When in doubt, get out.
— Slop
Noah Greer was next on my hit list.
He told Claire he was an entrepreneur from Chicago, but his business card said he was a realtor from East Chicago.
The only thing east of Chicago is Lake Michigan.
East Chicago is a hellhole a half hour south of Chicago, in northwest Indiana. A century ago, it was an industrial powerhouse. Today, it's a heavily polluted shell of its former self with a population half of what it once was. It's the kind of place you'd drive through without stopping unless you're going to the casino. If you live there, you're probably stuck there.
Being a realtor in East Chicago meant Noah was selling homes nobody wanted. Then again, Noah Greer was also something nobody wanted. He was the kind of guy who's single for a reason. He came off as slimy because he tried too hard to present himself as being big time, but one look at him said, "Nope." Still... authenticity has more value than being a phony.
I wasn't sure he'd worth my time, but the job looked like it would be easy.
Noah's house was on a dark street, and he posted online about going to a family reunion in Denver. He'd be gone for days. I could even confirm where he was by the stuff he kept posting on facebook.
So, why was I struggling? Why did I fear the sound of every car in the neighborhood? Why did I fear the sound of my copy of his key in the lock to his front door? The sound of metal against metal sounded like thunder.
My heart raced even more when I went inside. I was wearing the same gloves I always wore on a job, yet everything felt slippery.
I was getting sloppy.
Why?
Headlights from a car driving by flashed in the window, and I shook. Boogie's voice rang in my head. "I'm not gon' hurt you girl, but I'm not gon' huntin' either. Yo' comin' to me."
I tried searching Noah's house, but another car drove by. More lights in the windows. I shook again.
I don't have many rules, but I do have a few.
When in doubt, get out.
That immediately became a new rule. THE new rule, in fact. That would be the rule to keep me safe. And keep me sane.
It got bumped up to rule mother fucking one because it was the rule that kept me free.
Another car drove by. Another doubt. More lights flashed in the windows. More doubts. I finally had to admit I couldn't do the job.
In my entire life, the worst feeling I ever had was the night my mom died. I was working at the Brass Buckle, back in Wanatah. There was maybe a minute between when calls started coming into the bar and when I found out. During that minute, everybody was staring at me, like they thought I knew something they didn't. But I was the one who didn't know. And for a minute, all I could do was stand there and wait for somebody to say something. Mom was dead. Phones were ringing, but not mine. Whispers were going around the bar. Everybody knew, but I didn't.
That minute felt like a lifetime. It was the worst feeling ever, until now. Somehow, this was worse.
I had no reason to leave and nowhere to be, but I couldn't stay here, in this guy's house. Everything sounded like footsteps. When I could no longer deny I was afraid, I fled.