The Enigma’s Anomaly

“Just because I accept it doesn’t mean I want to participate in it.”

“I’m not asking you to kill a guy I’m just asking you to break into a house.”

“A dead guy’s house!”

I’ve been getting complaining from Gerard for twenty minutes. I don’t know what he expects from me? Just because Officer Roland is a dead guy doesn’t mean I’m going to let him off the hook for throwing me into a large body of water to die. It’s been two days! The cops can’t really care that much, can they? He’s a dead guy with apparent proof that he’s a horrible man. They found files on his body or something that incriminate him. The lady cop wasn’t happy about the fact that I was being truthful about that, but I’m alright with it.

I want to see what else he’s got in his home. I’m much more familiar with the workings of this life then the cops. Sure the cops know the rudiments, but they haven’t a clue what it’s like in the mind of someone like myself. They don’t know the mechanics or the details.

“You don’t have to do any actual breaking in, I’ve just never broke into a cops house,” I tell him.

“Oh, so you’ve broken into other peoples apartments then,” he states.

“Dude, I broke into you’re apartment even. And Mikey’s. It’s not that hard if you don’t take anything,” I tell him.

“Forgive me for being abnormally vanilla, but isn’t the point of breaking into someone’s home to take stuff? Isn’t that the point?”

“There’s burglary and then there’s looking around. I don’t take things usually, that’s for robbers. I’m not like that. Well, sometimes I hide the TV remote to tick people off, but I don’t generally steal things from homes,” I say. I leave the part out where I pick-pocket things because something’s don’t need to be said.

“So hold on, is there a specific academy for all things illegal that I’m unaware of?” Gerard exasperates, and he looks completely lost. He’s leaning against the bedroom door with his head against the wood and his eyes trained on the ceiling.

“Naw, you just learn these things. It’s not that hard. Wear gloves, pick up any and all shell casings, never put on cologne, keep your head down, and your face away from cameras,” I say, “the skill comes in not getting caught. Anyone can commit a crime, but only few can get away with it.”

“But you’re retired?” he says.

“From killing people. I made no promise about breaking in. I don’t want to steal anything, that’s not my thing, I just want to take a look around. And as soon as you’re safe then I’m completely done with the business, but I’m not going to stand back and let someone try to hurt you.”

Gerard groans, “But I don’t want to, like, do that! It’s illegal! It’s bad! Can’t you do this by yourself?”

I turn to him and frown, “Gerard, the cops are idiots. They’re not going to get the answers I can get. They don’t have the power nor the jurisdiction. It’s not that hard, Gerard! All I need you to do is tell me if someone’s about to come in. Just watch my back and I’ll have more answers hopefully.”

“And how will I know if someone’s coming?”

“Simple, he lived in a condo. Entrance is off the parking lot. Clear view of the front door for anyone whose looking. Swanky place too. Wasn’t paid for with no cop money, that’s for sure. Either our dead friend had a rich dead relative who left him an inheritance or he had a not-so-legal side job,” I tell him.

“You can’t know that. Maybe it was just a onetime thing? He could’ve gotten that cash somewhere else!”

“Well Gerard, I may have swiped his file from the police and made a copy of it, and I can tell you that he didn’t win the lottery, nor does he have a gambling habit. Usually with these things, the most obvious answer is the right one. He’s a bad man. Did bad things. Didn’t do bad things because he had to, he did ‘em because he could. There’s a difference between wanting to see people in pain, and wanting to live another day. This guy was a sadist in every sense of the word. Liked seeing people squirm, and not in the good way. I’m not like that, nor have I ever had the desire to be like that. He wasn’t in it for the money, that was just a plus. He was in it for the fun. That’s a scary thing for a man to be. I maybe a Reynolds, but I ain’t no Niska,” I may still have Firefly on my mind from that dream, but it’s as good a comparison as any.

~*~*~*~

It takes me about an hour and quite a few consolations to finally convince Gerard to help me out. I may owe him a few blow jobs, but I’m okay with that. I just need to get into that house. I need to see what it is that mister-sadist man might have to help me work things out. I’m not going to say that the police are completely incompetent, but they are at least incredibly incompetent.

