Tabatha Deans

THERE’S A FUGITIVE IN THE BUILDING
As I’ve mentioned before, on the 6th of each month, one day after rent is officially due, usually one or two apartments end up with legal notices on their doors to either pay up or leave. They take that sort of thing seriously around here, and I’ve witnessed a few midnight moves, one door that was kicked in, and another that received a heavy duty lock, courtesy of Denver’d finest, hanging on his door.
Earlier today I was hanging out on the front stoop, having returned from a brief walk and enjoying the nice day. A middle-aged woman, a little soft around the middle, with a sheriff’s shield hanging on a chain around her neck, asked very nicely how she could gain entrance to the building. I immediately knew she had to be here for number 31, the unit down the hall from me that has mysterious, white-powder footprints leading into his apartment. I haven’t seen him since the first notice appeared on his door. I thought it was kind of odd that he wouldn’t take the note off his door when I saw him going into the unit, and not only is it still there, but three subsequent notices have been taped on top of it. I hoped he wasn’t dead inside.
I let the sheriff into the building, and she chatted with me as we climbed the stairs. “That’s nice for security that you need a key to get in the building,” she said. “Especially in this neighborhood.”
“Yeah, it’s a real selling point,” I told her. “I hope that guy’s not laying in there dead,” I said, pointing to number 31 when we reached the top of the stairs.
“Oh, I hope someone’s been in there,” she said, slowly heading for the door.
“Good luck,” I told her.
After a bath and dinner, I took another stroll around the block for more fresh air. The air was so warm and crisp today, and my head cold is nearly gone, so I couldn’t get enough fresh air. Again I sat on the stoop, and a middle-aged man approached me. He was holding a clip board.
“Excuse me Miss. Could you please tell me who I could talk to to see about getting inside the building? I have some papers to serve for Mike so and so, number 36.”
He showed me the paperwork and ID stating that he was a process server. But I would have expected him to be here for 31. 36 is my immediate neighbor, and aside from the weekend a young woman moved in, I haven’t seen or heard anyone over there since. Until two weeks ago, then I think I’ve seen at least two different young women coming and going from number 36. It may be the same girl and she changes her hair dramatically on a regular basis.
I ran into him on his way down the stairs, and he asked for the name of the management company. He wrote it down and I told him I’d never seen a man in number 36. He was thankful for the information and mumbled something about his paperwork being second-hand and not up-to-date. I believe he was a bounty hunter. And I believe he probably was looking for number 31, but read the 1 as a 7. I thought about chasing him down and telling him that, but figured if he was any kind of bounty hunter he’d be able to figure it out with what I’d already given him.

January 30, 2012 - Posted by Tabatha Stewart | Uncategorized