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June 2009 
LANDLORD HIDES OUT
Posted on Apr 29th, 2007
by 
Professor
Professor
LANDLORD HIDES OUT
(True story. Names are changed to protect the innocent.)
My landlord stayed out of trouble for a whole month. And well he should. He's free on a $12,000 bail bond: ten thousand for breaking-and-entering and stealing a bird and two thousand for hosting a yard sale without a permit. You'd think he'd pencil-in wisdom into his day planner and cross-off recidivism. Yet he has been drunk mostly lately.
One-o'clock a.m. I hear knocking. My name is called. Sounds like the landlord asking for keys to open up the main house. I figure he lost the keys. I holler I'm coming out. It's not the landlord. It's his brother Joseppi. I find three cops, two of whom shine lights in my face. My pupils flinch and I squint back. "What's up?" I ask.
"Moose got into a little trouble," says Joseppi. "They want to talk to him..."
I opened up, policemen brushed past me. Flashlight beams crisscrossed and waved, zapping the darkness. I switched on some lights and settled into the office/dining room. Moose was there. His keys lay sprawled on the desk. I knew where and I knew they'd never find him unless I woggled my finger or rolled my eyes toward a hidden chamber. They might then find the spring-loaded panel on their own. The old house features solid oak built-ins, pocket doors, and secret compartments. Inside of one, Moose lurked.
I asked what this was all about. Earlier that evening, Moose in a jealous rage, kicked in Maddy's door. He was drunk and feeling amorous. She was too, and drunk, but she already had a boyfriend inside. Moose had knocked upon her door, she hadn't answered, he went and stood under her bedroom window. Maddy is a moaner and she moaned, possibly for Moose's bennefit. Maybe he'd take a hint and take a hike. Whatever. He busted in the door and she dialed 911. He'd have been better off kicking himself in the head.
I knew Moose could hear every word we were saying. I engaged in small talk about what an idiot he is---how he needs serious help---how he gets nutsoid when he's drinking---but how a lot of his friends would say he's the nicest person most of the time, but not when he's drinking. Then he's his own worst enemy.
The search turned up nothing interesting. The sergeant was telling me how serious this was and all the time wasted to apprehend Moose since 9:30 p.m. I couldn't help it; I interrupted and told him that it takes two to tango and that Maddie drives people crazy. I won't even talk to her, I just walk away, I told him. And I appologized for interrupting, yes sir. But I had to pitch those two bad pennies into their searchlights.
They left. Cars sped out. It got quiet. Joseppi called out, "They're gone." A few minutes later, Moose slunk out of hiding, skunk drunk, aiming a big 40 oz. Colt 45 malt liquor at his face. After a while he and his brother would make a run for it.
c.2007, H.M.J.
(True story. Names are changed to protect the innocent.)
My landlord stayed out of trouble for a whole month. And well he should. He's free on a $12,000 bail bond: ten thousand for breaking-and-entering and stealing a bird and two thousand for hosting a yard sale without a permit. You'd think he'd pencil-in wisdom into his day planner and cross-off recidivism. Yet he has been drunk mostly lately.
One-o'clock a.m. I hear knocking. My name is called. Sounds like the landlord asking for keys to open up the main house. I figure he lost the keys. I holler I'm coming out. It's not the landlord. It's his brother Joseppi. I find three cops, two of whom shine lights in my face. My pupils flinch and I squint back. "What's up?" I ask.
"Moose got into a little trouble," says Joseppi. "They want to talk to him..."
I opened up, policemen brushed past me. Flashlight beams crisscrossed and waved, zapping the darkness. I switched on some lights and settled into the office/dining room. Moose was there. His keys lay sprawled on the desk. I knew where and I knew they'd never find him unless I woggled my finger or rolled my eyes toward a hidden chamber. They might then find the spring-loaded panel on their own. The old house features solid oak built-ins, pocket doors, and secret compartments. Inside of one, Moose lurked.
I asked what this was all about. Earlier that evening, Moose in a jealous rage, kicked in Maddy's door. He was drunk and feeling amorous. She was too, and drunk, but she already had a boyfriend inside. Moose had knocked upon her door, she hadn't answered, he went and stood under her bedroom window. Maddy is a moaner and she moaned, possibly for Moose's bennefit. Maybe he'd take a hint and take a hike. Whatever. He busted in the door and she dialed 911. He'd have been better off kicking himself in the head.
I knew Moose could hear every word we were saying. I engaged in small talk about what an idiot he is---how he needs serious help---how he gets nutsoid when he's drinking---but how a lot of his friends would say he's the nicest person most of the time, but not when he's drinking. Then he's his own worst enemy.
The search turned up nothing interesting. The sergeant was telling me how serious this was and all the time wasted to apprehend Moose since 9:30 p.m. I couldn't help it; I interrupted and told him that it takes two to tango and that Maddie drives people crazy. I won't even talk to her, I just walk away, I told him. And I appologized for interrupting, yes sir. But I had to pitch those two bad pennies into their searchlights.
They left. Cars sped out. It got quiet. Joseppi called out, "They're gone." A few minutes later, Moose slunk out of hiding, skunk drunk, aiming a big 40 oz. Colt 45 malt liquor at his face. After a while he and his brother would make a run for it.
c.2007, H.M.J.
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