The Drip, a novel by Michael Gullo
“Stefanie, I’m not arguing with you about this.”
“I’m not arguing.”
“That was my line.”
“Michael, don’t go there without me.”
“Don’t get mad, Stefanie.”
“I’m not mad.”
“I’m not playing guess my emotion with you.”
“Michael.”
“Look. I can be here, and you cannot.”
“It’s a public street.”
“But you’re a cop, and that makes what I’m doing illegal for you.”
“It’s not illegal.”
“It’s color of office.”
“No it’s not.”
“And you know it is. What if I get there, and this guy sees me? I was just a foot from his face three hours ago. What if he gets mad or…”
“Exactly, and you’re there alone, and that lung. This isn’t Amsterdam.”
“Stefanie, I’m in a minivan. The windows are tinted. I have a gun and a gas pedal – this thing is surprisingly fast, weird though feeling an engine when I push the go.”
“Nope. No distractions. Don’t go there. I’m in the sally port, and they’ll be out in one minute with my paperwork. I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“In a police Explorer. Yup, that’s rational.”
“I can get in the minivan.”
“What, you just park your state vehicle with the shotguns and god only knows what else at the abandoned Sonic parking lot and get into the minivan and drive away? That’ll work out top notch.”
“Michael.”
“Look. This is happening. I’m almost there. You can keep distracting me, or you can get on board and get the best seat you can in this ride.”
“You’re going to pay for this.”
“Misdemeanor’s boo..?”
“Thanks, Ted.”
“What happened to the Camry?”
“That’s right, I haven’t seen you in a while. How ya been?”
“Been good, check ’em in, feed ’em, cut ’em loose when I’m told.”
“Rinse and repeat. We retired the Camry. It was too much like kidnapping someone off their front porch.”
“The first time the gate opened on that thing, my mind went to the roster, who do we have in here’s about to get broke out.”
“This one’s less confusing.”
“Sorry I can’t chat. On to the next.”
“I’ll get the gate.”
“Seeya next time, Ted --- You still there?”
“Just listening in.”
“Where are you at?”
“Just turning off Boyd’s Creek now.”
“Let me get outside, and I’ll pop up the map.”
“It’s that little like side road, the one that like parallels Chapman, like behind all the businesses.”
“I know where it is. I had this all planned out, and you took it from me. Felonies book.”
“Felony. That’s serious stuff. I’ll need an attorney.”
“Deno ain’t got shit on these charges, buddy.”
“It’s three turns now. I can probably see it, and I don’t even know it yet.”
“You on Humphrey or Howard?”
“Humphrey’s. There it is. I can see it through the yards. Turning now.”
“What’s it like?”
“Passing his road by. He’s literally at a three-way intersection, like as you enter the neighborhood, his is the house your headlights shine on when you stop at the stop sign.”
“What else?”
“Trying to turn around. Two driveways in a row, no-turn-around sign.”
“Whole thing’s a circle. Just go around.”
“It’s a sub division – like nineties era. Working class. Work trucks and GMCs in the driveways, beaters too. This outside loop is like a neighborhood that was a neighborhood before the stuff inside the circle was built. Everything’s older one story ranch, bigger lots. Some kept, some not.”
“Seymour.”
“Yeah, America.”
“Are you going around all the way around?”
“Yes. First thing I notice is the subdivision inside is back of spot price.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I mean, like, they’re all middle-income achievement-shows, should be more manicured, pride in the cut lawn, competition. Like, these are mostly the vinyl siding, brick facade in front, two car garage, concrete driveway, but there’s no – upgrades or anything. They all have the same steel garage doors that came with the house, the builder grade front doors. There’s no Japanese Maples – wait there’s one. The landscaping, it’s not right.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m almost back at the entrance. God, his house sticks out.”
“Of course it does. You’re looking for it.”
