All for the Love of Otis

Part 1

Shoop, shoop, shoop went the sound from the old turntable. The scratchy sound resonated throughout the room breaking the silence in a painful sort of way.  Each revolution seemed louder than the one before it, and more nerve wracking than the last.   “Irritating,” he muttered as he strode across the room, his long gait propelled him forward at a high rate of speed. The muttering continued as he removed the needle from the vinyl and held it upwards toward the light for close inspection. He was always muttering these days.  If he wasn’t muttering, he was incessantly chewing the inside of his lip to the degree it looked as though he had a chunk of raw meat stuffed in his mouth.  It was unattractive to say the least, and abhorrent at its worst. So not part of his plan.

Brasil Jeffers had a tough time with things that were not part of his plan.  It was not part of his plan that the newly acquired record/turntable he found on a Retro Vinyl website, which promised only the finest in musical accouterments, was now turning into a ghoulish nightmare mutilating several of his authentic records that were no longer available and he had no intention of buying them on compact disc. Brasil was not opposed to CD’s but he did not have the same affinity for them as he did vinyl.  It was more than the media itself; it was the entire process.  It was the precision, the preparation, the details, and above all the control. 

Brasil decided to remove himself from the situation by pouring himself a drink, Cazadores Reposado chilled.  As he sipped the libation and it passed through his lips, he felt his body relax. If only he could get his feet to quit throbbing. A pair of ill -fitting Cole Haans had become the bane of his existence as of late and was driving him mad.

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Red and blue overheads tore through the night.  “Silent panic alarm in the 5700 block of Tree House Lane North '' came the chatter over the radio air. “The Happenstance Townhomes,” remarked one of the officers to his partner. “Probably just a false alarm like all the rest of them.” The Happenstance TownHomes was one of the higher end set of town homes located in an affluent part of the city.  The crime rate for that area was so minimal it barely registered, yet every year when it was time for the citizens to vote for the renewal of the Crime Prevention Tax it passed without a hitch. As a result, old patrol cars were routinely replaced with only the finest in Police Interceptor models. Ford has the market on these babies and rightly so. Sure, in the past there were some issues with them catching on fire and such, but other than that they get you where you need to be in a timely manner and sometimes more expediently than timely.

A silent panic alarm is usually a Code 3 lights and sirens type call, but in this case with a unit right down the road the siren did not seem necessary, plus it helped maintain a sense of stealth.  The black and white Crown Vic whipped around the corner from the main road onto Happenstance Court. The details on the Mobile Data Computer (MDC) said the alarm was coming from the “information” center also known as the leasing office; however, this wasn’t the kind of place that wanted people to know leasing was an option for the clientele for fear of the clientele they might attract.  The patrol unit went dark as it entered the parking lot and officers punched 23 on their computer to confirm they had made it to their destination. Back in the day when their computers were not as sophisticated, officers had to use some force to depress the 23 button, but nowadays a swipe of the screen and everyone knew you were there.  Even still, terms like “punch” were hard to relinquish.  They parked the vehicle off to the side rather than directly in front. This was more of an officer safety issue than anything else, but it did aid in the element of surprise.  The two officers approached the dimly lit front entrance. 

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