Felony Jones

The Place Has Potential

It's kind of a dump, Felony thought as she looked at the building, then at the note in her hand with the address David had scribbled down for her. "Well, this is the right place..." she muttered.

Being adjacent to an empty lot littered with garbage and a group of homeless people camped out in it didn't help to advertise the building as a great place to live, but it was all Michael could afford apparently. She had been standing on the sidewalk for several minutes when a man in a one-piece work jumpsuit came out of the building and asked if she needed help. "Hi, my name is Felony Jones, I'm a private detective. Are you the manager?"

"Manager and owner, yes."

"Were you here back in March?"

"I've been here since nineteen seventy-two. What's this about?"

"Michael Kurlow, do you remember him?"

"I do, nice kid, he was respectful—didn't cause problems and paid his rent on time. Those are the kind of renters I like."

"I'm sure...out of curiosity, did he leave any belongings behind?"

"Yeah, there were three boxes, but someone came and picked them up."

"Really...do you know who came to get them?"

"Nope. I was gone that day—up in Ventura visiting my sister. My nephew was here watching the place, he said a detective came by and picked up the stuff."

"Did he get a receipt, or the detectives name?"

"My nephew? Nah, that kid can barely peel a banana. He said it was a guy wearing a suit who said he was a detective, and that he flashed a badge."

"Do you think he'd remember what the detective looked like?"

"I could ask him...when he gets back from Big Sur. He's in the woods—finding himself."

"Got it..."

Felony thought for a moment. "How did Michael pay his rent?"

"Like all of them—cash, they all pay cash. He was all paid up so I didn't make a stink about him just up and leaving. I thought it was strange that he didn't take his stuff. He didn't seem like the type, but it happens."

"Can I see the room?" Felony asked.

"Nobody's in it at the moment, so yeah it's okay." Felony followed him inside and up the stairs. They walked halfway down the hall when he stopped, unlocked a door and opened it. The place was sparse, but clean—cleaner than she expected. "Just shut the door when you're done." He said.

"Okay, thanks."

Felony walked in and stopped in the middle of the room. She looked down, admiring the wood floors. The place was furnished with a single bed, a wood desk, a small refrigerator and an old TV. She walked over to the window and stared outside. She always thought Los Angeles was more of a collection of billboards with people, rather than a proper city. After a moment, she turned and looked at the desk. She walked over to it and opened a drawer then closed it. She slowly slid her fingers across the top and over the edge, feeling something rough on the side. When she took a closer look, she saw the carving. The initials CF and the initials MK, with a heart in between them. "hmm." She lightly rubbed the carving, took another quick look around the room then walked out. When she got downstairs, she walked up to the office window and saw the manager sitting at a desk drinking a cup of coffee. "Did you ever see anybody visit Michael?"

"Uh, just one guy."

"What did he look like?"

"I don't know, six-foot, thin, blonde hair—business type I guess."

"Okay, thanks. I'm gonna leave a card in case you remember anything, alright? Maybe your nephew can get a hold of me when he gets back." Felony put a business card on the counter and walked away.