The Easy Way Out

25

"Can I help you?" He squeaked. "Miss?" He wiped the perspiration from his palms on his terribly unflattering yellow golf shirt, which encased his pudgy torso like a nerd sausage.

"I'd like to rent a midsize sedan." Then reading his nametag, she added, "Virgil."

"Yes, ma'am." He fumbled at his computer. "I, uh... I don't have any mid-size cars at the moment. But I do have some awesome deals on a compact."

She gestured toward a silver Ford Fusion in the parking lot. "What about that car?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am. I can't. That vehicle is reserved."

She leaned forward, placing her hand on his. "I really had my heart set on a mid-size. Just like that one. You don't want to break my heart, do you, Virgil?"

His cheeks flushed. "It's not actually up to me."

She leaned in closer and purred, "Sure it is."

########

The silver Fusion sat on the shoulder of a deserted rural road overlooking a steep, forested hillside. Rachel's Honda was perched at the edge of the hill, with Rachel at the wheel.

Blake extracted the canvas duffel bag from the trunk. Beside it, he discovered an overnight bag.

"Hey, when did you pack this bag?" he asked, removing it from the trunk. He looked up into her face but she didn't look back.

"When it felt like it might be a good idea. C'mon. Let's do this before somebody comes."

She released the brake, setting the car in neutral. She slipped out of the car with a few items from the glove box in her hands.

"Step back." He jammed his shoulder against the Honda and shoved. Once the front wheels started downhill, gravity took over. They watched the car gain momentum and bounce downward before it disappeared into the thicket of trees crying out with the distant last gasp of crumpled metal and broken glass. Then silence accompanied by the faint smell of gasoline.

They peered down the slope into the spread of trees that had engulfed the car, neither uttering a word. Hypnotized by the abundance of lush foliage, Blake's thoughts shifted back to Pittsburgh where the trees were naked and bracing for the cold.

Finally, after a long sigh, Rachel said, "Not gonna lie. I'm gonna miss that car."

"Think we can afford a new one."

########

Alex looked up from his wrestling magazine when Gizmo entered the manager's office, a cigarette dangling from his lip.

From the desk chair, Doolie gave a quick glance then went back to working his Excel spreadsheet on a laptop, his neck dipped forward like a chicken pecking grass seeds.

"Just got a call," said Gizmo, a screwed-up expression on his face. "Said the guy and his chick are at a Red Star Motel in some little hick town in South Carolina. Silverstreet. They took the turnpike east. I figured they'd be headed south."

"Who was it, Giz?" Alex closed his magazine and leaned forward in his chair.

"Didn't say. Some smart-ass kid. Called from a payphone with a eight oh three area code."

"Called your cell?"

"No, he called the phone out in the shop."

"Who the fuck has that number?"

########

Two men wearing suits and blue nitrile disposable gloves walked leisurely down the hallway of Blake's apartment building as though they were pacing along an aisle at Target.

Goldberg, a sturdy man with broad shoulders and a penchant for pairing checkered shirts with colorful, patterned neckties, pointed. "Twenty-six. Right down here."

"It's personal preference, I know," said Hobbs, tugging at the intersection of the glove and his caramel wrist, "But I miss latex." He leaned his shoulder against the wall and stretched a shoe cover over each foot.

Goldberg drew a pair out of his jacket pockets. "I guess it's the color coordinator in me but nitrile is a better match with the shoe covers."

Hobbs inspected the shattered door jamb and the damaged door. When he gently pushed open the door, a broken hinge prevented it from moving freely. He seized the doorknob and forced the door open, drawing tracks in the carpeting. Goldberg followed him in. Hobbs surveyed the room with slow, thorough precision. "This happened the same day as they found the building manager?"

"Neighbors called the police about a disturbance." He gestured to the broken door and jamb. "When the officers attempted to obtain information from the landlady, they discovered the deceased." He checked the notes on his smartphone. "The late Beatrice Caputo. She might've laid there for days if they hadn't come knocking. She lived alone." He leafed through a stack of mail on the coffee table and then picked up a Dogster magazine.

Hobbs stepped into the kitchen. "Anything noteworthy from witness interviews?"

"Neighbors reported seeing three men breaking into this apartment and exiting a short time later." Goldberg shrugged. "Collectors. Leg-breaker-types. Definitely not pizza delivery or Candy-gram."

The familiar odor of Clorox greeted them as they started down the hallway and grew stronger as they approached the bathroom. The detectives peeked in. Goldberg winced. "There was mention in the report of a strong bleach or disinfectant smell in the bathroom."

Hobbs drew back the shower curtain with a pen, checking the walls and floor of the tub. "Blood spots or stains discovered anywhere in the apartment?"

"Didn't see that in the report," his partner replied.

They continued into the bedroom where Hobbs looked in the closet. A suit and a blazer in dry cleaner's bags hung beside Dockers slacks and a few button-down shirts. On the floor, a pair of leather dress shoes sat beside two pairs of well-worn sneakers.

Goldberg opened the dresser drawers one after the next. The third drawer was crammed with Blake's underwear and socks.

"You see any women's clothes in there?"

Goldberg re-examined the top two drawers. "A few t-shirts. That's about it."

"You say a young couple was living here?"

Goldberg referred to his notes again. "Yep. A guy and his girlfriend. For a couple years. The guy was anyway. The girl moved in a few months ago."

Hobbs checked beneath the bed. "Looks like she packed a bag. And he didn't."