Murray Hill || A Superhuman Tale - 1

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Their first stop in town was a local greasy spoon to grab a quick bite and to do a map check. They also chatted briefly about how they would proceed once they arrived at the Exeter Street apartment they were seeking.

Sam assented to Camille doing the talking, after which they paid the bill and within five minutes were at their destination, a row of two-story apartments on the West of town. Camille had noticed a great many military vehicles on the highway and random people in uniform.

"Fort Leonard Wood," said Sam as they walked up the path to the apartment. "It's only about 25 miles down the highway."

The door of the apartment that they sought was half ajar, and the loud noise of a videogame shootout could be heard within. The nameplate on the mailbox read, "SSG Eric Kissinger."

"SSG?" Camille said aloud.

"Staff Sergeant," replied Sam. "We have a soldier, here."

Camille knocked. Nothing. After knocking again and getting no reply, she let herself in.

The entryway was neat and orderly, with many pictures and documents hanging in frames along the narrow hallway. To the right, however, the kitchen was an abomination. Ignoring the squalid sight, Camille walked down the 15 feet of the entryway as if she owned the place. Sam followed.

The living room they entered looked like a small warehouse, with stacks of computer games, computers, and other electronics. Against the far wall, was the largest television Camille had ever seen. Another three televisions, still boxed, leaned against the wall to the right. Outside, in the small, fenced-in backyard, she could see two three-wheelers that also appeared new.

Three heads were visible on the overstuffed leather couch, presumably those of the people playing the video game on the television.

"I'm looking for Amy Lascar," boomed Camille's voice. Her tone was far louder than needed to be heard, even over the racket of the video game.

The middle head on the couch popped up. The woman to which it belonged jumped to her feet and turned to face the two intruders, the couch still between them. She was a short and chubby creature with long and greasy blonde hair, and her matching pink shorts and tank top were an assault upon the eyes.

She stared for the briefest moment before stammering, "I ... I ... I don't know nobody by that name."

"No? But she ordered a lot of high-end electronics that were delivered to this address," Camille said, pointing to the various boxes in the room. "If I walk over to those televisions, I think I'm going to see her name on the invoice."

The woman started, and tears began to form in her eyes.

"I strongly advise you," Camille continued in the same commanding voice, "not to say anything now that you'll later have to recant in court. I am a police officer, but I'm not from around here. If I have to call the local police, they'll see the credit-card scam you've been running, and you'll spend the next 15 years in prison."

She saw the little woman begin to slip into panic mode, which wasn't always bad, but it was the last thing anyone needed at that point. Camille moved closer to the couch, where she could see two pre-teen boys, mouths wide open, sitting with game controls still in their hands.

"Listen," Camille said, her voice a touch less aggressive, "we just need some information. Tell us everything you know, answer all our questions fully, and my partner and I will leave here as if nothing happened. Try and bullshit us or lie to us, and my next call is to the local cops and then to the post provost marshal." She let the words sink in a moment. "Do you understand?"