To Kidnap a Thief

1

I'd come home a bit early from an obligatory Friday night of drinking. Stumbling down the hallway toward my apartment, despite my inebriated state, I had a premonition something was amiss. I was drunk, yeah, but not blackout or vomit drunk. I was still cognizant. Listening to my guts rumble, from both booze and bad vibes, I unbuttoned my blazer, reached up and lifted out my Glock 19, unclicked the safety...

Pushing open my front door, a bar of yellow light began to widen. Always, and I mean always, I click the lights off before I go out. But the lights were on. And then I saw why, when I spotted the heavily tattooed young man, in skinny jeans and a white T-shirt, standing in my living room. The asshole emptying a shelf of my collectible CDs, DVDs into his backpack!

Then my heart sank as I saw my autographed Dan Marino jersey had been stolen out of its frame on the living room wall!

Fucking with my serenity, swiping my CDs, DVDs, was bad enough. But my Dan Marino jersey... That's way out of bounds... Fucking with Dolphin Dan...

"Drop the backpack, shitbag!" I commanded, holding my gun with both hands. Pointing the barrel right at the youth's chest, the young thug swung his shaved head toward me, his small black eyes popping wide open. Then he turned on his heel, made a run for it but slipped on the hardwood floor and landed on his side, his right elbow piledriving into a puddle of broken glass.

(The cleaners had come today and, as usual, left the hardwood floors slick, unwittingly thwarting the thief's escape plan...)

"Argh!" screamed the intruder. Not only had he bloodied his arm and side, but he'd also landed at an awkward angle. And it appeared that he'd dislocated his shoulder. He was struggling to get up in a pathetic way that reminded me of an insect trying to swim out of a sink or toilet bowl.

But now that he was down, a playful (yet terribly evil) drunken idea ran through my mind, and I decided to embrace it, let the evil in... Have a little devilish fun...

I holstered my gun, lifted a metal baseball bat from out of the umbrella bin by the front door (strange place to keep my weekend league bat, by the door, I know, but I'd rather sleep next to my gun). Then I approached the intruder and proceeded to whap him over the head with a nice hammering blow to his left temple that sent the miscreant straight to the stars.

Confident he was out cold, I patted him down, fished out a small.22 hidden in his waistband. Naughty boy! Then, in his pants pockets, I found an ancient iPhone with a cracked screen and a Velcro wallet with a faded Golden State Warriors logo on it and only $11 in crinkly ones inside. No credit or debit cards or anything. No wonder this loser was breaking into houses. I'd bet he was the asshole who broke into 4B and 8A.

Looking at his driver's license... shit, born in 2002? The dude was only 21. 21 and this is what he's spending his Friday evenings doing? He ought to be in college, at a nightclub, dancing on TikTok, working his side hustle, or even just jerking off and playing video games in his mom's basement like most dudes his age... Jeez, the fuck is this world coming to...

Then I noticed his name. Luis Javier Gomez... Why did that name seem so familiar?

Then I gazed at his driver's license photo. He looked so sinister. The photo just oozed evil. Maybe it was his slight sneer coupled with the tilt of his long, protruding jaw. Or the vague menace in his eyes. Whatever it was, it was the sort of driver's license photo that if he did a mass shooting or turned out to be a drug trafficker or terrorist, people probably wouldn't be surprised once that photo made its way through the news.

Then my thoughts circled back to my evil idea. Since he wanted to come over for a visit, I figured I should make him my guest. For an extended stay.

I have a spare closet, in my hallway, that's larger than the closet in my bedroom. I use that hallway closet to keep my gun safe, to store my rifles, and nothing else. The closet also came with a design that enables the door to be locked from the outside and is unable to be opened from the inside. What's more, the door's made from thick, solid red oakwood, making it practically impregnable. I'd also set up a camera inside to monitor my gun safe, just in case I experienced any unexpected guests. Like tonight's.

Unknowingly, I'd created the perfect accommodation for my visitor.

I dragged the grimace-faced, incapacitated Luis, by his feet, into the closet and set him down. For a second, I wondered if he was dead. But I hovered a finger under his nose, felt warm, wet pulses of breath, so I wasn't a murderer. At least not yet. But since I had no intention of calling the cops, I was, technically, a kidnapper. However, I preferred to think of my role as more of an enthusiastic host. Maybe a life coach...

After depositing my guest into his accommodation, I rushed into the kitchen, grabbed some packaged foods- chips, cookies, peanuts- and a couple of plastic bottles of water, along with a bucket from the kitchen closet. Then I moved fast back to my new guest's room, brought him his supplies and clicked the overhead light on. But before I closed the door, tucked him in for the night, I decided to dash over to the living room, bring Luis a few books. Then I locked him in and set about cleaning the mess he'd made and retrieving the stuff he'd stolen.

Scooping my CDs, DVDs out of his biggish blue backpack, I began placing them back on the shelf, in alphabetical order too. My guest's unexpected visit had really sobered me up.

I took out my autographed Dan Marino jersey, which, luckily, hadn't been harmed. Then I found a crowbar and saw that Luis had moved through my bedroom and taken my iPad and two gold chains. The fucker had also snatched my grandpa's retirement watch.

