The Good Neighbor (11 page)

I waited for sleep to come, which wouldn’t. I
waited for an answer to the Jenson puzzle to come, which didn’t.
One thing that kept coming was the thought of Carla. More
precisely, making love to Carla. I replayed it in my mind again and
again. It was something I definitely hoped to do more of in the
future.

Carla dominated my thoughts all night. I lay
on the bed with my eyes closed, letting the thoughts have free
range in my head. It wasn’t until someone rang my doorbell that I
opened my eyes and realized it was morning.

I went downstairs, rubbing my hands over my
face as I went. I opened the door to Andy.

“I came right away. I sensed a lonely porch
that needed my help,” he teased.

“I got to grab something to eat,” I said,
stepping aside, allowing him to enter.

Andy followed me into the kitchen where I
made an egg sandwich. It was one of the few things I could actually
cook. While I cooked, I told Andy about sneaking around Jenson’s
and what I’d seen. Or more like what I hadn’t seen.

“Shit, man. What do you think he’s doing down
there?” I shrugged my shoulders. Andy thought for a while. “What if
he’s hacking up the bodies in the basement?”

“Don’t you think that’s crazy?”

“Why’s that crazy? Isn’t that where the
killers hack up the bodies?”

“Yeah,” I said, putting the egg on the bread.
“If they’re not old. You’ve seen him drag those bags, Andy. It’s
not easy for him. You really think he’d do the hacking in the
basement, drag the bags up the stairs, through the house, across
the porch, down the steps, across the yard, and then pick up the
bag and put it in the trunk? Doesn’t that seem a little much to
you?”

“Yeah, it seems crazy. But Gacy was old. That
Fish guy was old as ass and it didn’t stop him from killing. That
couple from Missouri was both in their seventies. With killers, you
have to think crazy. You have to get to their level, think like
them. Expect the unexpected.”

“Andy, you’re getting carried away. You don’t
even know he’s a killer. There’s never anyone over there. Who are
these people he’s killing? All we know for sure is he’s weird.”

“Yeah. And that’s the first thing you have to
be in order to be a killer.”

I laughed, taking a bite of my sandwich. I
shook my head at him while I chewed, but he was serious. “You’re
suddenly an expert on murderers, huh?” I asked him as I finished my
sandwich.

“I studied killers and psychology for a while
in college. Thought about going into forensics, but Jill didn’t
like the thought of me dealing with death so much. I think it
reminded her that we’re all going to die at some point. You know
how women are. So it became a hobby instead of a profession.”

As we walked through the house on our way to
the porch, I asked, “How come I didn’t know you had such a
disturbing hobby? I mean, how could we be friends for so long and
you never mention that you studied serial killers?”

“Easy. I’m sure there are things about you
that you haven’t told me.” I nodded in total agreement. “Besides,
it’s not something you want to tell everybody. I mean, you start
telling people you study killers because it fascinates you the way
their minds work and the next thing you know, people think you’re
weird and start suspecting you of things.”

I laughed. “Like you’re doing with Jenson.”
It wasn’t a question. I was pointing out his hypocriticalness, but
not in a judging way. I just wanted to bring it to his
attention.

“Yeah, well, with Jenson, we have every right
to be suspicious,” Andy said as we took our usual seats on the
porch.

“Why? Because he carries out black trash
bags? Someone should call the police and tell them to case the
supermarkets and arrest everyone who purchases black trash bags.
Surely, they’re carrying around dead bodies. Or parts of dead
bodies, as it may be.” Andy didn’t like my sarcasm, but I think he
needed to hear it. He was getting a little carried away. Yeah,
Jenson was odd. But that was no reason to accuse him of murder.

“You know,” I added for sake of conversation.
“I’d like to think that if he were a killer, he wouldn’t be so
obvious about it.”

“What do you mean? You just said there’s
never anyone over there. Neither of us has seen him have visitors.
What if he does, but he hides it so well, we think he doesn’t?
Isn’t that being discreet?”

