The house is in a quiet neighborhood in a town called Ridley. It’s a middle-class area, mostly moderate-sized homes with big green lawns and lots of trees. The address takes us to a gray-stone building with a tiny garage and no cars parked in the driveway. There’s one of those ugly silver stars next to the front door, and an old, tattered American flag flutters in the breeze. The front flowerbeds are choked with weeds, and the grass looks like it hasn’t been cut for a couple weeks.
“You sure this is the place?” I ask as we drive past to get a feel for it first.
“Positive.” Enzo looks about as impressed as I feel, which is not fucking at all. “I assumed it would be empty, but that looks straight up abandoned.”
“If Corrado’s name is on the property records, he must’ve cleared out.”
“What was that random Serrano killer doing with this address on his license, though?” Enzo takes the truck around for a second pass. “Doesn’t feel right.”
We don’t speak again as we do another few circuits, taking wider and slower trips around the block to keep from being too obvious. The house never changes, though, and eventually Stefano calls, sounding impatient.
“Let’s just storm the fucking place.”
“You don’t think we should watch it first?” I ask, rubbing at a bit of tension between my eyes. “We rush in there and we could tip off Corrado that we’re getting close.”
“Fuck him. Let’s go in.”
Enzo grunts and slows the truck, parking it about a block away from the house. “For once, I agree with Stefano’s recklessness.”
“Hell, yes, you do. Always liked you, Enzo.”
“Not because I’m a bloodthirsty maniac—” He glances at the phone meaningfully.Not like him. “But I doubt we’ll find anyone. I’d bet anything it’s just a front.”
It takes me all of ten seconds to decide. I check to make sure my gun’s loaded before kicking open the truck door. “Then let’s get this over with.”
Stefano seems downright joyful as we walk with purpose. Ahead, the grass flutters in the wind. A neighbor’s cutting his lawn without a shirt, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He doesn’t even look up. There’s not much traffic, though, and I feel good about going right around to the back of the house.
The rear yard’s almost worse than the front. Old tires are tossed in a corner. A deck’s in total disrepair. There’s a shed, or at least it used to be one. The roof’s falling in on itself.
“Allow me,” Stefano says as he walks right up to the back door. He takes one look at it before using his massive boot to kick three times. The whole damn frame cracks in half, splintering wood, and it teeters inward.
The kitchen’s not bad. It’s dusty and looks unused, but at least it’s not filthy. I go slow, gun out and ready, clearing each room in turn. The place looks like an average suburban house, except there’s nothing personal anywhere. No photographs, no family names, nothing to indicate humans ever stayed in this place. It feels like a cheap Airbnb more than anything, one that hasn’t been rented in a while.
“Check this out,” Enzo calls from the bedroom. I find him sitting on the bed, frowning at a stack of papers in his lap. He’s flipping through them and inspecting something at the top.
“An electric bill?” I frown as he hands me one of the pages. It looks like basically any other official document.
“Look at the address in the top corner.”
“It’s for a different house.”
“Exactly.” He holds up the stack. “There are like five different addresses in here.”
“Why the fuck would there be mail for a bunch of different houses?”
“Because I think Corrado used to live here, but he left when shit went down. He tried to clear out, but—” Enzo shakes the papers. “He missed some stuff. And now we know which properties he owns, or at least where he’s paying their bills.”
Stefano comes stomping down the hall, looking pissed. “We came all this way to this shitty little town for some fucking bills?” He picks up a lamp and throws it against the wall. It smashes into a million pieces. “I’m tempted to wreck this whole fucking place.”
“Another time.” Enzo gets up and shoves the pages into his back pocket. “Relax, you’ll get another shot at them soon.” He pats Stefano’s arm as he walks past.
“Who knew war could be so boring?” Stefano glares as he lightly knocks a small porcelain cat statue onto the floor. It clatters and rolls into the corner.
“If you really want to break shit—” But my words get cut off by the sound of shattering glass. Enzo shouts something and I’m running toward him, gun drawn and ready, with Stefano at my back.
The living room is a sudden mess. I don’t know how, but there’s fire everywhere. Enzo’s screaming and throwing shit at the flames, trying to douse them, but it’s too late. The couch is already ablaze, filling the space with thick smoke way faster than I thought possible.
“Out the back!” Stefano roars and we’re racing after him. There’s another crash and another loudwhooshas more fire spreads behind us, engulfing the entire front of the house.
