Untitled story - chapter six

Chapter six.

Another lousy apartment. I'm not surprised.
Faded, torn wallpaper and cheap carpet.
It looked like the person who lived here had gotten tired of it and tried to tear it up, then realizing how much work it would be, he had simply given up on it, deciding it's not worth it.
A corner of the carpet stood up, folded against the wall, a symbol of the owners lack of interest.

I can't blame him, not many people have the energy to care of how they live, not in this town.
In this urban wasteland of concrete, bricks, and steel, long past it's prime, things deteriorate at a faster pace than they's being renovated.
Like Venice, sinking into the sea, this town, too, was doomed to disappear one day, leaving only modern day ruins.
I check my watch. 18:57.

No hurry.
It's not like the owner is coming back any time soon.
He's "on vacation", as it's called.
Six to eight year at the state "concrete hotel", maybe less for good behavior.
Plenty of time for me to look around.
The owner's name is Leonard Steadman, but everyone calls him Len.
He's a robber, smuggler, hitman and overall thug.
Nice guy.

I've worked with him a few times.
He always shows up on time, prepared and ready to work.
Unlike some other people I've worked with...

I walk over to the window and look out.
Cars drift by on the street below. Some kids are sitting in a convertible,
blasting some rap music I don't recognize (not my type of music),
and calling out to some girls passing by on the sidewalk.
I remember doing almost the exact same thing at that age, except with better music playing.

No time for nostalgia, I have to focus on why I'm here.
I go into the bedroom and look around.
There's a unmade bed to the left side of the room, guess he didn't have time to fix it before they busted him.
A nightstand stands next to it, a red lava lamp, shaped like a ketchup bottle, on it.
Weird.

There's a desk on the opposite side of the room, there might be something there.
The desktop is littered with pens, most of which probably don't work, pencils,
scribbled notes with dates, times, initials, and some old newspaper clippings.
I'll look through it later, there might be something here.
I take all of it and put it in my coat pocket.

I open the drawers and look through them. I find a black address book in the top drawer, which I pocket.
Underneath the book is a picture of the man with a girl I don't recognize.
Maybe a girlfriend, current or former. I can't tell.
It doesn't matter anyway, his personal life doesn't affect me.

Looking at the picture, all of the sudden I start thinking about Michelle.
I hope she's OK. I wish I could call her, ask her how she is, what she's been up to...
But I can't.

I snap out of it and look through the rest of the drawers.
Nothing but old bills and junk, none of it important to me.
I close the bottom drawer, and when I do that, I hear a small sound that I can't quite identify.
Was it the drawer?
I open it again, but there's no sound.
Maybe it was nothing.
I close it, and there's the sound again, a small, metallic sound.

I take out the drawer and examine it. I find a small key taped to the back of the drawer.
It must have hit the back part of the desk, and that's why it only made the sound when I closed it.
I remove the key and look at it.
Looks like a lock box key of some kind. The number 182 is engraved at the top.
I put it in my pocket. I'll figure out where it goes later.
It's probably from a train station or an airport terminal.

I take a last look around, checking the rest of the place.
Finding nothing more of interest, I decide my search is done.
I leave the apartment and lock the door behind me.
I'll have to remember to give the key back to Nick.
I'm not sure where he got it, but it's a good thing he did.
Hopefully, I'll be able to piece something together from what I've found.

I walk down the hallway.
Suddenly, I see something in the corner of my eye, a shadow on the wall.
I stop and look around.
Nothing there. Maybe, it was another cat, or maybe, someone is following me.

Before I can give it a second thought, my phone starts humming and vibrating.
I reach into my pocket and pull it out.
The display reads "Incoming call from F".
I know what he wants before I even answered the phone, but I do it anyway.
He tells me to meet him at a diner on Westfield Avenue in 25 minutes.
I tell him I'll be there and hang up.
I knew it was just a matter of time before I got this call, but I still wish it hadn't come.

I take a last look around, making sure nobody else is there, and leave.
Once outside, I call up Nick, telling him to meet me at the place on Parkway in two hours.
I hang up the phone and take a deep breath, enjoying the chance to catch my breath, before I plunge back into the mass of confusion that my life has become.