the house had electrical heat. The room had no carpeting, nor did it have paneling on the walls. There was a cold cementfloor and rough, poured cement foundation walls. Pipes and wires were freely exposed. Because they weren’t heating the basement playroom at this time, the door to this utility area was left open. The morning light penetrated a single basement window here, too.
One corner of the room contained the family’s older possessions. There were some cartons of clothing, some pieces of furniture, boxes of pictures and books, and a variety of knickknacks, including small lamps and a small desk. He moved around the items slowly, inspecting, sniffing, searching for anything that would have value to him. There was nothing of any particular interest as far as he was concerned, and he would have gone out of the utility room and gone directly for the stairway if he hadn’t heard Sid descending.
He went to the doorway and looked out into the playroom, debating whether or not he should attack the man now. He heard the footsteps of the woman above and he wondered whether there would be any more men coming. He had a healthy respect for packs. It was one thing to take down a single man; that was relatively easy, but groups of them presented other dangers. For one thing, he didn’t like the possibility of battling them in a confined area. It was still their environment. They knew it best. Successful predators chose the time and place best suited for them.
These conclusions didn’t come to him quickly. The alternatives presented themselves in a logical fashion, and he made his choice just the way a well-programmed computer might—moving ahead only when the correct set of variables existed. His decision was to wait.
When Sid made the turn at the bottom of the stairway, he saw the shredded bacon bits box immediately and went right to it. It was curious that the box had been so torn up and left in the middle of the floor. He knelt down and inspected it, noting how cleanly it hadbeen emptied. He smirked and shook his head. He was about to stand up again when he saw the dog hairs just below the box. There were only a few, but he thought they were King’s.
“Dammit,” he muttered. He stood up and looked about, remembering that he had to find that calculator and get a move on. He went to the table and moved some books and papers around, but the calculator wasn’t there. He thought about the bar and the shelves behind it. When he went there, he saw the smashed glass on the floor. “Shit. What the hell went on here?”
His first thought was to yell for Clara. Then he realized that the mood wasn’t right for him to raise his voice. It would just frighten her unnecessarily. But he didn’t have time to stay down here and clean up the mess. He’d have to tell her about it and leave it for her. He found his calculator at the corner of the bar and turned to go back upstairs. That was when he saw it.
The basement door to the outside was slightly opened.
“For Christ’s sake,” he muttered and went to it. “Jesus,” he said, closing the door. “Talk about making it easy for burglars. You might as well put up an invitation.” He slid the latch-lock to the right, securing the door, and then he turned around and considered the rest of the basement playroom. Nothing else looked disturbed and it was already six-thirty. He couldn’t tolerate any further delays, so he ascended the stairway and turned off the lights.
Clara was just rousing Bobby and Lisa when he came to her.
“You found it?”
“Yeah, but I found something else too,” he said.
“What?” She held Bobby’s shirt to her bosom.
“Seems Junior there was down in the basement with King. There’s a torn-up box of bacon bits and a glass smashed behind the bar.”
“Oh, Bobby.” She looked at the little boy, who was just stirring. He sat up and rubbed his eyes in confusion.
“Why didn’t you tell me you broke a glass downstairs, honey?”
“I
One corner of the room contained the family’s older possessions. There were some cartons of clothing, some pieces of furniture, boxes of pictures and books, and a variety of knickknacks, including small lamps and a small desk. He moved around the items slowly, inspecting, sniffing, searching for anything that would have value to him. There was nothing of any particular interest as far as he was concerned, and he would have gone out of the utility room and gone directly for the stairway if he hadn’t heard Sid descending.
He went to the doorway and looked out into the playroom, debating whether or not he should attack the man now. He heard the footsteps of the woman above and he wondered whether there would be any more men coming. He had a healthy respect for packs. It was one thing to take down a single man; that was relatively easy, but groups of them presented other dangers. For one thing, he didn’t like the possibility of battling them in a confined area. It was still their environment. They knew it best. Successful predators chose the time and place best suited for them.
These conclusions didn’t come to him quickly. The alternatives presented themselves in a logical fashion, and he made his choice just the way a well-programmed computer might—moving ahead only when the correct set of variables existed. His decision was to wait.
When Sid made the turn at the bottom of the stairway, he saw the shredded bacon bits box immediately and went right to it. It was curious that the box had been so torn up and left in the middle of the floor. He knelt down and inspected it, noting how cleanly it hadbeen emptied. He smirked and shook his head. He was about to stand up again when he saw the dog hairs just below the box. There were only a few, but he thought they were King’s.
“Dammit,” he muttered. He stood up and looked about, remembering that he had to find that calculator and get a move on. He went to the table and moved some books and papers around, but the calculator wasn’t there. He thought about the bar and the shelves behind it. When he went there, he saw the smashed glass on the floor. “Shit. What the hell went on here?”
His first thought was to yell for Clara. Then he realized that the mood wasn’t right for him to raise his voice. It would just frighten her unnecessarily. But he didn’t have time to stay down here and clean up the mess. He’d have to tell her about it and leave it for her. He found his calculator at the corner of the bar and turned to go back upstairs. That was when he saw it.
The basement door to the outside was slightly opened.
“For Christ’s sake,” he muttered and went to it. “Jesus,” he said, closing the door. “Talk about making it easy for burglars. You might as well put up an invitation.” He slid the latch-lock to the right, securing the door, and then he turned around and considered the rest of the basement playroom. Nothing else looked disturbed and it was already six-thirty. He couldn’t tolerate any further delays, so he ascended the stairway and turned off the lights.
Clara was just rousing Bobby and Lisa when he came to her.
“You found it?”
“Yeah, but I found something else too,” he said.
“What?” She held Bobby’s shirt to her bosom.
“Seems Junior there was down in the basement with King. There’s a torn-up box of bacon bits and a glass smashed behind the bar.”
“Oh, Bobby.” She looked at the little boy, who was just stirring. He sat up and rubbed his eyes in confusion.
“Why didn’t you tell me you broke a glass downstairs, honey?”
“I
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