Knock Three Times

6. Shot in the Dark

                THE BLUNT CLOP OF high-heeled boots tapped along the tiled floor as a young lady stepped off the elevator and through the less than cleanly hallways of her apartment building, the pungent odour of curry and onions hitting Miranda's senses like an invisible wall when she first stepped off the elevator. The constant cornucopia of cultural culinary mix was a feature of apartment life she had never quite gotten used to, even though she had been living in the building for many years. The cooking alone would be a pleasant experience if not regularly mixed with the odour of thick weed smoke and sweat, garbage and burned food, incense and over-applied cleaning products. As such, it was a new flavour of gag every day.

    Several doors were wedged open along the hall, and the sound of loud gangster rap could be heard blaring from the corner unit next to the garbage shoot. This particular tenant would commonly shut down his music from three in the morning until noon, regardless of complaints. This was a particular door she commonly tried to avoid, sneaking by every day, and silently hoping the resident within would not hear her approach. However, the apartment in question was generally unavoidable, no matter how lightly she stepped. Had the stairwell been located elsewhere, she would have taken the elevator to the floor below or above, and simply climb or descend to get to her home on a daily basis, but alas, this was not so.

    Stepping as lightly as she could manage, she turned the corner, but someone suddenly grabbed her arm as the music instantly grew louder, the door swiftly propped open as she let out an irritated sigh. How this man could hear the heels of her boots over his obnoxious music was an ongoing mystery, no matter how carefully or quietly she crept. He was always grabbing at her, coming on to her even though he was in his forties and she was still technically a minor.

    'Are you ever not home?' she groaned, the muscles in her jaw tightening. 'Seriously, get a fucking life already.'

    'Aren't we crabby this afternoon?' His hungry eyes scanned her knee-high boots and fishnet stockings, licking his lips seductively, which only churned her stomach. 'You ready for this yet?'

    'You wish, asshole. Get your greasy hands off me.' She attempted to jerked herself away, but his grip remained firm.

    'When you turn eighteen, girl?' he replied, a strong odour of liquor and weed on his breath as he adjusted his flat visor, lips pressed as though he were posing for a selfie.

    'Like that ever stopped you before, you pedo piece of shit.'

    'Never too careful with uppity bitches like you.' He grinned, his perverse gaze lifting to her cleavage. 'I aint going back to the clink for a piece of ass . . . no matter how fine that ass may be.'

    'How disappointing.' Her eyes narrowed with the sarcastic reply. 'God forbid anyone on this side of the building get a decent night's sleep, or manage to get to their door without the local pervert copping a feel. I'm not going to warn you again; get your filthy fucking hands off me.' Suddenly the man felt a solid object press against his plumped stomach. He looked down to see a small pink tazer pushed against his faded football jersey.

    'Come on, now. I know you don't like livin' with your druggy-ass mama. I got plenty of green, girl—'

    'You mean besides the green on your teeth?'

    'Now you just tryin' to hurt my feelings, pop tart. Remember, I can get you out of there like that.' He snapped his fingers. 'All you gotta do is . . . participate.' He licked his lips again and pulled her closer.

    Miranda lifted her arm and switched off the safety of her tazer.

    'Now we're talking.' His threatening eyes narrowed, the man easily twice her size. 'I like it rough, baby—'