CHAPTER 14
It was around midnight; the full moon glowed full and bright, high in the pitch-black sky. The wispy clouds seemed to grow thinner and more translucent with every passing second, shedding more hazy light on Jimmy's cabin. The moonlight twinkled and reflected off its glass walls, the lights were completely out, and it looked like a husk of a formerly active cabin.
The moonlight glinted off the almost completely reflective polished chrome paint of a Cadillac sports car that doubled as a luxury car. The windows were almost tinted completely in the dim moonlight as it rolled up to the front of my house, guided by a contrasting warm yellow headlight beams and huge domed rims like shields that were almost hypnotic to watch as they spun and halted as the car steadily stopped in front of the door.
Flashing red and blur lights reflected off the squared back of the Caddy and the short, slim, and eloquent side spoilers that sprouted from the fenders. A siren let out a single whoop that ruptured the ambient silence of the forest as a white police car flared it's lights while it tailed the Cadillac and stopped, parking right behind it and turning off it's flashing lights.
The police car was white with a green roof, green doors, and a green strip running down the middle of the white hood; the model was a Dodge Charger. The Cadillac in front of it was very geometric in shape, as was appropriate for most Cadillac luxury cars. The front was squared off and trunk was slightly slanted and ended in a steep drop.
The driver side for of the Cadillac swung open, followed by a series of dings. Ding- Ding, Ding-Ding. The short stream of ding's indicated that the door was open while the engine was still humming at its idle low roar. The engine switched off and hum dimmed not nothingness, the beeping stopped, and a khaki clad leg stepped out of the low clearance Cadillac.
A naked and hairy arm with a complexion similar to caramel grasped the roof. A man emerged from the car. A man emerged from the car, following the hand with hairy knuckles. The man was a tall and built Hispanic man, he wore his hair slicked back and shiny like a greaser's, his face was lazy yet sculpted, he had a dark underlying complexion under his brown eyes that suggested he hadn't slept for a while, and scars were scattered across his face.
The man wore a sleeveless and puffy red vest with a white shirt underneath the almost entirely zipped up vest. He wore Khaki's that encompassed is ankle and rimmed the cuff of his tan and brown work boots made of tough, steel reinforced, leather. He had a heavy 5 A.M. shadow, a worried and tired facial expression, they were both very apparent in the moon's silver glow. He slammed the door behind him and turned to walk in front of the car and towards the front door, revealing a Mossburg 500 shotgun slung around his shoulder via a brown strap.
As the man approached the walkway that led to the from door, tow uniformed police officers in grey and green uniforms climbed out of the police cruiser. They both held flashlights and swept the premises with the beams of fluorescent white beams of light like they were searching for something. They illuminated the man with the combined beams of both their flashlights.
One of the police officers, short, stout, and sporting a tightly pulled back ponytail stepped slightly forward. "Mr. Garza, please, I'm the one who knocks.” said the female officer in a soothing and careful tone like a trainer coercing an animal not to maul them by using soothing tones to not startle the creature.
Mr. Garza froze in his tracks without a word and allowed the female officer and her male counterpart with dirty blonde hair that fell in bangs that covered his eyebrows to approach the dual front doors. The female officer lightly knocked on the door, and waited a minute. No answer. She then heavily rapped on the door and waited et another minute, a minute that was far too long for Mr. Garza. No answer.
The officers turned only to be ambushed with Mr. Garza's handsome yet intense stare. Mr. Garza was intent on getting the next set of procedures.
"No one's home, sir." said the officer with the dirty blonde hair and soft, young face. His voice was high and timid.
"So?" said Mr. Garza in a low, gruff tone.
"So, we cannot enter the premises without a warrant or a reasonable cause. No exceptions." explained the male officer with subtle and controlled hand gestures. They didn't have a warrant. Mr. Garza read his smooth black nametag spelled out "Blane" in white lettering.
"Well. Blane. I need to get in there, my wife, Sara- she hasn't called yet. Ain't that probable cause enough?" questioned Mr. Garza in a louder and more brash tone.
"It's probably because of the low cell service out in these parts." fired back Blane almost immediately, like he had dealt with this very same situation.
"No, she said Jimmy, the owner of the cabin; said he installed a land line inside the cabin specifically for this reason." retorted Mr. Garza even faster.
"Well, may-" started Blane, but was interrupted by Mr. Garza.
"Maybe she doesn't remember my number? No, impossible, she knows it by heart because she loves me so. She also left the house with the number scribbled in permanent marker on her palm." Mr. Garza could easily predict their very predictable line of questions. All of them were designed to have them avoid doing any work whatsoever.
"Oh." said Blane blankly with a dumbfounded look on his face; a good half a minute passed without a word being uttered, it seemed they had gone through their scripted line of questions and retorts. They had to get creative now.
"So... Can I go in now?" asked Mr. Garza though a veil of pokiness, when really; he was extremely frustrated.
The female officer, Tracy, put her hand on Mr. Garza's shoulder. Great, he thought, here comes the attempts of sympathy and sincerity.
"Gavin. Why don't you go home and enjoy you're Christmas, Ok? And we will personally see to it that Sara calls you."
"Um. No." said Gavin feistily, "I'm going to see my wife now." as he approached the door, brushing past the two police officers.
"Sir." objected Tracy "The door's locked and no one's home. This is breaking and entering."
"I really don't care." said Jimmy as he grabbed the shotgun and pumped, "Oh, and the door is really not a problem. We'll just uh..." trailed off Mr. Garza like he was thinking of a word, "obviate a bit."
"Sir. Really." pleaded Tracy.
"Dude. C'mon. Really?" said Blane with a dreaded serious tone.
"Yes, Mr. Blane. Really. He turned around to face the police officers, whom, he towered over at six foot five. " And I'm not gonna let a pair of lazy, doughnut fingering, public servants stop-" Mr. Garza's tyrade was interrupted by rustling inside and a couple lines of nearly inane dialogue being traded inside. And then something shattered inside.
"Probable cause, no?" Said Mr. Garza with a smirk, when in truth, he was worried about and scared of what was on the other side of the door. He was really hoping he wouldn't have to use his shotgun that morning. Without awaiting a response, he shot out the handle and kicked open the door. He pumped his shotgun and walked in. The atmosphere was dark, dusty, and strangely amicable.
Two beams of light turned on behind Mr. Garza. Tracy and Blane deployed to Mr. Garza' sides, flanking him. The dust particles were ever apparent in the shining beams of light. They held their handguns with their dominate hands and the flashlight slightly underneath the handgun.
The den before them was void of noise and light other than the dim luminescence of silver moonlight that gleamed though the back wall that was made entirely of labels of glass.
There was a fireplace installed on the left side of the room, and an L-shaped couch that separated the den from the open bar on the right side of the room.
Tracy curved her way with the handgun into the right side of the room and the bar. "Clear!" Yelled Tracy to Blane, who checked the left side of the room and responded with the same word.
The trio concluded that whoever was in there seemed to have left, leaving only a smashed whiskey bottle at the bar. Until they heard creamy footfalls above them, and the outcry of a baby.
ns 15.158.61.6da2
