Page 76 of Dead Serious: Case 3 Mr Bruce Reyes
“Come on, Tris,” Danny tries to reassure me. “They’ll find him.”
“I’m actually more worried about them than him,” I mutter. “You know how he feels about strangers.”
Danny chuckles as we head toward the door. I hover over him as he makes it down the stairs slowly. Stepping out onto the street, I pull my hood up and tilt my head back to get a good look at the damage. Not being able to see anything from this angle, we cross the road to see it better, but as I turn around, I suck in a sharp breath. It does look really bad. The end of the room has collapsed in and the rest is sagging alarmingly.
“You boys had better come in out of the rain.” A frail voice carries over the rain and we both turn around.
“Thank you, Mr Jenkins,” Danny calls. It amazes me that I’ve lived on this street for a few years and still don’t know any of my neighbours beyond a quick smile and good morning nod, but Danny has lived with me for only a month or so and knows half the bloody street.
We trudge up the path to the neighbour’s front door, where I wipe my feet on the welcome mat and then follow Danny into Mr Jenkins’s home.
“Just put the kettle on,” he says as he shuffles down the long narrow hallway in front of us.
“I’m told you called the emergency services,” Danny says as he follows the older gentleman to the kitchen. “That was very kind of you.”
“Not at all.” Mr Jenkins sets out three mugs on the counter and places a teabag in each. “I was afraid you’d been trapped under all that. Glad to see you aren’t hurt. Sugar?”
“One please,” Danny replies, “and two for Tristan.”
I watch mutely as Danny and Mr Jenkins make polite conversation while the sweet old man makes us tea. He hands us a cup each and I give a distracted smile of thanks.
“Do you mind if we watch out the front window?” I ask.
“Of course not. Let’s go sit in the front parlour.” He clutches his cup in one hand and shuffles back down the hallway. Holding both mine and Danny’s cups, I follow, my gaze absently settling on his red tartan slippers and the hem of his neatly pressed grey trousers. I can hear Danny clicking along behind me on his crutches, and as we enter the front room, I move to the bay window so I can look out across the road to my flat.
The fire engine is still parked at the side of the street although they’ve now hoisted the ladder and are checking the roof from the outside, but parked alongside it is a small transit van with a contractor’s name stencilled onto the side panel. Two men are pulling metal poles and other things from the back of the van and heading into the house.
“It’ll be alright, lad,” Mr Jenkins says behind me.
I turn to see him settled on a floral armchair with his cup of tea perched on his knee, his gnarled hands wrapped around it.
Danny drops onto the sofa with a grunt and I watch as he sinks into the soft-looking cushions. I hand him his cup of tea and glance back over to Mr Jenkins, who’s peering at me through little gold-rimmed spectacles. His shiny scalp has barely a few wiry grey hairs sprouting from the top, and a small halo of hair encircles the lower half of his head.
“It’s really decent of you to let us wait here,” I say with a small smile. “Thank you.”
He waves off my thanks and I turn back to the window. Once again, he and Danny make small talk as I watch the commotion over the road.
Suddenly, another white transit van pulls up, this one with a huge pride flag painted on the side. Behind it parks a purple VW Bug, and brightly coloured, statuesque passengers begin to spill out of both.
“Bloody hell!” I gasp, fumbling my cup and spilling a little of the tea over my fingers before I’ve even had a sip.
“What’s wrong?” Danny asks in concern, awkwardly hauling himself off the bouncy sofa like an upturned turtle trying to roll over. He hobbles to the window and clocks the entourage piling into our building.
“Bloody hell!” He parrots as his eyes widen.
“Thank you so much for your help, Mr Jenkins, but I just need to nip over the road and check on something.” I leg it toward the door with Danny apologising for us both and then following me as quickly as he can.
By the time I’ve helped Danny up the stairs to the flat we’re not supposed to be in, it’s utter bedlam. I push my way through sequin-clad bodies and bright plumages of feathers to my kitchen where I find Chan in full drag and arguing with the firefighter who told us we couldn’t be in here.
“There you are.” Chan rushes toward me, the relief in her face palpable. “Are you alright, darling?”
“We’re fine.” I pat her arm in response to her obvious concern. “What are you doing here?”
“Honey, we’re the cavalry. Chan said you sent up an SOS,” Ruby says as she eyes up one of the other firemen. He squeezes past Ruby and the assortment of drag queens with a bemused smile. “Oh my,” she mutters, fanning herself with one hand. “I wouldn’t mind sliding down his pole.” She takes a step in the direction he’s just headed in. “Maybe I’ll just go ask if he needs any help holding his hose.”
“You just stay where you are.” Ginger grabs hold of her and pulls her back.
“Whose pussy is this?” a deep voice interrupts, and I look across to see Brandy wander into the kitchen from the living room in a cloud of pina colada-scented smoke, her ever-present vape in one hand and Jacob Marley tucked under her arm like a rugby ball.