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Friday, February 10, 2017

F3 The Hideout

            The house was one of dozens of cookie-cutter places, but I didn’t know the layout, and I didn’t have the benefit of the garage door opener to get inside. When I got close, I veered around the side of the house near the garage. I figured the backyard would likely have too many windows to deal with, but the garage should be empty, now.
            Unfortunately, I didn’t have a key, and I was never any good with a lock pick. I tried to force the door, but it didn’t budge, and kicking it open would either break my foot or make too much noise.
            I made my way to the backyard cautiously, sticking close to the house and peeking into windows whenever I could. Fortunately, the little hoodlums wanted the place to still look empty, so they didn’t have any of the blinds open to the backyard. Still, they could be in any one of those rooms. I couldn’t go up and put my ear to them, either, since they might see my shadow thanks to the insanely bright lamp in the alley.
            I crouched low and used an app on my phone to record. I just pressed the mike against the glass. It was no laser microphone, but when playing it back, I could hear if there was noise on the other side of the glass.
            From what I could tell, they were in the back bedrooms. That made sense because they could have a TV on without broadcasting to the neighborhood they were in there. I crept along the back porch to an arcadia door. These doors were infamous when it came to security. I didn’t have to deal with pins in a lock, I just had to flip a latch, and I had tools to help with that.

            “You carry stuff like that with you?” Jessie asked.
            I quirked an eyebrow up at her. “Well, yeah. I am a detective.”
            “Isn’t that illegal? I mean what about warrants and stuff?”
            “I’m not a cop, and yes, it is illegal, but they’re also tools of the trade.”
            “You should really take the time to become more proficient with them, Matthew,” Nikki smiled. “I have also heard that bobby pins are excellent and surreptitious tools for infiltration.”
            “What can I say? I just don’t have a delicate enough touch.”
            “Oh, I—”
            “Ahhh!” I interjected. “I thought you wanted to hear this?”
            She smirked at me.

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