Page 63 of Girl, Remembered

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

‘Little bastards. Cost me a hundred bucks, why don’t you?’

A broken window wasn’t the worst thing in the world, Edis reasoned. He’d bought this place knowing the possibilities, and you couldn’t complain about the cost of business after the business had been done. He stood near the far wall and surveyed the scene. The tables, booths, jukebox and bar were covered in plastic wrap to prevent paint spillages. A ladder leaned permanently against the ceiling where he’d stopped halfway through the light fixtures two weekends ago. Behind the bar, a corkboard held nothing but paint swatches and a Post-it in his own handwriting: ASK LISA ABOUT STOOLS.

Kids was the likely answer to this. They were the usual culprits for such minor acts of vandalism. Edis was probably going to replace all of these old windows anyway, so maybe his venomous designation of them wasn’t so warranted. Everyone had a little rebellion in them, and Edis would be a hypocrite if he said he hadn’t acted in such similar bastardish fashion in his youth.

They had probably snuck into the parking lot, or walked around from the other side of the pond. Everyone in town knew this place was closed down for a few months, so an empty parking lot made the ideal location for drink and drugs and fornication.

‘Stay safe, kids.’

Broken glass lined the floor. Next to it was a large rock. It had been a long time since William Edis worked as a detective, but this case was pretty open and shut. He picked up the rock, rolled it around his hands and decided this crime didn’t require forensic examination. He threw the rock back out of the window.

It didn’t look like anything in the bar had been stolen. Not that there was much to steal here. If they wanted the empty cans of paint, they were welcome to them. The only things with any value were the miter saw and the sander, but kids wouldn’t know that. The till area boasted no money either, and if that wasn’t a fitting metaphor for this place then Edis didn’t know what was.

A sound came from the back room.

Edis went still and listened. Nothing followed it for a second, then two, then long enough that he’d almost decided he’d imagined it.

Could be the rats. That was the sane answer.

But if he’d learned anything of his forty years in law enforcement, it was that for every ninety-nine sane happenings, one insane thing snuck its way in there. The law of probability said that, at some point, the improbable would occur.

The sound came again. It sounded to his experienced ears like a footstep on a floorboard. Or it could have been the heat zapping the moisture out of them, shrinking them.

But it was after 10PM. Any heat shrinkage would have occurred hours ago.

Edis reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his gun.

‘Someone there?’

Many landlords claimed that squatters were the bane of their lives. Edis didn’t have trouble with squatters. He had trouble with phroggers, which were people who lived in your residences without you knowing. They had hiding spots, like attics and basements. They were invisible, short-term dwellers, and a lot of them were dangerous.

Nothing came back.

Edis edged around the plastic-covered bar area to the door that said STAFF ONLY. The single staff toilet. He put one ear to the door – and through the thin, soon-to-be-replaced wood, he heard breathing.

Son of a bitch.

The broken window was large enough for someone to slip through. Was it a stupid kid? Was it a homeless junkie? Maybe it was a perfectly-harmless homeless person who just needed shelter, and if it was, Edis considered getting him to finish the paint job while he was here.

It had been years since he’d had to force a phrogger out of one of his buildings, but once they saw the gun and heard the letters FBI, they scampered pretty quickly.

Edis’s heart rate picked up speed. He put one hand on the handle.

Three.

Two.

One.

He heaved the door open with a violent yank.

His expectations were confirmed.

Someone was standing in the staff toilet.

A man.