The Interstellar Police Force, Book One: The Historic Mission by Raymond Klein (good books to read for women TXT) 📗

paused a moment, not sure why she was sharing this information with anyone for the first time. She hadn’t thought about it in years. “We did everything together, he was my best friend.” She glanced up at Trent and gave him a shy smile. Then back to Genghis. “I had this bike, with a wicker basket on the handlebars. When he was a puppy I could put him in it and we’d ride around, and just do stuff together. Then one day, I guess I was just starting high school or something, he got sick, and instead of taking him to the vet, Doug just took him into the backyard and shot him.”

Genghis looked up at Jennifer and their eyes met, “Lovely man.”

“So, one night a couple of years later, my mom was passed out on the couch and Doug came home drunk again as usual and had that look in his eyes. It always started out that way,” she said with a disgusted look on her face. “Then he would give me this big creepy bear hug saying how pretty I was.” She didn’t take her eyes off Genghis, she just stroked his head gently while relating her story. “I had enough, I just . . . had enough. So I grabbed his bowling trophy and knocked him out cold. Packed my things, what little I had, took a couple of hundred bucks from Doug’s sock drawer. Bought a bus ticket and got as far away as possible.” She looked up at Trent. “Wow! That was almost six years ago.”

Jeff was quiet for a moment, then said, “Yes, unfortunately that happens where we come from too.” He followed that with, “I’m sure your mother has been looking for you all these years.”

She gave a snort. “Yeah, right.” She then muttered, “I should have burned that trailer down when I left.” She looked up at Trent. “Now what? Jail?”

“No, no, I said we wouldn’t arrest you. Where do you live? We’ll drive you home.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

The three of them drove South on Compton Road and turned left into The Compton Apartments. Later, in news articles Jeff and Genghis would hear these apartments referred to as “Tenement Slums.” Built in the mid 1960's, all nine buildings were identical – narrow, three stories tall, and made of brownstone. Three faced west to Compton Road, four faced 11th Ave and two faced south toward Ninth Avenue. All were crammed into a one-block radius. The second of the four buildings facing north toward 11th  was where Jennifer lived. Trent pulled into the parking spot in front of her building and shut the engine off. All three got out.  “. . . what the hell!” Trent was saying, “Let's restore it back to its original condition and drive it around.” He made steering wheel motions with his hands.

Jennifer laughed and said, “Cool.”

The three climbed the six stone steps to the double doors and entered the foyer of her building. There were rows of narrow brass mail boxes recessed into the wall on the left. The wainscoting on the walls was cheap and painted a dark brown color. The tiny checkerboard green-and-white tiled floor was dingy and stained yellow in spots and had several hairline cracks running throughout. As they ascended the stairs to her floor, Jennifer glanced back at her guests,  sheepishly, and said, “I moved in here about three years ago. It’s pretty noisy, but in general, the neighbors are really nice.”

The thick banister was painted the same dark brown as the wainscoting and had many initials, names and swear words carved into it. Their footsteps echoed in the stairwell. When they reached the second floor landing there were two anemic-looking kids sitting on the floor sharing a cigarette. They were in their early twenties, but looked to be in their mid thirties.

“Hi, Trisha. Hi, Pimples!” Jennifer said to them, as she walked by.

“Hey, Twink.” They both said in a monotone unison, then gave blank vacuous stares to the man and his dog that were following Jennifer. Genghis could smell a pungent odor coming from both of them.

“I guess it’s been a little slow for everybody tonight,” Jennifer said, as they continued up to the third floor. As they went further up the stairs Trent looked down at the pair on the floor who were still staring back with blank eyes. She had short unwashed blond hair with very black mascara around her eyes and he was tall and painfully thin. His jeans had holes in each knee, and he was wearing a stained light-blue t-shirt. Both had pale complexions and bruises on their arms.

At the third floor landing, they followed Jennifer as she turned down the left hallway. She reached her apartment door, inserted the key, and turned it. She turned and faced Trent. “Well, this is me.” She opened the door. “Thanks for helping me out and taking me home. Ah . . . you, uh, gonna come in for a few minutes?”

“No,” Trent replied, looking around.  “I don’t think that will be necessary. You seem perfectly safe now.”

“Oh, sure, okay!” She then reached down with both hands and rubbed Genghis’s ears. “You be a good boy, Genghis Khan.” She kissed him on the nose.

“Listen Jennifer, you should be a little more. . .”

“Twinkie. My friends call me Twinkie.”

“Yes, ah, Twinkie, have you ever thought about getting a real . . .”

“Ah!” She put up an index finger. “I have and I like not having a boss,” she said. “I’m an entrepreneur.” Then, as she turned toward the doorway, “I can’t do anything else.” She paused then looked at Trent, “You know, you're one of the first cops that didn’t want something for free. Thanks again.”

“You're welcome, Twinkie. Just be careful . . . okay?”

She stepped into her apartment and looked back, “I will. Bye.” As she closed the door, Trent and Genghis glanced in. It was a one room apartment with a pull-out couch. The room was painted a light