Page 24 of When Darkness Comes Knocking
Fortune drove me home. I walked up the driveway and froze for the second time tonight. Fortune’s big body bumped into mine because I’d stopped so fast.
The word whore was written on my fence. It was spray painted in the same color that was on my car. That bitch.
It was him. He knew my cameras wouldn’t pick him up spraying on the outside of the fence. However, what he didn’t anticipate was that my cameras picked up every time he left his home.
Rage had filled me. I was no longer tired. Myron barked up the wrong fuckin’ tree. I’d get my revenge back. He just didn’t know what was about to hit him.
Chapter
Seven
Fortune
Something had to be done about Myron’s bitch ass. We had no proof that he was behind everything, but Perrae and I knew it was all his doing. If only we could catch him in the act.
Perrae said his name was Myron Burrs, but that wasn’t correct. One of my guys did a background check on him for me. A bunch of Myron Burrs surfaced, but none of them were Perrae’s neighbor.
That meant one thing. Myron wasn’t who he claimed to be. Some undercover work had to happen. We needed to know who he was and what his secret was.
In order to know that, I had to break into his house. It was the only way. I was dressed in all black and parked a couple of houses down from Myron.
At this time of the night, I knew Perrae and her kids were asleep. Plus, I was well aware that her cameras would catch me going through his front door. I hated crooks who entered through the front door, especially if there was another way to enter a house.
I jogged toward his backyard then dipped around the back when I made it. The moment I landed in his backyard, an awful stench hit me immediately. Whatever it was carried a funky ass smell.
My eyes looked around the backyard. It was messy and held kids toys and your usual gardening supplies. There was a wheel barrel right by a tree.
It sat on a small, almost unnoticeable pile of fresh dirt. I crept over there. The barrel was empty, but the smell was more prominent there.
My heartbeat picked up. It smelled like death over there. I had an agenda tonight, and it didn’t include digging.
As bad as I wanted to, I didn’t want to spend my whole time here when I came to get information on Myron. I snapped a few pictures of that barrel, then continued to his back door. All the lights were off.
I removed my small tools and unlocked his back door. It made a slight creaking noise, but I made sure to be as still as possible. When I was inside, I was thrust into almost darkness.
The moonlight streaming through the kitchen helped a bit, but I brought my trusty small flashlight that lit up a space pretty well. We used them at work. I closed the door and locked it.
I took careful steps as I moved my light around the kitchen. It was filthy and funky. Dishes were piled high, and old food was leftover on several plates and bowls.
They lived in absolute filth. I knew squatters who lived way better than this. Bugs flew around. I waved them away.
It was summertime; of course Myron should’ve known filth was a bug’s paradise. Damn he was a nasty person. I moved over to the counter space where I found a stack of mail.
Quietly, I sifted through the mail. My brows scrunched together. The letter mail was for a Bill and Shirley Packer. Who the fuck were they, and why did he have their mail?
I took a few letters and shoved them in my back pocket. Afterwards, I continued my trek to the living room. There wasn’t much to see, because there was so much garbage that covered his furniture and floor.
I eased up the creaky and dirty stairs. There was trash that littered all the steps. It was like wherever they ate or drank, they threw the wrapping down there. It was crazy.
I’d made it to the top stair when Myron yelled out. “AJ, get yo’ ass in the bed and off those damn stairs!” His words slurred. He was liquored up as usual.
I looked at the door that he shouted from. The door was partially opened, and a small light could be seen. I eased toward his room and peered through the crack.
Myron was stretched out on his bed and crying. He held a photo frame to his chest and gripped a big bottle of liquor in the other hand. Somebody he loved died. That was evident.
I had sympathy for him, but that didn’t give him the right to constantly hurt my woman. He’d get no support from me. If we never got any proof of his dealings, then Myron would just have to die.
There was no way that Perrae would give up her home. She shouldn’t have to. So, he’d have to die.
