Sherlock

Sherlock chapter 7

Indio banged on the door. He waited impatiently for her to answer.

He was wondering what had gotten into his dad- had he completely lost the very last shred of sanity he may had been blessed with? Did he want to purposely dick up every good thing that came to him?

He banged on the door, again, angry.

Typical, Indio thought. This woman was probably stoned, now. Passed out on the couch, with her toddler crawling all around the crack pipes and the drug paraphernalia. He had saw Breaking Bad, he knew what happened.

Indio was blessed with his dad's active imagination.

Indio was a busy guy. His publicist wanted to meet with him today to discuss the band's tour next month. He didn't have all the time in the world to right these things that Senior obviously enjoyed fucking up.

Indio pounded on the door in frustration.

All the while that this crazy man is pounding on her mother's door, Chloe is terrified out of her mind.

Alone in her mother's condo, she was sure that its some gang member beating at the door, intent on dragging her out to kill her in some sick gang initiation.

She had read about this shit in the Washington Post last fall. They picked on white girls, she thought she read, in the caption of the picture.

Unsure of how to protect herself, Chloe withdrew a fillet knife from the kitchen drawer.

She was disappointed to discover its blade was broken, pretty much rendering it useless as a weapon. She held the pathetic blade close to her chest in defense.

There was the violent banging on the front door again.

At that point, Chloe refused to hide any longer. She was as mad as fuck.

        “Get the fuck away, asshole!!” she yelled, through the door.

Indio stood, frozen.

He hadn't imagined his dad's mistress with so much attitude.

Chloe met his surprised gaze through the small arched glass above the door.

She furiously flipped him the middle finger.

Great, he thought. She was barely out of high school! His dad was screwing someone's prom date!!

Indio shook his head miserably.

Indio imagined the horrible reality for himself: each day saw yet a more embarrassing realization for Robert Downey Junior's oldest son, thought Indio sarcastically. He would never live his dad's reputation down.

Indio was melodramatic like his dad, too.

Chloe opened the door, and sputtered furiously at him.

         “I'm fucking calling the cops!” she threatened, her phone raised in readiness, as she peered at him through the doorway. The door was open only inches, the chain safely in place.

         “I have a knife!” She threatened.

         “Dude! Calm!!” Indio looked terrified that she might actually know some cops, personally.

Chloe eyed him warily. She was still terrified.

         “I don't know who you are, but there aren't any drugs here of interest to you.” she warned.

It was Indio's turn to be pissed off.

         “What the fuck does that mean?”

         “If you are in some drug-induced high, pillaging the neighborhood for Darvocet, there's none here, asshole.”