Page 13 of Daddy Detectives: Episode 2
Chapter 5 – Tyler
It’s a short drive to Rhonda’s apartment complex. The place is obviously run down. There’s graffiti sprayed on the trash dumpsters in the parking lot. A few broken-down vehicles are parked out front. The lawn is more weed than grass, and the shrubs haven’t been trimmed in ages.
I enter a large brick building and take the stairs up two flights. I locate Rhonda’s unit down the hallway to the left. There’s aWelcomesign on her door, as well as aNo Solicitingsticker. I hear a TV game show playing inside.
I knock, but there’s no answer.
When I knock a second time, a male voice inside yells, “Can’t you read? We’re not interested!”
I wait a moment, mentally rolling my eyes, and then I knock for a third time, more forcefully this time. The third time is the charm. If he doesn’t open the door—
“Hold your damn horses!”
The door opens, and I’m hit with a strong waft of marijuana. I stare hard at the man standing before me—a dishwater blond who hasn’t shaved for a few days. He’s wearing a pair of jean cut-offs and a ragged T-shirt bearing the NASCAR logo. He’s barefoot.
He narrows his blue eyes on me. “What the hell do you want? Can’t you see the sticker?”
“I’m not selling anything.”
“Then what do you want? I already gave at the office.” And then he chuckles.
The irony is not lost on me. He’s jobless. “Are you Gary Sharp?”
His eyes narrow. “Who wants to know?”
I flash him my ID. “Tyler Jamison, private investigator.” It’s times like this I wish I still had my Chicago homicide detective badge.
Fear flashes in his eyes, and then it’s gone. “What the hell do you want?”
“Can I come in? We need to talk.”
“Fine, but make it quick. I’m busy.” He opens the door wider, takes a step back, and waves me inside. Once I’m across the threshold, he closes the door. “What’s this about?” His tone is more cautious now, not quite so flippant.
I figure the best approach is a direct one. “It’s about the blackmail letter you sent Ian Alexander.”
Gary freezes. “I don’t know what you’re—”
“Don’t waste my time, Gary. I just spoke with Rhonda. By the way, she asked me to give you a message: She wants you out of the apartment before she gets home from work this evening.”
Gary shakes his head as he takes a few steps back. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I pull the note from my pocket, open it, and hold it up for him to see. “Does this ring a bell? Or do you need a refresher?”
He attempts to swipe it from my grip, but I’m ready for that. I fold it back up and return it to my jacket pocket.
“Get out,” he says, reaching for the door knob.
He moves to open it, but I grab him by his shirt collar slam him up against the door. “I could call the police and tell them to bring you up on extortion charges, or—” I twist the front of his shirt, pulling it tight across his throat. “I could take matters into my own hands.”
The fear is back in his eyes. Obviously, he’s a bully, an opportunist. But as soon as he comes up against someone stronger, someone who fights back, he cowers.
“Look, man, there’s been some mistake,” he says, his voice betraying his unease. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t do nothing.”
I happen to glance over at the sofa where he’d been sitting. There’s an open bottle of beer on the coffee table and a bag of potato chips. Next to the chips is an old photo album.
My stomach knots.
After I release Gary, I cross the room and pick up the album. Even though I know what I’m going to see before I even open it, I’m not prepared for the faded color photos of a toddler with curly brown hair and big green eyes.