“Yeah, but he brings those bags out in the
daylight. He knows we watch him. He knows we watch him take white
trash bags to the curb like everyone else on this street, and then
take heavy, black trash bags somewhere else. That’s being pretty
obvious. If he was really doing something wrong over there, I’d
like to think that he’d be smarter about it than that. He’d do it
at night, or find a way to dispose of the bodies in a way that no
one would ever see him and think maybe he’s doing something
wrong.”

“Like how? How could he get rid of bodies
without leaving his house? Bury them in his back yard?” Andy asked,
snorting as if it were a crazy idea. Then, he said, “Dorothea
Puente buried her murder victims in her back yard and she got
caught. And she was old, by the way. And a woman. So don’t
underestimate the strength of the elderly.”

I thought for a second, and then said, “I
don’t know. There’s an empty house beside him. Maybe he could bury
them next door in the back yard. It would be years before anyone
ever found them – if they ever found them at all – and by then,
he’d have moved...or be dead. It’s brilliant.” I looked at Andy,
watching the expression on his face to see what he thought of that
idea. The look on his face was nearly impossible to gauge.

We were silent for a while. It was funny that
no matter what was happening, we were comfortable enough with each
other to just sit in silence. Even if in that silence we were
contemplating death and murderers and ways to hide bodies.

Finally, Andy said, “I’d still like to know
what he’s doing over there.”

I started to interject, but all I got out
was, “Andy—“

“Look, I’m never going to be able to forget
about it until I know. If he is killing people, don’t you want to
stop him? Can you live with yourself if you see him arrested one
day, after the body count has grown, and realize that you could’ve
done something to stop it? I can’t.” Andy saw me pondering his
words and quickly continued, figuring this was his chance to pull
me onto his side of the fence on the issue. “If he’s doing nothing
wrong, I’ll completely let it go. I promise. But I have to know,
Owen.”

I stared at Jenson’s house and thought about
what Andy said. I knew he wouldn’t let it go until he knew.

I sighed deeply and said, “Fine.”

When I awoke, I could tell it was late
morning. The black sheet that covered the bedroom window held back
the light, but I could feel that it wasn’t early. Hell, I hadn’t
seen early in so long, I couldn’t even remember what it looked
like.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. I tried
to count the roaches, but they ran so fast, I kept losing track of
which ones I’d already counted and which ones I hadn’t. I gave up.
It was easier to count the stains on the ceiling. They didn’t move.
In my former life, I would’ve had the roof replaced before it had a
chance to leak. But that was then. This was now. And now, I didn’t
care.

I lay there thinking about the broad next
door. She was almost all I ever thought about now. I couldn’t get
her out of my head. The way her ass moved in her shorts. The way
her shirts clung to her tits. Everything about her made me want her
more. I knew she wanted me just as much as I wanted her. And it
wouldn’t be long until we both got what we wanted.

I’d gone over and scoped the place out after
midnight. I was both disappointed and satisfied. I was disappointed
that I couldn’t see in any of the windows. The curtains were all
pulled tightly.

She was teasing me.

I was even more disappointed to find all the
windows and doors locked.

She wanted me to work for it.

I was satisfied that it wouldn’t take much to
get into her house. The back door was old and thin and the lock was
flimsy. Piece of cake. I could probably even make it all the way to
her bed without her hearing me.

I smiled as I imagined how surprised she’d be
when I slid into bed next to her. I laughed when I thought of the
things I was going to do to her.

I was more aware of the protrusion in my
underwear than of anything else. It ached. The urge to take care of
it was strong, but I had to fight it. If I left it alone, it would
be so much more intense while I was banging her. If I took care of
it now, it would still be great, I had no doubt. But it wouldn’t be
as great. And I had waited so long. I wanted to get as much out of
it as I could.

It was hard to resist the urge to reach down
and take matters into my own hands, but what fun would that be? It
certainly wouldn’t be as good as giving it to the broad next door.
And I was dying to give it to her. The things I wanted to do to
her...

No. I would wait. It wouldn’t be much longer
now. It couldn’t be much longer. I wouldn’t let it be much
longer.

I was going to have her and soon.

