(Last week: Rookie detective Grimes takes credit for Brazil’s theory on the missing fourth passenger, but Chartan grows weary of the mystery, concerned he is trapped in his job as a limo driver.)
Chartan drove slowly, splitting his attention between what was ahead and the back seat. There were no passengers, but he couldn’t shake the suspicion that someone was there. He was halfway home when he pulled over and parked in front of a brick house with shades drawn in every window. He sensed there was evil inside, if not extreme unhappiness.
He’d picked this stopping point randomly. The surrounding houses were painted bright colors, some had children playing in the front lawns. But the brick house had more weeds than grass in front. The slate walkway to the front door was riddled with cracks. The eyesore property was a temporary diversion. He was soon overcome with the urge to knock on the door, to see what kind of being lived inside–the exercise would help him forget the three dead passengers
Chartan stepped softly on each piece of slate as if each one was thin ice on a pond. He thought of the dreams he had after the concussion he suffered at the hands of the car window bandit. There’d been a fancy mansion with three women staring at him from a second floor balcony under a full moon. The details had become fuzzy. It was easy to put this dream out of his mind, but that didn’t explain why on a sunny late morning he was standing by a dark wooden door. He pressed his fingertips against rough surface until it swung open, almost propelling him inside.
“Don’t want any,” cracked the old woman in a grey house coat.
“Sorry, I was wondering if I’d been here before.”
“I have a Glock in my pocket, sonny. Beat it.”
“I’m sorry if I upset you.”
“I know you.”
“Yeah, you’re that limo driver with the dead passengers.”
To be continued next Sunday…