Waist Deep

44

Roger Jackson lived on the north side of town on a quiet street named Midland.His house was on a corner lot and didn’t look any different than the other ranchers and split-entries on the block.A new Camaro was parked in the driveway.A four foot chain link fence surrounded the front lawn, which was currently a short, wintry yellow.

I sat behind the wheel of the Celica and considered my next move.Did Jackson have a regular job?If so, he’d probably be working right now.The Camaro in the driveway argued otherwise, though.

Was he married?If I knocked, would it be Mrs. Jackson who answered the door?I looked for a garage and didn’t see one.Maybe the little woman was at work.

If there was a wife, how much did she know?For that matter, how much was there to know?Maybe Jackson just had a deal with someone else to manage a website.

I pushed down all these questions and focused on what was important.Jackson was my only link to Kris.And sometime tomorrow, he would probably be in police custody.If I was going to get anything out of him, it had to be now.

My decision made, I got out of the car and walked directly to the front door.

I gave the screen door a friendly knock and waited patiently.When there was no reply, I opened the screen and knocked again, this time on the front door.

Still no answer.

I paused.Was he home and not answering?Or gone?

A moment later, I decided I didn’t care.I drove my hip and shoulder into the door and crashed it inward.