neighbor’s house in sight.
He went inside and found Hector standing over a fish bowl. He felt an unpleasant vibe seeping from Hector. “What’s wrong with you?”
Hector turned around with watery eyes. “I went to feed Pablo and he was floating in his bowl. He won’t wake up.”
Squeeze never understood Hector’s attachment to the goldfish. Had he been the one to find the dead fish first, he would have had it replaced just as he had all the other times.
Hector stuck a fresh piece of gum into his mouth. “Pablo and me been partners for five years now.” He thought for a moment. “What are you doing here? Miles must’ve come clean.”
“No.” Squeeze’s eyes communicated all that needed to be said.
Hector pushed the door open and entered a large bathroom. He didn’t bother to wipe his tears. “It’s your fault Pablo is dead.”
Jap was gagged and duct taped to a chair sitting inside a round tub in the center of the room. His eyes widened with alarm. “Hmmh, umm hmmh.” He wiggled as Hector approached with a .357 aimed at his face.
“All your fault.” He pulled the trigger.
Blood and brain matter splattered inside the tub as the bullet passed through Jap’s face and created a crater in the back of his head.
“Feel better now?” Squeeze leaned on the doorjamb.
“Uh…” He pulled the trigger two more times. “…a little.”
Mrs. Garcia was putting dinner dishes away when the phone rang. She wiped her hands then answered. “Garcia residence.”
“Yes, Mrs. Garcia, I’m Nancy Pittman, a social worker for the Department of Social Services here in Cleveland. Forgive me for disturbing you this evening, but I’m here with your grandchildren.”
“I’ve spoken with my daughter earlier.”
“Then you’re familiar with the situation.”
“Yes, I’m aware.”
“I’m putting forth my best efforts not to put your grandchildren in the care of the state. To be truthful, I’m running out of options.”
“Kitchie had you call me, didn’t she?”
“No, ma’am. I actually got your number from Secret. She’s quite a lady. Is there some way that I can turn the children over to you until their parents handle their legal affairs?”
“Miss, I’m more than nine hours away. I don’t have transportation.”
Ms. Pittman crossed her legs. “If you would take them, we’ll make the arrangements to get the children there safely.”
Mrs. Garcia sat down to rest her aching feet. “Miss, I’m up in my age. My husband and I live in a one-bedroom apartment on a fixed income. We’re not capable of handling them children. Where will they sleep? I can’t give them the attention they need. I already raised my children. I’m sorry.”
“So am I. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Garcia. You have a good evening.”
“Do the same.” Mrs. Garcia ended the call.
Ms. Pittman stared at the door for a minute before she went in. “Secret, Greg Jr., gather your things. We’re leaving.”
Junior stood and stretched. “Where are we going?”
Even after nine years of being a social worker, this was the part of the job that she still hated to perform. “To a place where you guys can play with other children your ages.”
Trouble kept a close eye on the stairwell as Dirty jimmied Jewels’s door.
Two years ago, Dirty could have walked up to a door with a crowbar and opened it like he had the keys. Tonight, he’d been trying to gain access for over five minutes.
“Would you hurry up! Goddamn!” Trouble talked over a shoulder.
“Chill, I almost…” He pushed with everything he had. “…got it.”
The door burst open with a sharp sound.
“About time.” Trouble closed the door behind them. “Who said you have to play a number to hit the lottery?”
Dirty was amazed by the living room. “She got this rinky-dink apartment looking like something you’d find in a
Florida Design
mag. Look at this shit.” The more he took in, the more he was impressed by Jewels’s living
He went inside and found Hector standing over a fish bowl. He felt an unpleasant vibe seeping from Hector. “What’s wrong with you?”
Hector turned around with watery eyes. “I went to feed Pablo and he was floating in his bowl. He won’t wake up.”
Squeeze never understood Hector’s attachment to the goldfish. Had he been the one to find the dead fish first, he would have had it replaced just as he had all the other times.
Hector stuck a fresh piece of gum into his mouth. “Pablo and me been partners for five years now.” He thought for a moment. “What are you doing here? Miles must’ve come clean.”
“No.” Squeeze’s eyes communicated all that needed to be said.
Hector pushed the door open and entered a large bathroom. He didn’t bother to wipe his tears. “It’s your fault Pablo is dead.”
Jap was gagged and duct taped to a chair sitting inside a round tub in the center of the room. His eyes widened with alarm. “Hmmh, umm hmmh.” He wiggled as Hector approached with a .357 aimed at his face.
“All your fault.” He pulled the trigger.
Blood and brain matter splattered inside the tub as the bullet passed through Jap’s face and created a crater in the back of his head.
“Feel better now?” Squeeze leaned on the doorjamb.
“Uh…” He pulled the trigger two more times. “…a little.”
Mrs. Garcia was putting dinner dishes away when the phone rang. She wiped her hands then answered. “Garcia residence.”
“Yes, Mrs. Garcia, I’m Nancy Pittman, a social worker for the Department of Social Services here in Cleveland. Forgive me for disturbing you this evening, but I’m here with your grandchildren.”
“I’ve spoken with my daughter earlier.”
“Then you’re familiar with the situation.”
“Yes, I’m aware.”
“I’m putting forth my best efforts not to put your grandchildren in the care of the state. To be truthful, I’m running out of options.”
“Kitchie had you call me, didn’t she?”
“No, ma’am. I actually got your number from Secret. She’s quite a lady. Is there some way that I can turn the children over to you until their parents handle their legal affairs?”
“Miss, I’m more than nine hours away. I don’t have transportation.”
Ms. Pittman crossed her legs. “If you would take them, we’ll make the arrangements to get the children there safely.”
Mrs. Garcia sat down to rest her aching feet. “Miss, I’m up in my age. My husband and I live in a one-bedroom apartment on a fixed income. We’re not capable of handling them children. Where will they sleep? I can’t give them the attention they need. I already raised my children. I’m sorry.”
“So am I. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Garcia. You have a good evening.”
“Do the same.” Mrs. Garcia ended the call.
Ms. Pittman stared at the door for a minute before she went in. “Secret, Greg Jr., gather your things. We’re leaving.”
Junior stood and stretched. “Where are we going?”
Even after nine years of being a social worker, this was the part of the job that she still hated to perform. “To a place where you guys can play with other children your ages.”
Trouble kept a close eye on the stairwell as Dirty jimmied Jewels’s door.
Two years ago, Dirty could have walked up to a door with a crowbar and opened it like he had the keys. Tonight, he’d been trying to gain access for over five minutes.
“Would you hurry up! Goddamn!” Trouble talked over a shoulder.
“Chill, I almost…” He pushed with everything he had. “…got it.”
The door burst open with a sharp sound.
“About time.” Trouble closed the door behind them. “Who said you have to play a number to hit the lottery?”
Dirty was amazed by the living room. “She got this rinky-dink apartment looking like something you’d find in a
Florida Design
mag. Look at this shit.” The more he took in, the more he was impressed by Jewels’s living
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