The two adolescents were rubbing their ears while turning back toward the 1959 Ford Thunderbird, and to their surprise right behind them was a tall man dressed in black. Standing next to him was a large Doberman Pinscher. “Crap! Mister, where did you come from?”
Jeff Trent reached into his trench coat pocket and put his Ray Ban sunglasses on and said, “Kid, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” And with that the man and his dog walked out of The Riverside Mall parking lot toward Eighth Street.
Chapter Twenty-Two
A cool breeze blew across Grant Park. The leaves of the large oak tree that Jeff Trent and Genghis Khan were under rustled quietly, some lost their hold of their host and gently fell, landing gracefully on the newspapers spread out on the ground. Jeff, sitting cross legged, brushed them away and looked up at the tree. “Why do they do that? This tree must be dying or something.” Genghis was lying prone with several sections of the paper laid out in front of him. They were far enough away from the crowds enjoying a Sunday in the park that no one payed them any attention.
“Here’s another one,” Genghis said. “This one is called an efficiency. Don’t know what the big damn difference is between an apartment and an efficiency. But this one is also close by.” He put a small hole through the paper with a claw, marking the spot. Jeff was halfheartedly listening to his partner.
As they were walking to the park, they picked up a newspaper and stopped at Dave’s Coffee Pot. Jeff and Genghis both entered and no one really seemed to mind that the big dog was in the small coffee shop. And Monica was getting very used to her new, quirky friend who was at the shop almost as often as she was.
Trent took a sip of his latte while watching a father and his young son fly a kite in the afternoon breeze. He could hear the small boy scream with excitement.
“Hey! This one sounds promising. Two-bedroom one bath, fully furnished over something called a garage.” Genghis looked up to Trent, “What do you suppose a garage is?” He didn’t get a response, but cast his gaze in the direction that Trent was concentrating on. Genghis watched the kite bob up and down and heard the little boy shout with glee. He looked to his left and further down the park. A woman took a short running start and with all her might threw a Frisbee. Her Austrian Shepard bolted after it. The dog jumped up five feet and snatched it out of the air, did a midair 180, and landed on all fours, and then ran happily back, wagging her black-and-white tail frantically. Genghis gave a derisive snort, “Moron!”
“Look how that triangular material catches the wind.” Trent watched for a moment then looked beyond the father and son and saw a baseball game being played. The crack of a bat connecting with a ball drifted through the air, along with some cheering. “They sure do like to play a lot, don’t they?”
“They don’t spend much time on academics, that’s for sure!”
Trent was amused with his partner's assessment of the human race. He had his own opinions and was beginning to like them very much. “Ah? What about a . . .” He looked at Genghis. “What! A garage?”
“Welcome back, Mr. Trent,” Genghis said. “Yeah, this dwelling.” He pointed with a paw. “I think this could work out for us.”
Trent read the ad. “Yes, sounds good. We can’t get caught below decks like that again. It could jeopardize the entire mission. Let’s go back and get the cruiser and check it out.” He paused for a moment. “What’s a garage?”
They walked back to The Riverside Mall, where the car show was still going on. There were several people around the display of Fords, but no one protested when they climbed into the Thunderbird, lowered the top and pulled out of the parking lot.
They drove East on Seventh Avenue and continued across the Seventh Avenue bridge. one of the two draw-bridges in Old Town that spanned the Horseshoe River. Genghis had the holographic computer up and was accessing directions. When they crossed the bridge and entered Hampton Heights, a well established and old subdivision, Genghis directed Jeff to take a right on Hancock Boulevard. They drove the three blocks and came up on 3715 Hancock Blvd. The house in the ad.
Trent pulled up to the curb, parallel to the house. It was a small, two-story, older Craftsman design home, neatly kept and with white clapboard siding. It had a covered porch that ran the length of the front. The two second-story windows were framed with black shutters. And further up in the center of the apex was a round louvered gable attic vent. Past the curb and sidewalk was a four foot chain linked fence that surrounded the perimeter of the front and back yards. To the right, and set a little further back from the house, was a detached two-story single-car garage. It was designed similarly to the house, with matching white clapboard siding. Two narrow strips of concrete the width of car tires lead to the one-piece garage door. On the left side exterior wall of the garage was a wooden staircase that led to the second-story apartment. The stairs ended at a four-foot wide wooden deck that wrapped around to the front of the garage where the apartment front door was located.
