The first thing I did after waking up was spraying fragrances all around the house. I was just wishing no guest would come.
Who the hell would come here anyways? Hansen was the only one who used to see me. In ten minutes I made the house smell better but he had no way I could prevent rats keeping running around.
"You should be doing something for these nasty rats."
I was shocked to hear the voice behind me. The voice wasn’t scary but the time when it had been heard was frightening.
He was a neighbor of his who had recently returned from somewhere. I was blaming myself for the man's presence because I had forgotten to lock the door.
"How're you doing Mr. Tarot?" he asked.
"Rats. They're troubling me." I jerked the spray after finding nothing was left in it to spray.
"What's this smell here?" he sniffed in with squeamish sound.
"Rat shits. I presume." I wanted him out of his house as soon as possible, "The next thing I am going to do is to bring a mop and then scrub all around this house. After it I will buy a rat poison and make those little bastards eat them."
I reckoned nobody would be interested in hearing an old man talk about rats and rat's droppings. In fact the man shouldn’t even be there because of the smell. How was he still there without covering his nose?
I ignored him and spoke no more. I wanted to act like a rude old man.
"Did you hear of the mute's death?" He said after long silence.
"I have heard about it." I also know who killed him. I didn’t turn back and took a mop, "They say he was found dead in a PCO."
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
"I was there when cops had arrived to see him. And I didn’t like the view of it."
"Was the corpse bloodied or what?" I asked even though I knew what reason of his death was.
"No, he was clean as sleeping. You know what; they took him for autopsy and found out he died of sudden stroke. He had diabetes and cholesterol anyways." He said when I made bucket of soap water ready.
"So this case is going to be closed, isn’t it?"
"Confirmation of death's cause doesn’t mean the case is closed." He sat on couch after swiping some more droppings.
"Are they going to make the dead man speak?" I laughed, filled with nervousness.
"Well, I don’t know. They had been checking whom he had called before his collapse. People claim he had dialed 666. Curious people couldn’t help themselves from sneaking in phone booth after cops were gone."
666! Satan! I gasped and almost lost grip on the mop.
I mixed soap in bucketful of water and listened, "And other numbers in there are worthless because they were dialed many days before last night."
I took a breath of relief. Thanks God, Dormer had called me from another PCO.
"How do you get such news from?" I turned back and asked.
"I have one friend whose friend who works in this case. All I've heard is rumors, Mr. Tarot. He ain't telling me everything but he has told me enough of it."
The rumors were right. If any number was found in PCO then they would have taken me for interrogation already.
"But Derrick. You know Derrick, don’t you?" he asked me.
"Yes I do. He lives near the coast. The ugly fisherman. What has he got to do with this matter?" I rose up and went towards him.
"Dormer lived near Derrick's house. And Derrick explained to cops that house he had seen Dormer giving a piece of paper to a kid while he was drinking outside. Around an hour after the child's departure, the mute walked out of his house and died in phone booth."
"Dormer gave someone a letter? Why didn’t he give to anyone else but a toddler?" I questioned like a cop. Now I didn’t want him to leave all of a sudden.
"Maybe the toddler was the best he could find there. And what the hell was the kid doing there anyways?" he shrugged.
"Sounds interesting." What have you done Dormer? I was scared.
"It sounded same to the cops. Now they want the kid." Then he rose up to his feet and stretched a bit, "Whose blood is it?"
He pointed under the table. There was blood coming out from under tablecloth which touched the floor.