The antediluvian, decrepit Brownstown appeared ghostly against the evening, dingy sky. Battered shutters sidled against the shards of glass. The stone steps leading to the double-wide, prodigious doors clad in weather-beaten paint, worn down over time by heat and cold and water were not screaming, a welcome to visitors. The murky paint dangled from the doors, crinkling and peeling like a disease. A cool drizzle tapped out a tinny tune on Capster's Harley. His bike was like a kindred spirit to the building with it's black paint and cross-boned skulls. He rolled the hog against the curb, pinned a hard stare on the fossil of a building and revved the engine once, then again and again. Now if any other world creatures were lurking, they have been warned. He cut the engine. One wet, black boot on the blacktop, the other knocked back the jiffy stand. He removed his black helmet sporting body parts, bones and skulls, and stowed it over a tallboy handlebar. His right leg lurched back as Capster disassembled himself from the motorcycle.
With both black boots on the street, Capster made a 360 degree survey of the geriatric, forlorn building. He blinked against the cool drizzle. He guessed maybe in the past there had been neighbors, but on this dreary, rainy evening there were none. The Brownstone stood lonely under the low hanging, grey clouds. Discarded beer cans, wine bottles, food and candy wrappings lay around the foot of the building as it's only overnight guests. The grass surrounding the building was thin and brown with more dirt than the green stuff peeking through and it carried an unsalable perfume, castaway body juice.
If you were a passerby with your nose pressed against the window, it would appear that Capster was standing out in a lonely desert. No One except him, the Brownstown and the gloomy evening. Just as a wry smile was creeping across Capster's lips, a crow flew up and perched on a dank wooden rail. It's little head tilted up at him and the beady, black beaned eyes looked Capster over. The crow's beak parted and emitted cackles. Capster eyed the bird wondering if it was warning him off, calling for backup or just reading his mind and thinking Capster a fool. Capster didn't care. It was just a stupid, ugly bird. The drizzle had slacked off and Capster continued his survey around the elderly building, ever so often looking back at the ugly bird. It felt right. He could feel the tugs on his heart muscles. This was it. It was a destined match. This was the building Capster would make his future. He needed a building for his plans and this building definitely had to need an owner. He nodded his chin at the building. His way of saying I'll be seeing you.
GUILTY, the newest Brigitta Moon Novel
