mother’s VW as she jumped out for a moment to run an
errand. He hadn’t realized that her six month old son was in the
back fast asleep. He had to lay low after that even though the kid
survived but still…. He had gotten cocky and complacent, sloppy
even. After that he just stuck to abandoned buildings and stolen
vehicles, and as he got older the habit faded he only threw lit
matches for cash. It was a peculiar skill he was rather good
at.
In the wing
mirror he noticed an old, beaten up people carrier in that
particular shade of beige that only old folk like.
“ That must be him,” Jorge whispered to no one in particular as
he lit a cigarette.
He breathed
out the blue smoke and watched it dance on the breeze. Across the
road an old yet athletic man was carrying in groceries from his car
while talking into an outdated cell phone. Jorge watched him from
the comfort of his car through his beady eyes and smiled as he
thought about what he’d do with him. He eventually tucked his
cigarette into his cars ashtray instead of flicking it out the
window – they weren’t finding his DNA on the crime scene - and
swaggered over the street. He pressed the doorbell. Silence. He
knew the old man was in there, he was just playing hard to get.
Reaching out a sweaty hand he pressed the doorbell again. Still
silence. Jorge soon tired of the old dude playing coy and he
knocked on the door loudly.
“ Who is it?” the old man called.
Jorge could
hear the panic in his voice. He obviously wasn’t used to visitors.
In his strongest Puerto Rican accent, he put on especially for
privileged white people, he playfully yelled:
“ Yo man! Girl Scouts! You wanna buy some cookies?”
The old man
immediately blustered into the hallway and Jorge could see him
through the blurred glass.
“ What do you want?” he was terrified but nevertheless tried to
stand his ground. “I have a gun you know?”
“ So do I,” came the glib reply from the Puerto Rican with the
dazzling smile. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” that
playful voice again.
“ I have no cash in the house!” was all the man could say to try
and placate the terror he was feeling.
“ Look man I don’t want your money. I just need to
talk,”
“ Please leave! Or I’m phoning the police!”
But it was too
late. As he reached out to the phone that lay by the front door
Jorge had smashed in the glass with the handle of his gun and
unlocked the door. He instantly grabbed the man by his cardigan and
pushed him into the wall.
“ Don’t play games grandpa….”
“ What do you want?”
“ You’re Carl Reiner’s father ain’t ya?”
Suddenly the
old man’s face turned pale and Jorge could see the fear in his
eyes.
“ Take that as a yes,” he put him back down on his feet. “So
what can you tell me about him? Is he here?”
“ No he’s not here. Hasn’t been in a long while,” his voice
shook with sadness.
“ Well you won’t mind if I take a look around then?” Jorge said
menacingly as he began to knock ornaments from the mantel piece and
books from the shelves.
He was
enjoying himself and this was part of the interrogation process
that Jorge loved. The fear in people’s eyes as he violated their
personal space was priceless. But more than anything he loved the
way they looked so helpless. He glanced over to Reiner Senior who
wasn’t trying to stop him from trashing the place. Jorge walked
into the dining room and knocked a glass off the table like a
naughty child. It shattered loudly on the floorboards and Reiner
flinched at the noise. Jorge saw how scared he really was.
“ Look please….I don’t know what you want and I don’t know where
my son is. Haven’t seen him in years,”
“ Is that so?” Jorge could see honesty behind the old man’s
eyes. He knew he was telling the truth but still…. He wanted his
playtime.
Pulling out
the rope from the inside of his jacket, he wound the ends around
his hands while looking Reiner in the
errand. He hadn’t realized that her six month old son was in the
back fast asleep. He had to lay low after that even though the kid
survived but still…. He had gotten cocky and complacent, sloppy
even. After that he just stuck to abandoned buildings and stolen
vehicles, and as he got older the habit faded he only threw lit
matches for cash. It was a peculiar skill he was rather good
at.
In the wing
mirror he noticed an old, beaten up people carrier in that
particular shade of beige that only old folk like.
“ That must be him,” Jorge whispered to no one in particular as
he lit a cigarette.
He breathed
out the blue smoke and watched it dance on the breeze. Across the
road an old yet athletic man was carrying in groceries from his car
while talking into an outdated cell phone. Jorge watched him from
the comfort of his car through his beady eyes and smiled as he
thought about what he’d do with him. He eventually tucked his
cigarette into his cars ashtray instead of flicking it out the
window – they weren’t finding his DNA on the crime scene - and
swaggered over the street. He pressed the doorbell. Silence. He
knew the old man was in there, he was just playing hard to get.
Reaching out a sweaty hand he pressed the doorbell again. Still
silence. Jorge soon tired of the old dude playing coy and he
knocked on the door loudly.
“ Who is it?” the old man called.
Jorge could
hear the panic in his voice. He obviously wasn’t used to visitors.
In his strongest Puerto Rican accent, he put on especially for
privileged white people, he playfully yelled:
“ Yo man! Girl Scouts! You wanna buy some cookies?”
The old man
immediately blustered into the hallway and Jorge could see him
through the blurred glass.
“ What do you want?” he was terrified but nevertheless tried to
stand his ground. “I have a gun you know?”
“ So do I,” came the glib reply from the Puerto Rican with the
dazzling smile. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” that
playful voice again.
“ I have no cash in the house!” was all the man could say to try
and placate the terror he was feeling.
“ Look man I don’t want your money. I just need to
talk,”
“ Please leave! Or I’m phoning the police!”
But it was too
late. As he reached out to the phone that lay by the front door
Jorge had smashed in the glass with the handle of his gun and
unlocked the door. He instantly grabbed the man by his cardigan and
pushed him into the wall.
“ Don’t play games grandpa….”
“ What do you want?”
“ You’re Carl Reiner’s father ain’t ya?”
Suddenly the
old man’s face turned pale and Jorge could see the fear in his
eyes.
“ Take that as a yes,” he put him back down on his feet. “So
what can you tell me about him? Is he here?”
“ No he’s not here. Hasn’t been in a long while,” his voice
shook with sadness.
“ Well you won’t mind if I take a look around then?” Jorge said
menacingly as he began to knock ornaments from the mantel piece and
books from the shelves.
He was
enjoying himself and this was part of the interrogation process
that Jorge loved. The fear in people’s eyes as he violated their
personal space was priceless. But more than anything he loved the
way they looked so helpless. He glanced over to Reiner Senior who
wasn’t trying to stop him from trashing the place. Jorge walked
into the dining room and knocked a glass off the table like a
naughty child. It shattered loudly on the floorboards and Reiner
flinched at the noise. Jorge saw how scared he really was.
“ Look please….I don’t know what you want and I don’t know where
my son is. Haven’t seen him in years,”
“ Is that so?” Jorge could see honesty behind the old man’s
eyes. He knew he was telling the truth but still…. He wanted his
playtime.
Pulling out
the rope from the inside of his jacket, he wound the ends around
his hands while looking Reiner in the
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