Josh struggled with the key, "Man, this is tight," he said, the exertion showing in his face. "Let me try," I said, pulling a wad of tissue from my pocket and wrapping it around the key.
The key turned on my second attempt, "Get you Benita, you is fierce," he said, giving me his best 'impressed face.'
I felt the heavily gilded wooden door drop and slightly open. Josh completed the task by kicking it open with force.
The door screamed as it thumped the wall, sending a cloud of dust into the derelict building.
When the dust settled, josh patted the gun in his pocket, "Let's go in, I've got this bad boy to look after us," he said.
I clenched my fists and lifted them up to his face, "But we use these beauties before any bang, bang – the bad boy's a last resort only, you get me?" I said.
He grinned, "I Get you BB, I ain't no GG!"
A sudden emotional jolt hit me, "You called me BB, how'd you know?"
"Know what?" He shot back, looking slightly pissed off.
"That I was called BB."
"I didn't! It's my thing, Granny Grace: GG, Benita Badoe: BB – what's your problem?"
Realizing I was being over emotional, I conceded, "Sorry, paranoia's playing with me," I shrugged.
###
Closing the door behind us, I wedged the tissue in between it and the frame, so we could make a quick get away should we need to.
Looking around, it was clear we were in the reception area of what once was a Police Station; as was evidenced by the bars and mesh that separated the public area from the police area.
It had fallen into disrepair, with peeling paint flaking from damp walls and every surface covered in a thick layer of dust.
Old fashioned and faded crime posters still struggled to cling to the walls; the floor was littered with newspapers, leaflets and piles and piles of official looking documents and folders.
Josh kicked through the detritus at his feet, sending clouding peels of dust into the stale air. "So, if the mystery man doing the rounds is your father, there's a reason for us to be in here," he said, picking up an old police file.
He flicked through it, then dropped it back on the floor, bored, "We may as well be looking for a needle in a haystack," he said, wading over to the metal bars.
He knocked hard on the wooden counter, "Hello, anyone in here who can give us a clue why we've been given the keys to this museum?" He shouted, peering through the bars.
"No, didn't think so," he laughed and turned to me. His face dropped, "Benita, you look like you've seen a ghost, what's up?" He said, walking to me, concerned.
His worried look intensified, "Straight up, you've turned white and you is trembling," he said, putting his hands on my shoulders to steady me.
I pointed to my biggest fear. In the far corner of the room, the floor papers rustled and undulated up and down, the rustle moving stealthily towards us. Josh didn't hesitate, nor did I stop him, he took out his pistol, aimed and fired.
The scream was swift; the explosion of blood was immense. It splattered the walls with its gory pebbledash. Josh lifted the papers under which it hid – the biggest baddest rat I'd ever seen.
I yelped and looked away, "Cover it up Josh!" I spat, still squirming.
His hand found my shoulder and he embraced me, "That reaction was extreme, Benita," he said.
