Page 80 of Bound by Wreckage
27
Nox
We didn’t findshit in Cary D’s shitty ass apartment except for cockroaches and beer cans. That man isn’t worth the clothes on his back. Or wasn’t. He’s rotting in the ground.
Carsyn.
Fuck. Everything twists inside of me, each decision I’ve made comingback to slap me in the face. It’s a no-win situation that I can’t focus on right now. Finding out who killed Dagger is the priority, and Carsyn is safe in the clubhouse until I can get everything straight.
“In,” Green says after popping the lock to Big Jim’s small home outside of Sumner. The neighborhood is quiet with fucking white picket fences around some of the homes. Not Big Jim’s,but his neighbor has them along with a manicured lawn you see in those magazines.
Damn strange for a man like Big Jim living inLeave it to Beaverland.
Luckily, Big Jim’s place butts up to a culvert with some trees, making getting in through the sliding glass door at the bottom of the walkout basement easy. The daylight pours into the room, shining on gray plastic tubs. Like a hundredof those fuckers, stacked five high throughout the room along the walls. Other than the tubs, nothing. No boxes scattered around or old books—nothing. Not even a speck of dust.
Who the fuck was this guy?
He may have just been a clean and tidy man, but working with Buck and trying to take Carsyn—this place doesn’t fit him.
Stepping closer, silver duct tape surrounds the topof each box looping around several times and sealing whatever is inside, and the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Looking over to Deke, he’s thinking the same thing as his brow tips.
“You’re the newest out of all of us,” Green says to Deke, who already has his plastic gloves on his hands, like the rest of us do. No prints. No entrance. Cops like prints. Too fucking much. We don’t fuckwith cops.
This shit, though—something is way off.
“Fuck you,” Deke tells us all as he reaches up and pulls one of the totes down to the floor. The strain in his arm muscles tells me it’s heavy, only sinking my gut further down. This is bad, but how bad is bad “You sure y’all wanna do this before we search the house? Got a feelin’ once I open this, we’re gonna want to get the fuckout of dodge.”
He isn’t wrong. Seen a lot of sick shit in my life, done a lot of shit, but the unknown is not the Ravage way. We find the information and move on from there. Whatever’s in those tubs, needs to wait.
“Let’s go upstairs and search, then, before we leave, we’ll open it,” Jacks says, turning on his heel and marching up the stairs. We scoped out the place for hours earlierand saw no movement, therefore considering the asshole is dead, we thought it was safe to let our asses in.
Guns out, we move in sync through the hallway and rooms noting no one here.
“What the fuck?” Green growls, taking in the living room and I stop and do the same, puzzled. Cats. Little figurines of cats line the walls on shelves. There has to be a dozen shelves all loaded withthe little things, each one pristine and without a speck of dust anywhere. There’s even a light pointed at the display, which isn’t on, but would light them up well.
Considering he’s been dead a few days, this doesn’t tell us much, like whether he lives with someone or has a cleaning lady. Hell, he could’ve done it before he went after Carsyn.
“Man likes his pussy,” Deke murmurs,tipping his head down the hall. “Take a look.”
We follow Deke down the hallway into the first door on the right, Deke stepping to the side so we can get into the space. “Jesus,” Green murmurs, looking around the room.
One wall has another dozen shelves with snow globes lining the walls. Stepping closer, every damn one of them has a cat of some sort on it. Each clean and well kept.
“This does not give me a good feeling about the tubs in the basement,” Deke says from behind us.
“Fuck, I was thinking human bodies, but this”—I wave an arm around the room—“leads me to think otherwise.”
“Alright, let’s search the fuckin’ place so we can get out of here,” Deke says as we get busy. Everything is so precise and in specific spots in this house. It reminds me ofone of those homes that you’re actually afraid to live in because you fear you’ll get something on the couch or floor.
Cold. Distant. Not a home. Rather a place to display one’s favorite shit and the only reason it’s used.
I clear out and head down the hall to his bedroom, lucky fucking me, while the others move around to other places. The damn room is exactly like the others, cleanand pristine. The bed is perfectly made with the corners tucked under the mattress and the top sheet turned down. It’s like a damn hotel or something with the stark white of the bedding.
Each pillow is fluffed and has some kind of divot in the top of it, all lined to perfection. The man definitely does not like mess. He wants order and his fucking cats. I half expect one to jump out atme any time, not that I saw any cat hair, but still; that doesn’t mean there isn’t a furball in here somewhere. Man obviously has a hard on for cats.
Inhaling deep, the presence of a litter box doesn’t stand out. All I really smell is Pine-sol reminding me of the fucking hospital. Fuck. Not exactly the thought I need right now.
I take a small joy from ripping the fuck out of theblankets on the bed and tearing off the sheets, and checking the mattress for slits of cuts to store something.