My gramps had boarded a boat from Ukraine, as a 10-year-old, to come to America and had slaved in an automobile factory for years upon years, doing back-breaking labor so he could provide a better life for his kids. And he did. And while he didn't make a lot of money, one of the things he most prided himself on was his work ethic. That he woke up, every day, and did backbreaking work for decades. That gold watch and the message from the company inscribed on it had really meant something to him.

Now here's my guest. The total opposite of my gramps. A lowdown thief. A piece of shit who steals the fucking gold watch a man worked for, for over 40 years. Somehow, I couldn't see Luis doing my gramps' job for even a day. At that moment, it was hard to imagine a greater disparity between any two men.

After putting everything back, I cleaned the hallway, swept up the broken glass. I was hoping Luis didn't have AIDS as I washed away the blood. Even if I used latex gloves, still, wiping up another person's blood was discomfiting.

I'd expected to maybe hear yelling and thrashing in the new guestroom. But I heard nothing. I didn't care if he died, really, but a social media mob or a bleeding-heart prosecutor might. Still, I had a clean record and this was a guy with face tattoos. I pay taxes while Luis probably collects food stamps. I donate money to my local Police Benevolent Association, while Luis likely has served time in jail. No matter what, I figured I'd be good in terms of the law. But I did want Luis to live, though, if only because that might make the next day or two more fun.

As I was finishing cleaning up, I heard a mumble rap ringtone, something about "How can I be homophobic? My bitch is gay!" So I padded over to the living room and picked up Luis's phone from the coffee table and checked its cracked screen.

It was a call from "Julia." Feeling frisky, I decided to touch the green button to answer.

"Hello," I said, happily, and I pictured a startled Julia as she stammered, "Ummm... Hello... is... like... Luis there?"

"Oh yeah, he sure is, but he can't come to the phone right now."

"Who is this?" Julia rejoined after a lengthy pause. She started breathing heavily and sounded panicked.

"I'm Luis's friend. This is Julia, right?"

"Uh, yes, it is," she said, her voice turning from panicked to venomous. "Why?"

"Because Luis told me he thinks you're a total fucking skank. He never wants to talk to you again. He knows you fucked like six dudes last weekend. Two at the same time at a party. He said it'd been cool if you'd banged like two or three dudes, but six? And two at the same time? And they were his boys too? That's messed up, Julia... Luis says his boys say your pussy stinks too. Your pussy fucking stinks like death. Go wash that shit out... Maybe get a new vaginal deodorant... Whatever... Just don't ever call Luis again. You dirty, fucking whore..."

Julia gasped but didn't reply. I hung up and was pleased to see Luis didn't have his phone protected by any code. I was able to dig through his contacts and saw he had many ladies in there. Luis must get around. Time to change that. Methodically, I went through his contacts list and texted each girl similar platitudes as I told Julia.

Feeling even friskier, I checked through his text messages. Most were sexts with random girls I guess he met on hookup apps. But the most recent two were from "miggy," and said simply, "gone go" and "u all good." Thinking "miggy" might be an accomplice or lookout, I didn't reply. But for the other male names on Luis's phone, I texted them messages saying shit like, "Enuf of dis gangbang shit Imma Tekashi69 im calling tha cops yo I be confessin' n snitchin on u bich."

The only contact I spared was the one labeled "gramma." Then I took out his phone's SIM card. I used scissors to cut it up, along with his driver's license, over the waste bin and flung the old phone out the bathroom window facing the alley below. Since I found the window pried open, and the bathroom window leads to the fire escape, I figured I knew how Luis had entered.

Another premonition ran through my mind. "miggy." Luis, his curiously protruding jaw... Luis's name- Luis Javier Gomez... Luis resembled and shared a name with one of my building's newer security guards, Miguel... Miguel Javier Gomez... Both sharing the same protruding jaw... Both looking sort of like a swarthy version of Beavis from Beavis and Butthead...

That "miggy" in Luis's contacts... Miggy being short for Miguel. That'd make a lot of sense, too, since Miguel often watched the security camera monitors in the control room... And that mine was the third apartment hit in the last two weeks. And with long jaw "miggy," or Miguel only showing up a month ago... It all made a lot of sense indeed...

Poking my head out the bathroom window, I scanned the alley below... Speak of the devil! I spotted what looked to be Miguel. The uniformed guard pacing, holding his blue-lit phone to his ear, smoking a vape and having an animated conversation. Guess "miggy" wasn't watching the cameras when I came home early.

I closed the window. Headed to my bedroom. Clicked on my PC. Then I found the feed for the cam in Luis's guestroom. Luis was still out like a light.

I'd be sleeping pretty well tonight, too, I supposed, knowing the Gomez tag team would strike no more. Thinking sweet thoughts of vengeance and vigilante justice, I got ready for bed, brushed my teeth, flossed and washed up.

Climbing into bed, Julia, Luis's young skank, floated through my mind and my cock stiffened. I pictured Julia looking something like an In Living Color-era Jennifer Lopez and envisioned her breaking into my house, instead of that tattoo-faced fucktard, Luis.

