Undercover Badge; Next Generation

Chapter thirty-two

CHAPTER 32

          Matthew's telling me about take out menus should have been said like a warning. I was ill prepared for the cornucopia of folded up paper in an array of colors and most covered in grease stains that fluttered like confetti and spilled across the kitchen floor when I pulled a manila folder from the table without holding tight enough. Pizza and Chinese food and sushi and Thai and Italian and Greek and Mexican and American and Swiss- there was even a flyer for an Irish style pub that delivered 24/7 be your request ale or Barmbrack.

The array baffled me and the grease repulsed me and I just suddenly, desperately, wanted a fresh, crisp, cool apple to bite into. Matthew had told me to stay put. I sighed.

I dug through his fridge- nothing. He seemed to have known he'd be away from home as long as he was and thusly had cleared everything out. Except for a twelve pack of beer. Eugh.

The more I thought about it, the more I wanted the damn apple. I chewed my thumbnail, staring at the door. Matthew had locked me in here. I chewed some more.

Spare keys? Who keeps spare keys inside the house? Right. Nobody.

I stepped up to the door and hunched awkwardly, looking at the deadbolt. Okay. Could I open it from the inside? I reached out to the doorknob. Flicked it with my index fingernail. Pulled my hand back. Cocked my head.

Okay. So it was one of those old, kind of tarnished looking brass doorknobs. There was a button in the centre- not a button, a flicky kind of switchy latch type thing.

It's a technical term.

Okay. I yanked on the knob with a turn. Nuthin'. I flicked the switchy latchy thing. Tried again. Turned the knob.

The heavy bolt slid back with a creak and the door opened. I held it an inch from the frame and stared at the hallway beyond. There was no way for me to get back inside once I'd locked it from the inside and walked out. And I couldn't leave it open- security or no, this was Chicago.

I really wanted that apple.

So I pulled on my jacket, yanked on my cream gloves and scarf from my leather bag, which I threw over my shoulder. I bit my lip and looked inside. Flicked off the lights. Set the door to lock behind me. And I walked out.

Walking around in Chicago near midnight is as electrifying as it is terrifying. Near Matthew's place it was the kind of scared you get when you're alone at home and your curtains twitch and you swear a man with an axe and a Jason mask is about to jump out at you. The street lights cast color that wasn't the washed out white I was used to from Blue Grove. The lights at home made the night look like an old black and white movie, and somehow it was comforting. Streetlights near Matthew's apartment, which truly was bordering the warehouse districts, cast sickly yellow-orange light. It felt over saturated, as if the picture had been warmed up in oranges- a badly filtered photograph.

Twenty minutes later the lights seemed to cool some and more and more people were out and about. I passed a couple of clubs spilling laughing people and heavy music onto the side walk like a wine glass that had been knocked over. I anticipated electronic and techno dance music- the kind made with a keyboard and computer and simulated voices that were more mechanics than human. But surprisingly, some poured rock music over me as I walked past, others Indy styled bands and some jazz. I'd never understood how my friends could go to the clubs we shared with Silver Valley- all of them were these boring, crowded places with girls too worried about their hair and makeup being sweated off to have fun, not that they could with the music being that droning, buzzy thump-thump crap. But THIS- this I could understand, I thought as I looked through one of the open pub doors at some hipster-y band covering Jolene by Dolly Parton but SO much cooler.