“This does look very promising. Let’s see if Mrs. . . .” Trent looked down at the ad. “Remke is in.” Jeff exited the Thunderbird, holding the door open for Genghis to hop out. They both walked to the fence entrance. The small gate squeaked loudly as Jeff opened it, and clanged shut behind them as they entered. They proceeded the short distance on an uneven and cracked walkway to the front porch. On the porch to the left of the front door was a weather beaten wicker loveseat. To the right were two wicker chairs and a wicker coffee table, just as weather beaten as the other. They climbed the three steps and stood facing a thick, solid oak door. The worn, wooden, framed screen door, in front of it, hung poorly on its crooked hinges.
Trent looked down at Genghis. “Now what?”
“Got me! I guess we do what we would if we were back home. Knock!”
Trent shrugged his shoulders and wrapped his knuckles on the screen door, being careful not to knock it off its hinges. The knock got an almost instant response. They could hear heavy footsteps on the hardwood floors from within. The heavy thumps grew closer and closer, when suddenly, the front door was wrenched open. “What do you want?”
Jeff Trent and Genghis Khan took one involuntary step backward. Mrs. Remke was 5 foot 6 inches tall, pudgy, with curlers in her white hair. She was wearing a frumpy housecoat and slippers. A pair of thin, black-rimmed half-moon glasses sat on the tip of her large nose. “Well? Speak up, sonny.”
Trent was silent for a moment. Mrs. Remke’s beady, dark eyes bore into him. “I . . . ah.” He glanced down at the paper in his hands. “Ah, Mrs. Remke, we’re here about the apartment.”
“The what?” she replied. “Oh! The ad in the paper.” Mrs. Remke spoke in a rapid, machine gun like fashion. “It’s been in there for so long, I forgot about it.” She paused for a moment and looked Jeff up and down. He felt slightly violated. “What’s your name?”
“Ah, Jeff Trent.”
“Very well, Mister Trent, with the economy the way it is, I haven’t had many inquiries on the apartment.” She reached behind the door and took something off the wall. “First and last month up front.” She opened the squeaky screen door and stepped out. In her pudgy little hand was a ring of keys. “The rent’s going to be five hundred and I expect it in cash and on the first of every month.” She stopped and looked down at Genghis, just now noticing him for the first time. “Is this animal going to be staying with you?” Genghis raised an eyebrow.
“Well . . . Ah, yes. He’s my . . .”
“And a cleaning deposit of two hundred, also paid up front.” She passed both of them and started to walk down the steps of the porch. “I normally don’t rent to anyone with pets, the filthy things,” Genghis's other eyebrow shot up, “but, times are tough and beggars can’t be choosy.” She stopped and swung around and looked down at Genghis. Genghis felt a cold chill run down his spine. “Is it housebroken?” She then shot her gaze at Trent that bore into him again. He felt the chill too!
Jeff thought back to Le Pot Au Feu and the negat
ive answer he gave the hostess when asked if Genghis was a service dog. He sheepishly said, “Yes! Of course, he is.” Hoping it was the correct answer she was seeking.
She turned and proceeded on. “Very well, Mister Trent.” She then asked over her shoulder, “What’s its pedigree? What do you call it?”
“Oh! He’s a Doberman Pinscher, Mrs. Remke, and his name’s Genghis Khan.”
She led them down to the front gate and without looking back said, “What the hell kind of name is that for a dog?” Genghis thought the same thing. She probably wouldn’t have given it a second thought if his name was John Wayne.
She opened the gate and stepped onto the sidewalk. Jeff and Genghis followed and damn near walked into her when she stopped dead in her tracks. “Is that a 1959 Ford Thunderbird?” she asked.
“Well, yes. Yes, it is,” Trent said. “We bought an old farm house in the country. Found this auto-mo-bile rusting away in the barn for the last thirty years and thought, ‘Hey, what the hell!’ Let’s restore it back to its original condition and drive it around.” He made steering wheel motions with his hands.
