recognized him as the guy I’d seen with Mack the other night. Harley’s ex-boyfriend was Brando?
“Let me see.” Brando lowered his gun and grabbed the box from Harley. “Sorry, I gotta look. You know how it is.” Harley nodded as he ripped the tape off the box, then rifled around in the contents. I immediately thought it was strange. I didn’t know what he would be looking for, but I did know for
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