or listening device?
Assholes! And the biggest one being Moon himself.
After my apartment thug walks out, I immediately remove my gun, jam the magazine home, and load a round in the chamber. The gun remains in my hand as I check the apartment. Moon’s phone and my camera remain on the counter in my tiny kitchen. I slipped my phone into my back pocket at the beginning of my search.
Now I’m finished, though still angry. I walk to Moon’s phone, holster my gun to keep it close because I’m still unnerved, and start examining the iPhone. No contacts, no old text messages or voicemails—it’s clean. Hell, I can tell it’s brand new. I go through the apps to see if there’s anything on the phone that I need to worry about. Then I check for hidden apps and discover nothing. Last, I turn off the location feature.
Damn him. I don’t want a phone so he can contact me. I owe him nothing and don’t want him to call.
The phone in question buzzes in my hand and I jump. No, that wasn’t a small screech, I swear. I look down and see that it’s a text message.
Private number
Nothing in your home was
touched or examined. The
possibility of Dandridge
finding you was slim but
I felt it important to protect
your home until you arrived.
This phone will not track you
if you turn off the tracking
feature. I’m a very busy man
but I will take the time to
call you.
Lovely. Just what I need. And dammit I shouldn’t trust that Moon didn’t have my apartment searched or bugged. It kills me that I do. Stupid but true. My headache is reaching greater heights, so I down a few over-the-counter pain relievers. The ones Moon gave me helped a bit and I have no wooziness so I know they weren’t a narcotic. Possibly acetaminophen, better known as Tylenol. My choice is ibuprofen so I don’t risk acetaminophen overdose, not a pretty death. I release a long breath into the warm apartment air after swallowing the tablets and walk to the thermostat. I turn the air from ninety to eighty-four and gaze around my small living room.
It doubles as my office. I have a loveseat that I bought at a thrift store, a forty-two inch flat-screen bought on super clearance, and a $10 end table from a garage sale. They’re the only items that give the room an actual “living room” quality. A large desk with a cheap desk chair sit against the far wall and two, three-foot, locked filing cabinets stand to one side. While conducting my apartment search, I checked that the locks weren’t tampered with, but I didn’t check for the hidden keys. No cookie jar or coat pocket for me. For $5.99, I ordered a wall outlet safe that fits perfectly behind the wall plate. It looks like a wall electrical outlet and takes a specifically designed hexagon screwdriver key to open. The screwdriver is in my kitchen junk drawer along with several Philips and flat heads. I walk to the drawer, grab the hexagon, and snag my camera before I walk to the small wall safe. I push my emergency cash aside and grab the cabinet keys. I unlock the cabinet closest to my desk and pull out the file I need.
Penny Dandridge is written at the top. I sit down at my desk and open my laptop so I can download the pictures from my camera. They’re good and complete the job. I copy them to a thumb drive that I’ll give to Penny after I make an appointment with her. I should do that now, at least call her, but I need to lie down. I head to my loveseat and curl up, resting my head on a small throw pillow and close my eyes.
Sometime later a buzzing noise from my kitchen rouses me. I stand and the room tilts. It takes a moment for my equilibrium to return. My headache is thankfully gone. I touch the knot at the back of my head, which is still sore. I’ll live. I head to the kitchen counter and see that Moon texted me again, but this time his number isn’t blocked.
602-555-3142
You have a slight
concussion and need
to be woken throughout
the night. I’ll be checking
in