It’s about dinner time which means the traffic is a little heavy, but his place is off of a main street, and not overly busy, so I should be good. I’m a little nervous that there might be some cop observation, but I don’t see any, and I don’t intend to leave it looking like I broke in anyway. If I have to I will, but this place hasn't been lived in since the guy died which means he probably left it in a state where he fully intended to come back. There might be an open window, but there’s probably a key hidden somewhere. Sure, the cops will have taken a look around, but they’re not looking in the right places.

I leave Gerard sitting anxiously across the street and then I walk quickly to the front door of Officer Roland’s house.

With my gloves on, I check above the door but there’s nothing. No door mat, but there’s a flower pot. No key under there, and I peek over to the window, but I doubt I’m going to need it. Mikey kept his key in the lamp shade next to his door. I never actually did break into Gerard’s because he invited me in so easily, but I told him that to keep him on his guard. It’ll keep him wary of the fact that it’s possible. There isn’t a lamp shade outside of this apartment though, so

I look at the plant again. It’s dead, and I don’t really want to go digging my hand into the dirt, but there’s a section of rocks in front of the house for decoration. I angle my eyes to look at them from a different angle to spot any of them that look out of place, but none of them do.

Maybe he doesn’t have a hidden key. I mean he is a cop, he probably knows better. But this is New York, quite a few people do. I grab a pen from my pocket and stick it into the dirt of the flower pot, searching for something off, or something solid. It hits something so I dig out a hole and grab the object. It’s just another rock. I frown, almost ready give up and go for the window until I realize the rock is hollow. There it is. People are so stupid! Don’t hide a key. It’s only ever going to cause you trouble.

The key is inside the rock which turns out to be just a weighted hunk of plastic with a hollow section built specifically for spare keys. I do really hate how easy it is to break into peoples places sometimes. They have no creativity.

Nevertheless I enter the apartment, but not before I make sure to give Gerard a wink. I don’t see his response, but I hope he rolls his eyes at me.

The condo is bland. Minimal furniture, and everything is mismatched. According to his file at the police station he’s unmarried and his apartment only confirms that. No woman in their right mind would buy a blue kettle and yellow forks. He needs an interior decorator. Well, ‘needed’, he’s dead now so it’s not going to be of much use. Maybe Gerard could’ve helped him out with the furnishing, he has a nice place. I might think that though just because it’s Gerard’s, but it is still pretty nice.

There’s no sign that anyone’s been through here recently even though I know they have. That’s kind of what cops do when they’re investigating a murder. The first thing I check is the stack of papers on his desk, but I don’t see anything that looks helpful. I look through the cabinet by the couch and I find a bunch of stuff on taxes, but nothing else.

I don’t know how other people hide stuff, but I keep important things away from the open. I keep a lot of stuff in the DVD case of my favorite movie, and I know that that’s probably just me, but I open the cabinet under the TV and look through the rows of movies anyway. I don’t know what Officer Roland’s favorite movie is, but I look at some of the more popularly favorite movies. Nothing in the case for The Shawshank Redemption or The Godfather. He does have the movies Training Day and Lakeview Terrace so I can’t help but dwell on how ironic it would be if he kept things in there. Unfortunately, both are empty aside from the discs, but it would’ve been funny if he had.

There’s not really anywhere to hide anything in his apartment. I check a few nooks but there’s nothing in the living room. There’s some milk in the refrigerator that went bad even before the guy died, which grosses me out a little, but I walk away. He really needed a girlfriend or boyfriend or something because his hygiene is monstrous.

The bathroom is pretty basic, and there’s nothing hidden in the tank of the toilet, though that’s an outdated trick anyway.

In his bedroom, which hasn’t seen action in several years, is pretty minimal as well. There’s nothing between the mattress and the box springs, there’s a porn collection in the sock drawer, and there’s something that looks like it may have been food once that I’m going to pretend I didn’t see under the bed.

I don’t find anything at all in his apartment until I finally find his secret stash in the worst place possible. He hollowed out a copy of the fucking Bible! Now, even I know that’s wrong. I only realize that it’s hollow after I check the bookshelf, but once I look through a few of the sheets of paper in there, I realize that I’ve found the goods. No one is really going to miss this if I take it, so I grab the Bible and tuck it under my shirt, then hurry out of the condo and across the street to Gerard.

“Find anything?” Gerard asks as soon as he sees me.

“Oh yeah. Officer Roland was a filthy man with no respect for Jesus.”