He laughed ruefully. “Maybe not, but let me give it a shot. You did well in high school, had some close friends, but didn’t get into any trouble. Then, as soon as you could, you got the fuck out of Mishawaka. Went to some city school, learned a thing or two about life. You probably work hard to pay your bills, but you still take cash from daddy every month.” He paused and raised an eyebrow. “Am I close?”
I clenched my fists. “I don’t take his money.”
“Maybe not, but you’re still sheltered.” He looked back out toward the building. “I’ve seen some shit, kid, shit you better hope you never have to see.”
I sighed and tried not to curse him out. He was being obnoxious on purpose, I could tell. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to test me or if he just wanted to push my buttons, but I wasn’t going to let him get the best of me.
“Does this have to do with why you got kicked out of the bureau?” I asked him acidly.
He flinched slightly but didn’t look at me. “Yeah, it does.”
“And why is that?”
He didn’t answer, just kept watching the building. After a few minutes, I got the hint that he didn’t plan on answering, and so I went back to fiddling with the radio.
What an obnoxious jerk. He came at me out of nowhere, just because I wasn’t prepared to be sitting around in a stinky car all day with him. He didn’t even bother to explain to me what we were doing. He just expected me to follow and obey without question.
But then again, he had been incredibly close in his analysis of me. I didn’t feel like I lived in a bubble, but I hadn’t really experienced any difficult hardships in my life. Sure, I worked hard to support myself, but other than losing my mom, that was it.
Suddenly, he sat bolt upright, eyes glued to the binoculars.
“Another false alarm?” I asked.
“Not this time.”
I tried to see what he was watching, but there was too much traffic in the area. He stared out the window, slowly tracking someone or something across the street.
“What is it?” I asked him.
“Our target, flying the coop.”
“Are we following him?”
“Not this time. Just wait.”
Another minute of silence. He handed me the binoculars and started the engine. We pulled back out into traffic and crossed the street, doing a U-turn in front of the apartment building. We parked and he climbed out.
“Camera in the glove,” he said.
I opened it and found a professional-looking camera, though it wasn’t very large. I opened the door and climbed out, holding it up.
“This one?” I asked.
“That’s my girl.” He reached for it, but I held it out of his reach.
“Tell me what we’re doing here,” I said.
He smirked. “You want to play this game?” he asked.
I wasn’t backing down. “Tell me.”
Suddenly he lunged forward, pressing against my body, pushing my back against the car. I gasped as his body crushed mine, his muscles moving against my breasts. He pinned my one arm against the car and plucked the camera out of my other hand.
His face was inches from mine, and I was breathing hard, shocked at how quickly he had moved. I couldn’t believe he was touching me as if it weren’t completely inappropriate. He was my boss and also my stepbrother. He shouldn’t be pushing me against the car.
“Don’t play games,” he said softly. “This is serious shit.”
“I just want to know what’s going on,” I replied.
“We’re staking out the landlord,” he said, moving away from me. I took a deep breath, steadying myself.
“Okay. Why?”
“I was approached by one of the tenements, Mrs. Suarez. She says he hasn’t been doing his jobs, been leaving things broken, trash out, shit like that.”
“What are we going to do about that?”
He hefted the camera. “Document it and then shake him down.”
I stared at him for a second. “Shake him down?”
“Yeah. I’ll show him the pictures, threaten legal action unless he starts being less of a fucking twat.”
“That’s crazy.”
He shrugged. “Easier than actually hiring a lawyer. They’re fucking expensive.” He began walking toward the building. “And I’m fucking cheap,” he said softly.
I hurried to keep up as we walked the perimeter of the building. Nothing seemed out of place, no garbage left out, no broken windows, nothing. Finally, we stopped at the front of the building again and stood out near the front door.
“What now?” I asked.
“Just wait.”
I stood there trying not to be annoyed as we watched people walk by on the sidewalk. Eventually, someone went to go into the building, and Easton quickly moved to follow. He gave the guy a disarming smile, but the man barely noticed as he opened the doors and let us through.
He paused near the stairwell. “Easy,” he said.
“I can’t believe that guy just let us in.”
“You’d be surprised how much you can get away with if you’re confident enough.”
“If you’re working for someone that lives here, why not just get them to let you in?”
He grinned hugely. “Because that’s not fun.” He turned and walked up the staircase, causing me to chase after him yet again.
For the next half hour, we wandered around the building. Easton didn’t say much, just kept taking pictures of various things. He photographed some stains in the halls, water-damaged ceilings, broken washers and dryers, dirty trash chutes, and more. That was just the stuff in the main areas, too. Who knew what was happening inside each apartment.
Finally, we made it to the top floor. He jostled the door that opened out onto the roof, but it wouldn’t open.
“Hold this,” he said, handing me the camera.
I watched as he took out a small black case and slipped out two shiny silver tools. He inserted them into the lock and began to careful jiggle the one tool while slowly turning with the other.
“Are you picking that lock?” I asked, incredulous. “Isn’t this illegal?”
“Shah,” he said.
Finally, the door clicked and swung open. He didn’t even pause. He just slipped the tools back into his pocket and walked out onto the roof.
“Did they teach you that in the FBI?” I asked.
“Yeah, actually,” he said, distracted.
The roof looked pretty normal. There were industrial-sized heaters and coolers up there, but nothing unusual. He walked around to the right and then stopped in his tracks.
“Pay dirt,” he said.
Up ahead was a large pile of black trash bags. I took a step closer, but the smell was almost overwhelming.
“What the hell?” I said.
“Take pictures.”
I brought the camera up to my eye and began to snap away.
“Get closer,” he said.
“No way,” I said, shaking my head. “It stinks.”
He sighed and grabbed the camera and walked right up to the pile. He took pictures the whole time, and eventually he even ripped one open, exposing disgusting, putrid garbage.
“Why is this up here?” I asked.
“Landlord is probably too cheap to pay for pickup.”