She was quiet for a moment, taking in the vehicle. “My late husband, Charles, God rest his soul,” she said, “he had a 1959 Ford Thunderbird, very similar to this one. Bought it in the late seventies and poured so much money into it getting it restored.” She gazed at the car for a moment more, then turned toward the garage. “It was a piece of shit!”
She led them up the narrow double concrete strips to the garage door. “Hardly ran and leaked oil like a sieve. I made him sell the piece of junk a couple of years later to old lady Thatcher. She was mad as a hatter and thought it was 1959.” She gave a small chuckle. “You should have heard her telling everybody how she bought this brand-new car for a song. Crazy old biddy!”
Mrs. Remke reached down and took a firm grip of the handle of the garage door, twisted it and pulled the door open. The heavy springs took the door up and tucked it toward the ceiling. The single-car garage was sparse and clean, except for two old metal garbage cans on the left next to the side entrance door and an empty workbench on the right. “You should have seen it before I cleaned it out. My late husband Charles had crap everywhere.” She motioned with her chin, “The stairs at the back wall leads to the back door of the apartment. You can use the garage. I don’t want that eyesore parked out front of my house. Lord knows what the neighbors will say.”
She and her guests exited the garage and started to ascend the creaky outside staircase to the apartment. They reached the front door which was directly over the garage door. Two white plastic chairs with specks of grayish green mold growing on them sat to the right of the door.
“Charles built this apartment over the garage about twenty years ago. 'Oh! It’ll pay for itself,' he said,” She started to flip through the keys on the ring. “'Oh! Don't you worry a bit,' he said,” keys jingling as she searched. “'Money in the bank,' he said.” She made a huff sound. “I don’t think we ever made a dime back on this white elephant.”
While Mrs. Remke searched for the key, Jeff looked around the neighborhood. He could see the Horseshoe River, sun sparkling off the water. The homes, as far as he could see, seemed to have been built around the same time as Mrs. Remke’s. They were all of similar design, and all kept up very well. It was a quiet neighborhood with large old oak trees. A few people were out in their yards working or relaxing. A perfect location to blend in.
She found the correct key, inserted it, and opened the door. Warm and musty air hit them as they entered a small living room. There was a couch and a coffee table facing a television, along with a chair and matching ottoman. To the left of the front door, overlooking a bar with three bar stools, was the kitchen. “Well, there you have it. I’ll let you look around, Mr. Trent. I’ll be in the house. My shows are on. Just knock when you’ve made up your mind.” And with that, Mrs. Remke left Jeff and Genghis alone in the small apartment.
“So . . .” Genghis said, glancing around the apartment, “Do you think Mr. Remke committed suicide?”
“Most likely!” Trent replied, “And what’s housebroken?” He looked at Genghis for a possible answer.
“You mean besides this place?”
“Oh, I think it’s quaint,” Jeff said, while walking to the kitchen. “A place a real human would reside. And look how nice our galley is.” The white vinyl floor, with its small, black diamonds uniformly dotted throughout, was scuffed, and the ends that met the oak cabinets were slightly curling up and cracked. The olive green refrigerator stood to the right as you entered the tiny kitchen and hummed loudly. The matching olive green electric stove was at the far end, toward the front wall of the apartment, set between cabinets. To the left was the sink and in front of that, an open space overlooking the bar and into the living room.
They both walked toward the back of the apartment. On the left, was a full bath and beyond that, a short hall. The two bedrooms on either side of the hall had identical twin beds with one dresser and two nightstands on each side of the bed. “Hey, if we take this, can I have the one on the right?” Genghis asked, pushing the door open with his nose. He entered and hopped onto the bed, circled left, then right, then plopped down. “Hey! This is kind of comfortable.” Jeff pushed open the door on the left. The bed was made and there was nothing on the walls. He was thinking his partner was right. It did look very comfortable.
They both proceeded down the short hall to the back door. Jeff opened it to reveal the backstairs leading into the garage. “Very convenient,” Jeff said. “We can park the cruiser in the space below and be able to bring up equipment through here without being seen.”
They both returned to the small living room. “Hey, look at that,” Trent said, pointing excitedly. “A television . . . human entertainment!” He walked over to the old JVC. “I wonder how we activate it?”
