Page 38 of Dirty Filthy Boy
"They do. I'll have the driver take you home before he drops me off at my house."
"Oh. There's really no need, Mr. Mathews."
"Please. It's dangerous out there. I couldn't sleep easy without knowing you made it back home in one piece."
A couple of people at the table nod in agreement. I sigh. If I make a big deal out of his offer, it'll be worse than if I simply accept it. Then they'll really suspect something. "Thank you. That's very generous of you."
"You're welcome. Let's go get your coat."
The ride home is uncomfortable to say the least. I don't say much. Neither does he. What can I say? I want you but I don't want to have sex with you. Just being seen with him is a problem. Those pictures that were taken? They'll show up in a paper somewhere. And I'll get chewed out by Mr Bartlett. Again. No. Other than in a professional setting, I can't be seen with him any more.
He asks the driver to wait while he escorts me to my apartment. We walk down the hall, not touching. I just want to curl up on my bed, put a pillow over my head and forget about tonight. But it's not to be. When we arrive at my front door, we find it ajar.
I take a step to widen the opening, but he pulls me back. "Don't."
Sliding in front of me, he pushes the door, and it slides open with a slight creak.
The TV lies broken on the floor, its innards strewn helter skelter on the beige rug. Somebody slashed the sofa, it's great big chunks of stuffing tossed around the room. There's broken glass everywhere. "Oh, God. What if Mar was in there? She was supposed to spend the night."
Before he can stop me, I rush in with him hard on my heels. The bedroom's no better than the living room. If anything, it's worse, because the things in here are more personal. The bed, just like the sofa, has been slashed. My clothes ripped out of their hangers, some torn to pieces. I doubt I'll find something whole in this mess. But there's no sign of Marigold. Did she come back to the apartment?
"Marigold." I cry out. "What if she walked in while they were tearing apart the place?"
"That didn't happen. Oliver would have been with her. He would have called the police."
I hang on to his words with every bit of hope I can muster. "You think so?"
"I do. He never would have allowed her to come up alone. He probably took her home. Can you call her there?"
"She doesn't have a landline. Only her cell."
He steps close to me, hugs me to him. "She's safe, MacKenna. If you don't hear from her by tomorrow, I'll drive you to her place."
If I have anything to say about it, he won't be driving me anywhere. But I'm so devastated by the evil destruction of my apartment, I can't fight that battle right now.
Ty grabs his phone, dials 911. "I'd like to report a breaking and entering." After he hangs up, he contacts the driver, lets him know what happened and asks him to sit tight. "We should wait in the hallway for the police."
"Fine." Nothing much I can do inside my place, other than stare at the devastation.
Fifteen minutes later, two members of the Chicago police department arrive—a cop and a detective. To their credit, neither makes a big deal out of Ty, but proceed in a professional manner. The detective jots down my information, while the cop trudges through the place taking notes. Not much later, the forensic investigators show up. They proceed to dust for fingerprints and take pictures. Like the other two, they're fast and efficient. Within an hour, they're done.
Before they leave, the detective gives me a phone number and a case number to provide to my insurance company when I file a claim. Except for my laptop, my goods don't amount to more than two thousand dollars or so. So I'd never taken out insurance on my personal belongings. But now I wish I had. How am I going to replace the little I have when I can barely afford rent?
"One more question, Ms. Perkins," the detective says, his pen hovering over his notebook. "The attack seems personal. Anybody you know have a personal grudge against you?"
The worm comes to mind, but surely he wouldn't go to this much trouble. "No."
"Do you have somewhere to stay tonight? I can contact the American Red Cross, if you don't."
Before I can say anything, Ty interrupts. "She's got a place. She's coming home with me."
"Very well. Do you want to get anything from your apartment tonight? I'll need to put a 'Police Line Do Not Cross' tape across the door. You won't be able to enter without giving us a call."
"Oh, okay."
"Come on," Ty says. "I'll help you."
In my bedroom closet, I find a suitcase that doesn't appear to have too much damage as well as Mar's overnight bag. I quickly go through my things. Whatever is whole, I stuff in the bag, along with the toiletries in the bathroom. It barely takes fifteen minutes to pack.
