19 October 2016
Lamar Jackson was a very likeable guy. His smile was wide, his laugh was loud and his face was always full of conversation. His hair shorn so closely to his scalp, from a distance you'd think he was bald, accentuated his oval face. What he lacked in height he made up for in personality.
It was that same personality that let him convince Ms Dreya Wilson (and as she'd let you know: thats a miz with an MS and not an I, because she was not your age) to let him in at apartment number three.
His friend you see, yes the one that lives at apartment three, poor soul had asked him to feed her cat. She'd left in such a hurry, and he'd been so absent-minded that they'd completely forgotten to swap for the keys.
Oh bother! Could Ms Dreya ever be of help?
She could come with, of course, he wasn't trying to steal anything. He'd just grab the cat and be out in two jiffs. He promised.
And so Dreya Wilson turned the key, to the brown door, at apartment number three. She couldn't place the face of the one who paid the rent over here. It was always just at the tip of her mind. She didn't have any problems with apartment number three. They paid their rent, there were no noise complaints and certainly never any visitors. She would have remembered this fine polished man.
As she peeled back the door, they entered the room with trepidation on their tongues. Nobody had any business being in another man's house. Those were her very own words to live by.
"Alright then. Be quick about it." She said.
Everything looked to be in order in the single room studio apartment. Now, Ms Wilson wasn't one to snoop, but since she was here already it wouldn't hurt to check if anything was needed for maintenance -you know, to be neighbourly.
A bowl of cereal, left half eaten, had turned to porridge. It's sweet decaying smell wafting over the entrance. The bed was unmade with clothes thrown all over the floor.
A note, scribbled with an address, was written on the kitchen counter.
"Found him." The young man said sprinkling chuckles as he walked. He stood over her shoulder with a fat orange and white cat under his arm.
"What's that?" He asked. As he peered too closely to the piece of paper.
"None of our business." She said passing a gnarled hand over the ink.
"Come on let's go."