“I’m not sure,” Genghis replied. “Maybe it’s voice activated?”
“Perhaps you’re right.” Trent looked at the set and said, “Activate!” Nothing. “Online!” Still nothing. Genghis saw a small black remote on the coffee table with the same JVC logo on it. “Mainframe online!” Trent said, without any luck. Genghis pushed the little red button on the remote when Trent said, “Television online!” Just then, the set came to life with a low pop. Trent turned to Genghis with a big grin, “It’s ‘television online’ to activate.”
“Ah, Jeff I don’t think . . .”
“Hey! What’s this?” Jeff was mesmerized to see actual human entertainment on the television. Moe had just slapped Larry across the face, then swung around and brought his fist down on Curly’s head with a bonk! “I didn’t know the human skull could make that sound when struck?” They both watched in amazement for about ten more minutes. When all three human males on the television ran out of the fancy dinner party after starting a pie fight with the bald one going, Wooo, Woo, Woo, Woo, Jeff and Genghis looked at each other, stunned.
“Is that how humans are supposed to act?” Genghis asked in disbelief.
“I don’t know,” Jeff said, just as befuddled. “We’ve been here now for a while, and I’ve never seen anyone in Old Town greet someone by taking two fingers and poking the other in the eyes!”
“Oh, God no!” Genghis exclaimed. “That would hurt like hell!”
“I don’t know. It’s something we could look into at a later date.” Jeff leaned forward and spoke to the TV. “Television offline!” Jeff stared at the set, waiting for it to shut down, but all he saw was an infomercial for the greatest adhesive tape ever.
“Television off . . .”
“JEFF!” Genghis said, getting Trent’s attention. He slid the remote across the coffee table. “Push the little red button.”
He picked up the remote and did what his partner asked. The television shut off. Jeff grinned while looking at the little device. “Remotely controlled. Brilliant!”
They both stood in the silence of the apartment, looking around. “So, what do you think
?” Genghis asked.
“I like it,” Trent said sincerely. “We have two bedrooms, a nice galley, a bath, and a hold for the cruiser. I think we should take it.” He looked down at his partner, “What do you think?”
“Yeah, I think it could work. Let’s go ahead and do it.”
Jeff backed the cruiser into the garage then discreetly went below decks to the replicator to produce more currency for Mrs. Remke. He gave her the twelve hundred dollars and with a clammy handshake, the deal was done. Keys were passed over, and rules were set.
They closed the garage door and spent the rest of the day moving in. Personal effects were brought up and placed in their respective rooms. Jeff filled his small closet with the clothes that were tailored for the mission and what the Replicator produced for him. Genghis set up a portable computer on the coffee table, and all the handheld devices went into the bottom dresser drawer of his bedroom.
By the time the sun set and the moon rose, they were settled. Jeff drove to Dave’s Coffee Pot before they closed for some coffee and sandwiches. They ate in front of the TV, while Jeff channel-surfed the many channels. They watched local and national news, sitcoms about dysfunctional families, and documentaries. Then they found a two-hour Three Stooges marathon on a local channel and watched and laughed hysterically. It was past three in the morning when they finally shut the television down and went to bed.
Chapter Twenty-Three
It was eight in the morning when Genghis woke to the clatter of Jeff in the kitchen.
He came out of his room, blinking his sleepy eyes. All the lights were on in the apartment and so was the television. He found Jeff unpacking bags. “Morning.”
Jeff turned to see his partner and said, “Morning! I found a store that was opened very early called 7-11 and bought supplies.” He started pulling things out. “I purchased something called Captain Crunch.” He placed the box on the counter. “Canned pasta from a gentleman by the name of Chef Boy-ar-dee.” He placed the cans next to the cereal. “And look at this. . .” He rummaged through one of the bags. Jeff proudly produced a large can of coffee. “Coffee! From the house of Maxwell! We can make our own coffee! And look what I found in one of the cabinets.” He pointed toward a small white device now on the counter. “A do-it-yourself coffee maker, from the man who invented coffee. Look!” He pointed to the small Mr. Coffee logo on the coffee maker. Then continued removing items from the bags.
The Interstellar Police Force, Book One: The Historic Mission Page 11