I was nervous, and I was sure Andy was too.
We walked casually across the street to Jenson’s house, trying our
best to appear normal. We didn’t want people to think we were doing
anything other than simply stopping in to see an old man.
Essentially, that’s what we were doing. We were stopping in to see
him, though what we really wanted to see was what he was doing
inside his house. I wasn’t expecting to see anything, but I knew
Andy was. So to pacify him, I agreed to visit Jenson.

I would’ve never agreed to such a thing if I
hadn’t picked up on Andy’s growing need to know. It was really more
than just a need now; it was more than a desire even. It seemed to
be inching closer to becoming an obsession. I hoped that once he
was satisfied that Jenson wasn’t a killer, he’d let it go.

I rang the doorbell and waited. On Andy’s
face, I saw a strange combination of nervousness and
excitement.

I had to ring the doorbell again. Just before
I rang it a third time, the door opened.

We stood face to face with Jenson. There was
no turning and leaving now.

“Yes?” he asked. His voice was frail, not at
all what I’d been expecting it to be. “Can I help you boys?”

Andy was clearly as taken aback by the
friendly voice and the lack of calculating eyes he’d been
expecting. When I saw that Andy was too shocked to speak, I
did.

“Mr. Jenson, we live across the street from
you, and we decided it was time to visit. Maybe get to know you. We
feel terrible that we haven’t done this sooner.”

Jenson looked at us, looked across the street
at our houses, and then back to us. He nodded, then turned and
walked into his house, leaving the door open. We took that as a cue
to follow him.

Without looking back at us, he said, “You
boys sit on the couch there and I’ll get us something to
drink.”

We looked around, taking note of anything out
of the ordinary.

Everything seemed normal. A faded couch with
a floral print, a matching loveseat, and a well-worn tan recliner
were positioned around a wooden coffee table. There were lamps on
end tables, coasters on the coffee table, throw pillows on the
couch, and a television in the corner. There were rugs on the floor
and pictures on the wall. It all seemed perfectly normal to me.

We sat on the couch as instructed and waited
for Jenson to return. He came in quietly carrying a wooden tray.
After sitting it on the coffee table in front of us, he sat in the
recliner.

“Sorry, boys. That’s all I’ve got. I don’t
get company around here, so I don’t keep the kitchen stocked for
such occasions.” When we hesitated, he added, “It won’t hurt my
feelings any if you don’t want it.”

I looked at the tray. There were two cups of
milk and a plate of oatmeal cookies. I saw nothing wrong with this
spread. He did more for company than I did, and I had visitors far
more often than him.

“This is fine. Thank you,” I said, picking up
a cookie. Andy elbowed me in the ribs and shot me a wary glance. I
ignored him and took a bite. “This is very good.”

“It’s my wife’s recipe.”

“You’re married?” Andy asked quickly.

“Was. She passed a few years ago.”

“Sorry to hear that.” I could hear the
empathy in Andy’s voice and imagined he was thinking about
Jill.

“Do you not have children?” Andy asked.

“Andy. That’s not polite,” I said curtly.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind. No, we didn’t have
any children. She had one before we got married. After Linda died,
that girl came and took the house. That’s why I had to move here.
That girl of hers never visited us or anything, but as soon as she
found out her mother had died, she was right there with her hand
out.” He shook his head sadly.

“Bummer,” Andy said.

No one said anything for a few minutes. I ate
another cookie and washed it down with one of the glasses of milk.
Andy sat silently. I felt him watching me as I ate. I didn’t care.
The cookies were very good, and the milk complemented them
perfectly.

Finally, Andy asked, “So what do you do to
pass the time?” Had I been eating a cookie then, I probably
would’ve choked on it at Andy’s boldness.

“Oh, I manage to find things to do,” Jenson
answered.

After not getting the answer he wanted, Andy
asked to use the restroom. Jenson told him which door it was, and
Andy excused himself.

I made small talk with Jenson, getting a
better feel for him. He was very friendly. I felt bad now that I
saw he was a lonely old man. I could’ve – no, I should’ve been
visiting with him all along.