“Wow. Youarea wild woman.” Then he laid down his card. “I got ninety-nine problems, but getting married, having a few kids, buying some stuff, retiring to Florida, and dying, ain’t one.”
“Wow. That’s a lot on that itty-bitty card,” she said.
“And some people act like that’s all there is.”
She tipped her head and looked at him thoughtfully. He sensed an uncomfortable question coming his way, so he shoved the pile of black cards toward her. “Your turn.”
She drew another question card and asked, “What’s that smell?”
Gabe started going through his cards.
“No, really! What’s that smell?”
Gabe sniffed the air. “Gas. Grab your coat, and let’s go!”
Misty popped up and ran to the closet by the front door. She tossed his jacket to him first, then grabbed her own. “I need my computer,” she said and started toward her room.
“Leave it. Is your landlady home?”
“Oh! Mrs. Patterson. Yes. We have to get her out too.”
Misty grabbed her purse, and they rushed down the stairs. When they reached the door leading to the first-floor apartment, Misty banged on it.
“Mrs. Patterson! Mrs. Patterson!” She rushed to the small window that looked out on the driveway. “Her car is here.”
Gabe knocked again. When there was no answer, he tried the knob. “The smell of gas is stronger here. Get outside and talk to EMS.” He handed her his phone. “I already dialed 911.”
He checked to see which way the door opened by checking the hinges. If the door opened toward him, kicking it down was going to be next to impossible. Fortunately, this door would swing away from him.
He hadn’t had to kick a door in for a long time, but he remembered to kick the side where the lock was mounted near the keyhole. This would typically be the weakest part of the door.
He quickly checked where Misty was and saw her standing on the sidewalk with the phone up to her ear. Apparently, she was doing what he’d asked, and she was clear.
Today, most doors are made of soft wood and are hollow. They give way fairly easily, especially since the lock’s dead-lock bolt extends only an inch or less into the doorframe. He hoped the landlady had replaced this door at some point and he wasn’t trying to break through original solid hardwood.
He backed up, and using a front kick, he rammed the heel of his boot into the door. He gave the kick forward momentum and kept his balance by driving the heel of his standing foot into the ground.
The wood began to splinter. Regardless, he had to kick it again. And again.Damn it. The thing is solid pine.At last, his foot went through. The smell of gas flowed through the hole he’d created.
He was able to reach in and turn the dead bolt. Opening the door, he called out “Boston Fire Department,” as he entered.
No answer. He still had to be on guard in case it was a trap. He didn’t think Misty’s landlady was one of those sick individuals known to lie in wait for firefighters. Those were genuinely horrible people against humanity. But Misty had said the landlady didn’t own a gun. Just a baseball bat.
He edged around a narrow doorway to a kitchen. A thin woman was seated at a tiny table, slumped over a cup of tea.
“Shit,” he muttered. He didn’t see any pilot light on the stove under the teapot and feared it had gone out. There was no way of knowing how long gas had been leaking. Now he just prayed he could get the woman out without creating a spark.
He draped her arm around his neck and scooped his hand under her denim-clad thighs. So far, so good. As he lifted her, static made her short hair fan out toward him. He held onto her and ran as fast as he could over the dirty shag carpet toward the front door.
BOOM!
