C. DENNIS MOORE
REVENGE OF THE
REVENGE OF THE
I pulled up outside my brother's building the night after he called. He'd said the noises were finally too much for him. Said he couldn't sleep with the constant scritching and scratching in the walls and over the floors. The heat was bad enough, but those sounds were likely to drive a man crazy. He said as long as I was coming over anyway--we did have a funeral to discuss--could I bring my equipment?
My brother's building was a dump. I'd only been there once before and I must have forgotten what a hole it was. I went in the front door, stepped over a puddle of…something, and climbed the stairs, passed a door covered in police tape, and knocked on Jerry's door. When he let me in, I was reluctant to take the offered seat--who knew what was living in that couch--and instead walked around inspecting the place.
Jerry's kitchen, really just a sink, stove, and refrigerator along a far wall of the one-room apartment, was a haven for the bastards, trash can full, dirty dishes on the counter, some with food dried onto them, open cans half-full of sticky, sugary bait for the little things. I wanted to tell him he probably wouldn't attract them like he did if he'd just clean the place up a little, but in the end, in a place like this, I knew that wasn't true. This building was infested and Jerry emptying his trash and wiping off the counter wasn't going to change that.