Page 53 of Red, White, and BearCat Blue

I felt safe with Napoleon and Patsy who both looked just as capable as Mars, but I didn’t like the fact that he could be walking into a trap. When he and Mickey reappeared in the doorway less than a minute later, I breathed a sigh of relief until I saw the expression on Mars’ face.

“All clear,” he said, but he looked angry. “Sorry, Cam. They trashed ya flat.”

I felt a chill race through me, but I nodded numbly as he held the door open for me. Mickey was standing in the middle of my living room beside my TV which had been thrown to the ground and stomped on. The center of the screen was shattered. That was only the beginning. My couch had been ripped to shreds, cut up as though someone had been looking for something inside the cushions. My coffee table—the only piece of furniture I really liked—had been smashed to bits. The drawer beneath it hung open and the comic books I’d hidden there were all over the floor, out of their plastic coverings, and bathed in what smelled like pancake syrup. The empty bottle on the ground beside the ruined comics confirmed my suspicion.

Big holes had been punched in every wall. My kitchen had been trashed, the refrigerator lay on its side, everything out of it. Orange juice and milk were puddled on the floor and every bottle and jar from inside was broken, spilling everything from beer to olives to ketchup everywhere. Someone had flung mustard all over the walls in wide arcs and A-1 sauce decorated the kitchen ceiling where someone had thrown it.

The bedroom was much the same…mattress torn apart, clothes ripped off hangers and cut to shreds, mirrors broken, holes in every wall. Several pairs of canvas running shoes had been tossed into a plastic storage box which had been dragged to the bedroom from my patio. It was now half filled with water and judging by the empty boxes of grape Jell-O lying beside it, the shoes were all stained bright purple, ruined beyond repair.

They’d done a number in my bathroom as well, smashing the mirrors and tile in the shower with a sledgehammer they must have found in the storage space out on my patio. It lay on the floor of the bathroom, covered in shampoo, shaving cream, and stinking of my favorite aftershave. I was looking at the mess when someone called out. I started to walk out of the bathroom when Mars stopped me with a strong grip on my bicep.

“Stay ‘ere, Cam. We’ll see ‘oo it is.”

I nodded, feeling my lower lip quivering and eyes burning as he turned and headed back out. I heard voices and inched out of the bathroom and across the floor to my bedroom door, listening. When I recognized the voice of the building manager, I crept silently down the hall, peering around the corner. Mr. Murphy was standing in my living room with the four FBI agents, hands on hips, looking around with his jaw hanging open.

“What the fuck happened here?” he growled, looking at the overturned refrigerator in the kitchen.

“Mr. Murphy?” I asked, shakily.

He turned and saw me. I watched his face darken as he pointed a finger at my face. “Mrs. Cleveland said she heard a commotion going on but I had no idea!” he shouted.

“We just got here,” I said, hearing my voice quiver.

“Well, just know this, Demarco! You’re gonna pay for every single thing! It’s going to take a month to clean all this up!”

“As ya can see, Mr. Demarco was the victim of a crime,” Mars said, holding his FBI credentials in his hand. Obviously, he’d already shown Mr. Murphy his badge and if I had to guess, so had the others.

“I don’t care about that! He signed a lease. This is a goddamned furnished apartment. He’s gonna pay for every single thing.” He punctuated everything he said by jabbing a finger at me.

“The FBI may cover the cost of repairs,” Mickey assured him. “Submit a request. We have a fund to reimburse victims of crimes.”

“As long as I fill out a mountain of forms, no doubt!”

I really wished he’d stop yelling. My head was beginning to pound.

“It takes what it takes, mate,” Patsy said. His voice was no longer friendly.

“And I suppose you’ll be wanting to break your lease, Demarco?”

“He can’t bloody well stay ‘ere,” Mars said. “Not when it’s like this.”

“I-I’m moving to Los Angeles,” I stammered.

“That’s bullshit!”

“Lower your damned voice,” Mars growled.

“It’s my goddamned building, so I’ll yell if I want to.”

“That’s so unnecessary,” Napoleon interjected.

Mr. Murphy waved a finger at the big man’s face. “It’ll take me a year to get reimbursed for this mess.”

I felt my eyes welling with tears, upset and angry with myself for feeling totally defeated. Mars must have seen the distress in my face, because he came and put his arm around my shoulders, ignoring the looks his teammates were giving him. I leaned into him, desperately wanting to turn and bury my face in his chest.

“Don’t worry, Cam. We’ll get this sorted.”

“You brought vandals to my building, Demarco!” Murphy repeated at the top of his voice.