Steve’s Shorts: The Call…
[This short story could be considered segue to my sci-fi thriller Full Medical, the first novel in the “Clones and Mutants Trilogy.” Enjoy.]
The Call
Copyright 2015, Steven M. Moore
Dirk Eddy looked more like a jockey than a thief, but that was his secret weapon. His size was an asset in his business. He could squeeze through tight spaces and slip by security guards and cops like the invisible man.
With penlight in his mouth, he walked around the mansion, selecting his loot. A decorative chalice here, an iPhone there, but focusing more on lightweight items he could run with if needed. He was a pro.
In a bedroom closet, he saw the flashing red LED light on the security panel. He’d tripped a silent alarm. He removed a gold crucifix from the wall and a pearl necklace from a dressing table drawer and was on his way out when the phone rang. After two rings, he picked it up, thinking it was a security company checking for a false alarm.
“Hello?”
“Just you and wifey in the house?” The connection wasn’t great, but Dirk knew it was a man—the voice was a deep baritone.
“Yes,” he said, thinking he’d just report a false alarm. That would eliminate any visits by security agents or cops.
“The truck’s almost there. Get the garage open.” There was a click and the line went dead.
What the hell? Truck? The call wasn’t from security at all. Do they assume I’m the homeowner?
Dirk decided to flee the premises, but couldn’t resist visiting the next bedroom. It stank of booze and orgy, but that wasn’t what stopped him. In the eldritch glow of the penlight, the naked cadaver seemed more like a ghost. A silver dagger was buried in one eye socket. If he’d seen it in a case, he would have pinched it—the handle was ornate.
The stench and the stains from body fluids showed that he man had been cavorting with a woman. He looked around and saw the large painting on the wall. The colors and heavy acrylic showed modern and showed a pouting nude. He was something of a connoisseur, having stolen his fair share of canvases by slicing them right out of their expensive frames.
A small photo of the same woman in a wedding dress graced a bureau; the groom was the man in the bed who was at least twenty years older. The syndrome of middle-age crisis? Maybe the woman had been his secretary.
They were probably the owners of the house. He spun at the sound of the truck coming up the long drive. Now what? The garage! He remembered there was a door to it through a mudroom off the kitchen. He ran and hit the door opener and then hid behind the water heater in the mudroom.
The truck was a van. Two burly passengers and driver started unloading what Dirk thought looked like body bags. A BMW drove up the driveway and entered the garage. Another man stepped out and waved at one of the three, who hit the button to close the door.
“Where’s Arthur?” said Bimmer-man.
“He’s around somewhere. I talked to him on the phone. Maybe he’s waiting for us in the basement? No sign of Nina either, but she’s usually drugged to the gills anyway.”
“Of course Arthur’s not here. He wouldn’t want to do any heavy lifting.” Bimmer-man looked around. “I didn’t see his car out front, but he must have opened the door for you. Frank, check the house. The other two of you, keep unloading.“
Dirk shifted to make himself even more invisible behind the water heater as the original three passed his hiding place. He was afraid of Bimmer-man. The others were just muscle, but the BMW driver was cunning and therefore dangerous.
Dirk heard Frank stomp up stairs to where the bedrooms were. Not good! Is it a good time to sneak out? To reach the French doors off the patio where he’d sprung the lock and entered would be a a long trip through the mansion. It would be better to leave through the garage. He couldn’t risk the noise from opening the garage door, but maybe the garage had a side door to the yard.
He entered the garage and looked around. There was a side door, but it was locked. He could try to kick it open, but that would make more noise than the huge three-car garage door. He wasn’t sure he had the strength either.
He heard mutterings in the kitchen. Frank reporting back to the Bimmer-man? He spun around three-sixty, looking for any means of escape. Saw the keys were still in the BMW. Why not? It would smash through the door OK. He’d back down the drive a bit, do a three-point, and be on his way.
He hopped in and started the car. Turning his head to back up, he stared into the barrel of a gun.
“Easy fellow. Show me your hands and get out of my car.”
The man called Frank approached. “Who is it?”
“I think we caught a cat burglar,” said Bimmer-man. “Did you off our friend Arthur?” Dirk shook his head in the negative. “I don’t believe you. Get out!”
Frank’s gun was covering Dirk too. “How are we going to harvest without Arthur?”
“I can do it. We’ll harvest Arthur’s organs too if we can find them in the layers of fat. And we’ll have this little jerk’s fresh organs to sell too.”
***
Down the street, Nina, still shaking from her ordeal, smiled. They were blaming the burglar. He had interrupted her. She hadn’t even had time to shower and dress for the club. Now the thief would probably pay the price because Arthur’s little gang would blame him for killing Arthur. She would be long gone before they even thought of her. She would miss that dagger, though. It had been a family heirloom.
She pulled her bathrobe tighter and sped off into the night in her Mercedes.
***
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In elibris libertas….