“No. It’s different. I’m pulling in now. None of the houses has a fence except his. There’s a chain-link fence around the whole side yard and the back. It’s a double lot with the second on the right and the fence wraps it all in. Whole thing’s a dog yard. You can see the perimeter walk is all like raw dirt and hard weeds under the chain link.”
“Is he there?”
“I can’t tell. I went right, and what I saw from the outside, I can feel on the inside. The houses are all cared for enough – except his – the lawns are cut, but they’re not weeded. None of the driveways or door walks are edged.”
“It’s Winter.”
“It’s March in two days. Been warm all week, and there’s no sign of outside living left behind.”
“Are there cars in the driveways?”
“There’s some. Like I said, there’s newer stuff mostly. It’s like a Terrain showroom to some extent. An Acadia. There’s a lot of cars in the driveways actually.”
“Those garages are full.”
“Good eye. No basements here. Those are too expensive.”
“Any yard flags or Christmas lights or anything?”
“No. There’s not one little banner or family name or basketball hoop. Creepy enough for Halloween though.”
“Yeah, every parent’s wet dream kids trick or treat in the child molester’s neighborhood.”
“That one’s abandoned. No curtains, no shades. It’s got one of those wooden WELCOME signs on the front porch.”
“Hobby Lobby will be so proud.”
“There’s another empty one. You can see right through the picture window to this guy’s back yard. There’s another one. All the rest are in some kind of stasis or – it’s like an end of the world movie.”
“Nobody at all outside?”
“Not a soul. I mean, you expect to see a lot of drawn shades stuff in a sub development, but this is unreal. I expect to see like a big FEMA quarantine sign any second now.”
“Can you imagine the bus stop in the morning?”
“Oh my god. I bet it’s like right there. His house is dead center in the circle and right at the entrance.”
“No way they take a school bus.”
“There’s not one for sale sign in the whole neighborhood, not even on the abandoned ones. There’s another. Empty. That’s three out of what, like fifty houses.”
“The map shows about fifty, yeah. Are you back around?”
“Almost. His is on the left. The tallest shrub in the whole neighborhood are his. There’s this one next to the driveway – not a shrub actually, it’s an ash tree grew out of the fence line and just kept growing – blocks the view of an old IROC-Z has no front hood and flat tires, pulled in backwards, forgotten. There’s not a drop of like light or whatever in the house. Every shade is shut so tight you can’t even tell if someone lives in there. The siding is like faded and old, but it’s like – where the rain sort of drips down the walls, it’s dirty – but not just dirty. Where it would normally be pressure washed every year or two, this has been left to accumulate, and it looks like a Dali clock, melting down the sides.”
“That’s so creepy.”
“I’m pulling out. Where are you?”
“I’m on my way from the jail to Karen’s to drop off my work ride.”
“Drop it off?”
“You don’t think you’re the only one gets to see that neighborhood, do you?”
“Dude, there’s a Bonafide bad guy with a story for one of your Datelines owns our easement and controls our entire sense of peace and security.”
“I don’t know about all that.”
“If he moves in. Like the only building lot on his whole land is that little flat area across from our equipment yard. And we’d have to drive past his house in our own driveway just to get to our house, and if you saw this neighborhood, you’d see exactly what that must feel like.”
“Oh, I’ll be seeing it.”
“Wait, Stef. Don’t go down there alone just because you’re mad at me…”
“I’m not mad.”
“At least take this minivan.”
“I’m not going over there in the same ride that just slow rolled the neighborhood. Someone’s there behind all those shades, and they’ll call the cops if they see the same car making the block twice.”
“You’re not going in your own car.”
“Why not?”
“What if…”
“What if what?”
“What if he sees you?”
“He doesn’t know me, and you said yourself it’s all Terrains and Acadias. Mine fits right in.”
“Your windows are tinted pretty good. Where you now?”
“I’m on Wear’s Valley Road.”
“My god. You got all the way from the jail… Don’t you use the brakes at all?”
“Only as a last resort.”
“Come get me. I’m going with you.”