Chapter 11 Unwanted Guests
“Wake up, Bob!” Death shakes my shoulder.
“Nope. I’ll continue to dream I’m dreaming of you.” I’ve been visited so many times during my sleeping hours it’s becoming routine. I roll over, ignoring the hooded woman standing at the side of my bed.
Death jumps on my bed and straddles my torso, looking down at me. “Bob, that’s almost rude. We’re friends aren’t we? Plus, this time you’re going to provide business for me.” I notice the flame-red hair underneath the black hood. This apparition visits me the most. I’ve been told it’s something hidden deep in my psyche and maybe she is but I’ve never had any dealings with a red-headed woman.
“Nope, my gun carrying days are done. I’m not about to kill anyone else.” I close my eyes, hoping when I reopen them she’ll be gone.
“Now that’s downright funny, Bob! See you have a sense of humor. You’re so morose all the time I wonder if you’re not destined to be one of us. Wait, you can’t. You’re not a woman! Now, wake up. My clients are here. We need to get this show on the road!” She pulls the quilt from my shoulders and exposes my shirtless torso. “And, by the way, ya need to get to the gym a bit more. You’re looking a bit flabby.”
The knock on the door wakes me. Is it really someone knocking or is it part of the dream? Again a knock, this time louder. I feel exhausted. I have no desire to open the door. The clock on the armoire reads 9:45 PM[B1] . Again the knock. “Fuck, who the hell is at the door at this time of night?” I say, but no one is home except me. Death was just a part of my normal nightmares.
I search the nightstand for my cellphone and turn it on. On the second page of apps is a Samsung video monitoring system. I had two cameras installed and the first is pointing from the garage to the front door. Clicking on it, I see a dark colored pickup. Probably a Dodge from the taillights. The lights are out on it but the security light illuminates it enough to see it well. At the doorstep are two men. Both dressed in sweatshirts with hoods on. Shit.
We bought the house we live in because it sits a bit off the road, has a few acres attached and gives us some privacy. Seldom do we get strangers showing up. But now I have two at my door.
I open the safe that houses my guns but then close it without extracting anything. They’re probably kids out of gas or wanting something. Worse case scenario is when I turn the lights on, if they’re planning on burglarizing me, they’ll either leave immediately or make up some stupid ruse about looking for their cousin or uncle.
I switch on the light in the bedroom then walk into the living room and turn that one on. I look for a shirt to put on but I’m already past the closet and Sherri is insistent that I live a less cluttered life. I try but usually fail miserably.
“What’s up guys?” I ask as I open the door only a few inches. Some precaution is still present in me. The two are more boys than men. One white, one Hispanic, both in their late teens or early twenties. The white boy’s eyes dart right and left. It’s the Hispanic that surprises me by pushing a nickel-plated pistol at me.
“Open the door, dude!” The white boy pushes the door hard and I step back allowing them to enter through the threshold of my residence. “We need some cash. You got a nice place here. I bet you have a bundle stored here somewhere, right dude?”
The Hispanic boy is still pointing the gun at my chest. The gun is a cheap one and it’s a small caliber probably a .22 or a .25. Enough to send me across the river Hades. The white boy passes jerkily to my right. He’s obviously tripping. Great. “Just relax. I’ll get you whatever you want. Put the gun down, and I’ll even help you load up my TV. It’s a new Sony.”
The Hispanic boy with the gun smiles at the offer, but doesn’t lower the gun. “Back up,” he says, his voice is crisp and he’s not slurring his words in the least. I wonder if he’s the designated driver. I back up and I’m glad I didn’t put on my shirt. I’m truly not an imposing figure. I’m someone they believe they can give an ass kicking to. I’m Harmless.
“Any jewelry?” The white boy yells.
“Not really.” I have a gold chain around my neck and a ring on my finger. I put my hand to my side hoping they won’t notice the ring.
The white boy is rummaging through drawers in the buffet in the living room, throwing papers and general junk all over the floor. He seems frustrated and rips the drawer out spilling everything onto the hardwood floor and then throws the drawer onto the floor where it breaks neatly into three pieces.
“There’s about a hundred in the kitchen by the cookie jar.” I offer. The white boy looks up quickly and then turns to scurry into the kitchen. As he’s moving away from me I see the butt of a revolver in his baggie pants. It surprises me that it doesn’t fall out.
“You have any guns?” The Hispanic boy’s question surprises me but then again, this is Eastern Washington and a good percentage of the people have guns in their homes.
“TV, stereo, DVD player, a big jar of change over there by the TV. It’s probably got a couple hundred in it.”
“Hey Bit. Let’s put some of this shit in the truck. Grab the TV and the jar of coins and put it in the truck.”
“Fuck that Shit! There’s a fucking huge safe in the bedroom closet!” The white boy is standing at the entrance to our bedroom and is even more excited.
“What you got in your safe, dude?” The Hispanic asks suddenly a bit more excited about their endeavor.
“Documents and shit. It’s my wife’s. I don’t even have the combo.” Once the words come out of my mouth I know how stupid they sound. These guys are never going to believe that a five-foot-tall safe is going to be filled with documents and they’ll truly never believe that I don’t know the combo.
“Shut the fuck up, dude! You know the combo and I bet you got some fucking gold and maybe guns in it. Get your ass in there man and open the safe before I shoot your fat ass.” He’s smiling which I hope means that he isn’t going to shoot me, yet. Once I open that safe and they see what’s inside that may change. Fuck!
Welcome to my world...