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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Dead Fit - 8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8


I did well on Tuesday convincing myself I wasn't nervous for my second date with Brian. But by Wednesday morning, the nerves kicked in again. Almost all day at work I was fidgety, and as expected, Ana noticed. I played it off as midweek boredom, but she knew I was holding back information from her.


After work, I made a pit stop at home to clean up and change into something a little more appropriate for a date. I drove over to Brian's condo and when I arrived, he and his Rover were parked in a guest spot, ready to go. I hopped in the passenger seat and buckled up.


He put his Rover in reverse and I asked, “What do you want to do?”


“I was thinking we could pick up a movie, then grab some burgers from Inn-N-Out and just kick back at my place. What do you think?”


“That sounds like fun,” I said.


Our first stop was Blockbuster to pick up a DVD. Brian was in the mood to watch a cheesy classic. I didn't particularly care for a movie that was made before my birth, but I went along with his preference anyway. We settled on Double Indemnity.


On our way to Inn-N-Out Burger, Brian pointed out several commercial real estate properties he owned. The first one was on 4th Street, just east of its intersection with Cherry Avenue. The building needed a fresh coat of paint. Several of the windows were broken and had been boarded up with wood planks. I was surprised that this property wasn't better maintained. After all, Brian seemed meticulous in all other aspects of his life.


The second property he pointed out to me was on Willow Street, near the intersection with Pacific Coast Highway, and was equally as dilapidated as the first. Even without knowledge of how commercial real estate worked, I was pretty sure this pattern was unusual.


"You weren't kidding when you said some of your properties were in bad shape."


"It's called Enterprise Zone Redevelopment," Brian explained. "Because they’re located in less-than-desirable areas, the City gives me lower tax rates on my properties. In turn, I am required to rent the buildings out to small businesses that may not have the best credit, or may just be starting up. As I find tenants who can commit to long term contracts, I put that money towards upgrading the properties. I've owned the two properties we just looked at for a little over a year, and I still haven't been able to find a steady renter. So, until I do, remodeling is going to have to wait."


“I have no idea what you're talking about. All I know is that you sound smart.”


“It's all an act, but if you're falling for it, mission accomplished.”


We took Pacific Coast Highway to Inn-N-Out and ordered our dinners at the drive through window. In less than 20 minutes, we were back at his condo, wolfing down our burgers and fries in front of his television. When the last of the fries were gone, Brian popped in the DVD.


Brian and I sat side-by-side on his sofa while we watched the film. Throughout the movie, he held my hand or had his arm around my shoulders. It was all done very casually and I felt comfortable the whole night.


The movie finished a little before ten. “I should get going; I gotta be at the gym pretty early tomorrow.”


Brian said, “Okay, but before you leave, I have a little something for you.” He disappeared into his hallway closet and when he emerged, Brian was carrying a large cardboard box. Brian said, “After you told me about the charity work your mom was doing this weekend, I dug through some of my old stuff and asked my friends to dig through their stuff, too.”


I grabbed the box from Brian. The contents were heavy. “That's really thoughtful. Are you doing this to try to win points with my mom?”


“Do you think it will work?”


“Maybe you should start with her son, first,” I teased.


We took the stairs from his condo down to the parking garage, hoping to burn off some of the calories we consumed eating our greasy dinner. I popped open the trunk to my Civic and dumped the box of stuff Brian had given me. Then I opened my car door and turned around to give Brian a hug and a quick peck on the lips. After the fact, I looked around the parking garage, self conscious that his neighbors may see us in the middle of a public display of affection.


As I was getting in, Brian said, “I'm having a small party on Saturday evening. I'd really like it if you would come and meet some of my friends. It'll be at my condo's clubhouse. The party starts at seven, but feel free to come over early if you want. Oh yea, it's an end-of-summer theme so wear something tropical.”


“I'll wear my coconut shell bikini.”


Brian bit his lower lip, looked me up and down and said, “That I would love to see.”


* * * * *


When I got home that night, my parents were already asleep. I considered putting the box of stuff in the kitchen with a little note attached letting my mom know this was for her Red Hat project. But the temptation of looking through his old stuff to try to figure him out a little more overcame me and I ended up hauling the box to my room.


I opened the box and found a bunch of CD's, mostly classical music, country and western, and Top 40. The box contained a few kitchen appliances including an espresso maker, electric carving knife, digital thermometer, and egg timer. A few designer ties were in the mix, as well a slightly weathered briefcase. So far, nothing I found was going to give me much insight on Brian or his friends, except that, given the relative newness of the items they were willing to purge, most of them were probably rich. Definitely not newsworthy to me – I already knew that about Brian.


A bulk of the donations were electronic gadgets. There was an MP3 player, universal remote control, digital camera, portable DVD player, photo printer, GPS navigator, smartphone, multi-language translator, and battery charger. Now we were getting somewhere. Of all the items that had been donated, the digital camera and smartphone seemed to have the greatest potential of revealing some interesting information.


I grabbed a couple of AA batteries from my drawer and inserted them into the digital camera. The camera turned on and I pushed buttons randomly until I found the on-screen menu. I selected the “View Photos” menu. Nothing. The camera informed me that no pictures could be found. Bummer.


Next, I grabbed the smartphone. If the phone belonged to Brian, maybe he left names and phone numbers in his address book. Or, perhaps if I was really lucky, I could find some old incoming or outgoing text messages. I hit the power button. Nothing happened. I pulled the battery out, reinserted it, and tried the power button again. The phone was dead. The battery was probably out of juice. Without the charger, it was worthless.


My fishing expedition ended without a catch. I retrieved my AA batteries from the digital camera. While I packed the goodies back into the box, Ana's face popped into my head. I remembered our conversation about her volunteer work with the women's shelter. Even if the phone didn't work, maybe, as Ana suggested, the shelter could sell the smartphone back to the manufacturer for a few bucks. I put the phone in my top dresser drawer, then finished repacking the box.


I put the box aside, intending to give it to my mom in the morning. As luck would have it, I would forget to make good with my intention. That simple oversight would trigger a series of events that would eventually bring me face-to-face with a killer.

Copyright © 2011 jaysenmarshall; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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