Disenchantment 24

*****

 

 

 

 

Horblende watched from his car as Mark and the female who arrived last exited the house and walked back to her vehicle. He had gotten her license plate number and would check on it later, when he went back to the station. He assumed that Benson and Malbourne were still in the house. That was odd all these people together, in the same place for over two hours, that was definitely odd.

 

Technically he was off duty, and didn’t need to be here. He had had a hunch to watch both Phileus and Nicastro lately, and so he had followed Nicastro on this particular evening right to the door of Phileus, which was nothing strange as they were seemingly good friends. The weird thing was both Benson and Malbourne also being there. Why would Phileus’s attorney and the primary suspect in Nicastro’s son’s disappearance also be involved in the disappearance of Persephone Phileus? Why would they spend this much time together in the evening at Phileus’s house? Odd indeed.

 

Hornblende knew that he would be pulled off this case soon, probably the very next day. Water levels were rising; nature was forcing people from their homes, and there was an exodus of sorts occurring. People couldn’t live under the waves and they were making their way inland.

 

California had been having a progressively worse and worse homeless problem over the past fifteen or twenty years. Homeless camps had sprung up all over the southern half of the state as a consequence of this and seemed to be fullest in winter, maximum density during the cold months as the climate was more hospitable than other areas in the US. More and more people losing their jobs, tragic circumstances or otherwise. More and more people were living on the streets, for whatever reason. Inflation? Outsourcing of jobs? The ever expanding breakdown of the traditional family? Regardless, of the reason, it was occurring.

 

Now nature was greatly exacerbating the problem. Santa Clarita had always treated the homeless in a negative light, hoping to push the problem to other areas to deal with. Now, most of the other areas that were preferred, were slipping into the Pacific Ocean. In addition to the displacement of the already homeless, thousands of newly homeless were amongst them? Thousands? Maybe hundreds of thousands? Maybe even millions. Coastal areas of habitation were sinking.

 

Not many people had flood insurance. Even those that did have it were likely not going to get a lot of money for their homes. Insurance companies were going to start going bankrupt, not having the financial resources for the massive number of claims that were coming toward them. This physical and economical destruction wasn’t just happening in LA, in California, in the US, but all over the world. Even landlocked nations were suffering from the mass migrations of their neighbors.

 

Sure, some of the displaced were fortunate enough to have family or friends farther inland that could take them, but then what? Live with their families and friends forever? It was quite a blow to lose a home. It was only a temporary solution. For every family that had somewhere else they could go upon being forced into homelessness, there were two families who didn’t have anywhere to go.

 

Massive shelters were being set up all over Southern California, but it just wasn’t enough. There were even two being set up in Santa Clarita, plus dozens more small businesses and churches were following suit. It still wasn’t enough. In addition, many people didn’t like the conditions and rules of the shelters and preferred to set up camps, tents, and tarps elsewhere.

 

With the flood of people came a flow of crime. Riverside, San Bernadino, and Ventura counties, as well as some areas of Los Angeles had experienced small riots. As of yet, Santa Clarita had only seen home invasions robberies, vandalism, and assaults increase, but the waters weren’t stopping; the people kept coming.

 

There was no way that law enforcement could handle this. There was desperation in the air, some believed it was the end of days. Hornblende’s police force absolutely did not have the manpower to deal with this. National Guard troops were being sent to more problematic areas, and Hornblende knew that his days handling missing persons were numbered. All remaining cops would soon have other tasks.

 

Watching Nicastro, and the woman, one might have thought they were a couple in the very early stages of their relationship. They were talking near her car and the body language was heavily laden with flirtation. She had to be at least twenty years his junior. Good for him, if he is not doing anything wrong. From what Hornblende gathered, the guy had lived an extremely solitary life since his son disappeared and his wife threw him out.

 

After a time, two others emerged from Phileus’s house: Benson and Malbourne. They definitely looked odd together, Malbourne being relatively large and robust, carrying himself with a certain amount of self-importance, while Benson looked almost like a ball with thin legs and arms haphazardly added as almost an afterthought, walking slouched over as though he were a dog that often received undeserved beatings for the smallest of mishaps.

 

Malbourne’s body language spoke volumes. He seemed to be threatening the smaller man. Hornblende couldn’t hear what was being said, but it seemed that Malbourne was not happy with the other man. As far as Benson went, he seemed to be enduring a chewing out of soorts, and he continually nodded in agreement.

 

After a few more minutes, all four of Phileus’s guests were gone. Hornblende turned his ignition and flipped on his headlights. As he drove home and pondered the imminent loss of this case, he couldn’t help but feel there was something very wrong about the attorney.

 

 

 

 

*****

 

 

 

 

 

The ride home was like soaring through the sky. Some have said that they felt like they were walking on air after having met someone special. Well, Mark was driving, so flying seemed a more appropriate analogy.

 

She was way too young for him, and probably nothing would come of it. Yet, Nannette made it quite obvious that she was interested in him. This made Mark realize that trudging on through future days just might just be worth it. Even if nothing romantic emerged between the two, the interaction had kick-started his emotions. The future held hope, not an unrecognizable void.

 

As mark walked through the courtyard, the familiar bass beat of a worn out rap song attempted to assault his senses. He didn’t even mind it so much this time. He nodded as he walked by Hector.

 

“Hey man, your dog is loud, fucking barks all day.” Hector appeared slightly more intoxicated than usual.

 

Mark smiled. “So, it’s okay to blast your music this loud at night? You might be able to turn the volume down if you went inside your apartment. Do you think the entore neighborhood wants to hear that shit?”

 

“It don’t matter what I do homes, the air conditioner sucks. I need to sit out here to prevent overheating. You should pay money, you know, like a fine to me, for causing me some grief when your dog barks all day.”

 

“The dog just has separation issues. I don’t know what to do about it. Besides, most people work during the day, man.”

 

“You should shut up your dog.”

 

“Hector, you should get a job. You should keep normal hours. You should sit in silence if you are outside after ten at night. At least most people are at work when my dog is barking. They are trying to sleep when you make noise.”

 

“You got any money?”

 

“Goodnight, Hector,” said Mark as he began walking upstairs.

 

“”If you don’t shut that fucking dog up, I will.” It seemed almost like banter during most of their brief night-time conversations. There was a tone of malice in Hector’s words this time.

 

Mark knew Hector was mostly talk and posturing, and it worked well to intimidate most of his neighbors, but even Mark didn’t like his dog being threatened. On one hand he was feeling better than he ever had in years and didn’t want to dampen the mood, but on the other if he started allowing threats from Hector to go unchecked, the guy might think he can bully him. Mark compromised in his mind and made a simple statement as he reached the top of the staircase: “If you touch my dog, it will be the last thing you ever do, motherfucker.” He tried to come off as saying in lightly, half in jest, so as not to provoke the guy too much, but wasn’t sure how it came out.

 

Once inside he was greeted by Eddie, too excited to see him, and too stupid to know he should be more careful with his master after having left a large pile of shit near the doorway and chewed up toilet paper all over the house. His tightly-curled tail was not wagging as much as his butt that was moving so vigorously that it knocked him off balance on onto his back three times during his greeting.

 

Mark was still in too much of a good mood to even be angry at his newly assigned clean-up project. “You little shit. Bad dog,” He said blandly as he reached down and gave the dog some affection. Just because things seemed to be looking up didn’t mean that life didn’t have its own ways to fuck with your head.

 

He looked at his bottle. Yeah, he felt great, not at all depressed. Yet, he still felt like drinking. Of course he did. When one is an alcoholic, it isn’t just bad times that makes him want to hit the bottle, but great times too. Feeling wonderful and on top of the world is nice, but it can always be made nicer. The alcohol can always be used to enhance the mood, make one feel even better. It often works, until it doesn’t.

 

Mark’s mind was a bit preoccupied. He didn’t think of the booze again after he cleaned up Eddie’s mess and forced him out onto the balcony for a time. He didn’t think of it as he had a light snack and prepared for bed. He didn’t think of it when he was lying in his bed with his dog and his thoughts, listening to Hector’s music savage the stillness of the night.

 

 

 

 

*****