Rika, the Cuban Flame

23. Call Me in an Emergency

Rika

I pull into the parking lot, if I can even call it that, since it's not paved and doesn't have any lines. The lot has gravel, though. I don't want to park my supercar in here, let alone any address on this street. It'll be missing tires and sitting on blocks if I'm here too long, that I have no doubt. Once I find a spot far from any other car, I turn my car off and stare at the building through the windshield. This place is a landfill. I mean, almost like an actual dump. The dumpster is overflowing with a couple of cats nearby. I'm surprised this building is still standing and I'm even more surprised that people pay their hard-earned money to rent an apartment here. Me, Allison, and Scott pile out of the car when another beat-up car swerves into the parking lot. The guy parks right next to me. A supercar and a beater. How poetic.

"Who's that?" Allison asks.

"Lucas's landlord, I hope," I say.

Allison turns to me. "Yikes... that's what he drives?" She turns and looks back at the building and then at the beater. "Heh, makes sense, I guess."

I walk around my supercar and stand in front of the beater when the driver opens the car door. Allison and Scott run over and join me. "Rika?" the man asks.

I nod. "Yeah." This man is just as gross as the building he landlords. He's big, and he has a beard that looks like he hasn't washed it for weeks, and he's rocking the cul-de-sac haircut. It's probably not a haircut at all, but he's lost all the hair on top of his head. All that's left is the hair on his sides and back, making the U-shaped cul-de-sac. He wears a thick pair of glasses on his face and he pushes them up when he gets out of the car. His dark jacket has a stain on it and he sports sweatpants that look wet. Okay, honestly, I can't stare at this guy for much longer. He's gross.

The man shifts his gaze from me, to Scott, to Allison, and finally back to me. "I'm the landlord of this place. Do you have my money?"

I reach into my pocket and throw him an envelope. "It's all there."

"What money?" Scott asks, looking at me.

"To get into Lucas's apartment," I say.

"Oh..." Allison says. "The lock is barely on the door as it is... why not just break it?"

"Uh..." I stare at her blankly for a few seconds. "You guys said you installed a video doorbell, right?"

"Yeah..." they say together.

"Then how is it going to look if we break down the fucking door? I can kick pretty damn hard, but I don't want to be recorded breaking into Lucas's apartment."

"Oh... we didn't think of that," Scott says.

"No shit," I mutter.

The man finishes counting the money and then looks at Scott and Allison, waving the envelope stuffed with cash around. "That's what this is for. You're right," he says, turning back to me. "It's all here." He digs into his pocket and pulls out a keyring with way too many keys on it. Then he walks past us. "Come on."

We follow the man up the creaky and worn staircase and I silently pray that it won't break. The landlord looks unfazed though, and he just stomps right up the staircase giving no shits whatsoever. That makes me nervous. He's a big dude and if anyone would break the stairs, it's him. Luckily, we make it up to the top of the stairs without falling through them and follow him to apartment nine.

"Hi, you are currently being recorded," the video doorbell says in a robotic voice.

I'm familiar with video doorbells. A notification just went to Lucas's phone, saying that someone is at his front door. I have video doorbells on all of my residences, too. It's a nice layer of security to have, especially when I have money and things to steal. Though no one has attempted to intrude into any of my homes. After all, who wants to break into the Cuban Flame's home? That may be the last thing a person does because I'd put them in the hospital or onto a death bed. I don't need a gun. I'm the lethal weapon.