Smoking hot Julia, in a string bikini top and tiny pair of white jean short cutoffs so tight they had half her voluptuous ass visible. Then the sexy Julia bargaining, unbuttoning her jean cutoffs, sliding down her thong, unsheathing her fresh, fat-lipped, clean-shaved pussy. Julia bending over, her healthy ass pointed right at me. Julia and I working out a deal where I fuck her doggystyle in return for not calling the cops...

Reaching down, I squirted coconut oil on my dick and was soon choking one out to the lustrous fantasy of mounting and riding the sexy young Julia's ass like a jet ski. Then I was drifting off into the warmth of a most deep, pleasant sleep.

2

I woke up early the next morning to hysterical banging, slapping, and screaming coming from my computer. Groggily, I pressed up from the bed. I padded over to the PC, squinting, and saw Luis, in full freakout mode, kicking and slapping at the door. Poor bastard was attempting, to no avail, to kick the heavy oakwood door in.

Good luck with that, Luis. A young guy that scrawny, probably a pill popper or a meth addict or smoking crack. No way a skinny junkie fuck like him could kick in that door.

Luis was looking pretty critical too. He had a big bump on the side of his head, right where I'd whapped him with the bat. His right arm was all gnarly and bloodied up, as well, but it looked like his dislocated shoulder was back in place. The rascal must have popped it back in by himself. Crickey! That had to hurt!

Grinning from ear to ear, I yawned, chuckled and, still in my silk teal Miami Dolphins pajamas, I ambled over to the hallway to chat with my guest.

"FUCK YOU, MOTHERFUCKER!!! FUCKING let me the FUCKING FUCK out!! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!!!" He kept repeating. Behind the heavy door his desperate shouts were audible albeit slightly muffled.

"Good morning, Luis!" I cut in, politely as possible, interrupting his outbursts. "How'd you sleep last night?" I inquired, standing by and leaning an ear toward the guestroom door.

A brief pause. The kicking, slaps ceasing.

"You... How do you fucking know my name?"

Faux-outraged I replied, "Hey, Luis, easy there, partner. That is no way to speak to your host. After all the hospitality, after everything I have done for you," to which Luis didn't reply.

I turned my tone to cordial, "Look, I left you some food. Did you have breakfast yet? Er, be careful, though, not to pig out. You might need that food to last a few days."

Still no reply.

"Fucking let me out of here!!!" He finally let loose and resumed fecklessly attacking the door.

"But Luis, why did you come galumphing over here if you didn't want to stay for a while? It's rather rude to drop by unannounced too. I think it's best for you to think about the way in which you interact with your friends...

"I've left you a copy of the Bible, the Koran, a book on mindfulness by Sam Harris, as well as a book of the Buddha's wisdom. So perhaps you can spend some time today discovering spiritual and personal enlightenment. In the end, your stay here could be very beneficial. Maybe after this you'll become a monk, go move to India or Nepal... Go live and farm on a mountain in the Himalayas... Or maybe go volunteer at an orphanage... Or go join Justin Wren, dig wells for the pygmies in the Congo... You know, just find a better path in life."

"MAN, FUCK YOU!!!! LET ME THE FUCKING FUCK OUT!!!!" Luis was fuming. I could picture steam shooting from his ears like in an old Bugs Bunny cartoon.

"Listen, buddy, I gotta go to work. That's what a lot of people do, to make money. They work. They create or construct useful products or perform services in return for money. Some people, like me, even work here and there on weekends. And most hard-working folks like me don't appreciate uninvited guests showing up and stealing autographed football jerseys, CDs, DVDs, and tablets. Family heirlooms too. Like, if I broke into Julia's apartment, how would you feel?"

"Ugh, you went through my phone, you fucking freak psycho. I am going to fucking kill you!"

"Oh, I did go through your phone, Luis. And what's with the ringtone? 'How can I be homophobic? My bitch is gay.' Like, is misogyny the best way to counter homophobia, Luis?"

Luis kept quiet. Perhaps culture wars, identity politics weren't in his purview, and I respected that, so I went on.

"And I had a lovely conversation with Miss Julia. That's your 'gay bitch,' right? Yeah, I told her about you thinking she's a fucking whore and that you know she fucked 6 guys last weekend. Two at the same time...

"Damn, dude, 6 dicks in one day? Hot stuff! But seriously, did she really? Did she actually fuck 6 guys... Or was it like three that she fucked and three she just blew?

"Look, it's cool if she did. If she wanted to suck three dicks. I'm not hating. I'm only pissing on your leg."

Silence ensued, so I pressed further. "It's kinda cool if she fucks like that. She must do anal too. Wowzer... Man, I bet that pussy must have power. I like a girl who is down to fuck. Is she into older guys, though? She's your age, like 20, yeah? I bet she is hot. Do you think she'd let me hit it for free? I mean, like, you know, without paying?"

"That's my fucking sister!" Luis bellowed and followed his proclamation with another futile series of kicks and slaps at the door.

"Ooh, poor her. I sure hope for her sake she doesn't have any face tattoos and isn't as ugly and impolite as you, