Eldritch Noir

Part III

Alaric didn't bother driving to the address Marlboro gave him. Once Marlboro was out of sight, he left the piece of paper with his used cigarette in the trash bin outside the station. Instead of heading to the big fancy mansion in Beverly Hills, he drove further downtown. He parked his Mustang in a line of older, beaten-up cars outside a ratty apartment building with a rickety fire escape and cardboard covering the broken-out windows.

Once parked, Alaric took three deep breaths and examined himself in the rearview mirror. His auburn hair was slicked back. He hadn't shaved since yesterday, and a dark layer of stubble had grown over his face. He smelled like nicotine, and his dress shirt had a coffee stain on it.

"Shit," he breathed.

It doesn't matter, he thought. I'm a detective. I'm here for answers. I'm here for work.

Alaric slid out of the car and jogged up the steps. He approached the glass door. It was locked from the inside, but the door popped open after jiggling the handle three times. He didn't bother with the intercom. If she heard his voice before she saw him, she might tell him to fuck off or even call the cops. Ascending the steps, Alaric smelled his shirt and found the scent of the discount cologne had almost faded. He should've stopped by his place to shower and change, maybe shave, but Alaric only had an hour before Willowby found out that Reneé wasn't at her apartment.

Alaric paused outside her door. Down the hall, he heard Vincint's dog barking. A child was wailing at the other end of the hall; it could've been Elena's new baby. The last time he was here, she was six months pregnant. He supposed the child would've been born by now. Alaric sighed and ran a shaky hand through his hair before deciding he would never be ready for this confrontation. He pulled his shoulders back and kept his head straight like Mom taught him to do years ago.

Alaric swallowed and rapped against the thin wooden door, almost too hard, like he was an honest cop here to bust someone for dealing narcotics. The doorknob rattled a bit, and the door swung one inch inward. A calf brown eye peered out at him, angry and hostile, until it saw the detective, then turned wide and alarmed.

"Al?" the man whispered.

Alaric heard the sound of the chain being removed before the door opened another foot. A large, burly man in a silk black suit blocked the gap. Ozzy was a barrel-chested man with broad shoulders, a balding scalp, and a calf-brown eye placed right next to a dead gray one. Ozzy smiled a bit.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked.

"Is she here?"

Alaric's voice was monotone. Ozzy's expression dropped at the tone.

"What happened?" He whispered.

"I need to talk to her. It's personal."

"I need to ask her if I can let you in."

"She'll say no. But I need to tell her this in person. Please."

Ozzy glanced over his shoulder.

"Okay, Al."

Ozzy stepped back and allowed Alaric to pass him.

The apartment inside was small but warm, clean, and well-furnished. The sofa and most of the furniture came from antique stores. The overhead light in the kitchen had been replaced with a lamp from a bar, a stained glass one that hangs typically over a booth. On the far end of the living room sat a small table with a turntable on it. Yusef Lateef's Don't Blame Me played softly. The room smelled of bourbon and pumpkins. The smell sent him back, and he forgot how much he had missed this place.

"Oz?" A voice called out from the next room. "Who was that? Do you want to get some pizza or..." Her voice died as she walked into the living room.

Reneé's brown eyes nearly popped out of her head. Her hair was brunette instead of platinum blonde, as in the magazines. She wore an oversized sweater and faded jeans. Alaric pictured her face several times in the last few months, its heart shape, the mole near her left eye, and her adorably tiny nose, but all together, it reminded him that she was real and standing here before him.