Red Alarm [A Detective/Thriller Story] DISCONTINUED

Chapter 23

The brick pavements greeted Officer Millard in an open window. A same old New York apartment he'd rented in Crown Heights was of great deal. Nice furnished wooden tiles which constantly tolerated his hobby of lying on the floor, a built in study corner where he'd place his collection of fantasy books, a mini restroom where he comes face-to-face with himself while doing his thing - a seemingly okay choice to spend $1500 a month.

Living in NYC, some might think you're living your life but it comes with such high stakes. With that meant high buildings, high bills, high obligations - even some people you meet here are high. The bronze alarm clock shrieked off. Speaking of obligations, he remembered team captain's memento: it's gonna be a long day ahead for them.

Why would that crazy psychopath even show up in that occasion? Just the shadow of a coat and hat he'd hung on a pole rack gave him the creeps, he'd be petrified to know that a serial killer would stalk them even in their sleep. Khen shuddered his head like a dog drying up after getting splashed from a puddle. He took the keys for no.24 in his pocket, locked the doors and headed to his expressway - the elevator.

He could give more than one reasons why the elevator was more convenient than stairs. I mean, who would argue with that? Unless he got stuck of course or he was inside with Bart. That huge all-muscles brute, he'd known him because of Felix - well, almost anyone in NYC knew him. He's in the hierarchy of Hounds with the clan mark pasted on his right arm, eyes of steel, and that sharp harsh voice resembled a boom box. He heard he had anger issues. He didn't want to ride the metal box and come out with a black eye. Name one of those two, and he'd opt for the four story jogging right away.

"Why, hello Officer Millard," a cheerful voice called in from the guarding post.

"Oh, um.. hi, Mrs. Anderson," he replied with the most appeasing chuckle he could fake.
Here we go again. Let me guess? He thought. Will she remind him again that she'll be back knocking on the door for next month's rent? Will she ask him to take Mr. Skittles and his dirt inside his home again?

She didn't look at her tenants as customers, she'd look at them as her own personal maid. Not to be mean, but he loves old people - he'd been fond with Uncle Jung. But when this woman opened her mouth, it chattered like that of metal crushers in junk shops.

"Just so to be reminding you, I'll be collecting next month's rent pronto on the first day of the week," she said then laughed like a cackling witch.

"Great. I'm looking forward to that."

"Oh and Mr. Skittles..."

"Mr. Skittles," he repeated, absently thinking about the dog dung he had to scrape off his floor mat.

"Don't worry about him."

He shot her a rumpled look.

"We have a new tenant in room number 13," she giggled. "I can tell he's a nice young man like you. He paid good money first time and oh, his smile! He was grinning real wide, Officer Carter. Bet he'll love Mr. Skittles' company."

"Wow, that's wonderful Mrs. Anderson," he would surely love to be a new nanny. He glanced at his watch. "I have to go work now Mrs. Anderson. Wouldn't want me to hand you something empty handed, right?"

"You've read my mind officer," she cackled once again before waving her fluttered fingers in the air. "Ta ta!"

~ ⚜️ ~

"Here," Lieutenant Camembert posted the laminated photos - clips of what she believed the Reaper.

The team occupied the glass table inside their small meeting room. The two detectives and two officers listened with Atarah's brief discussion. The glass board placarded pictures of gathered places, clues like the substance, and bloody victims with no red thread to connect any of them.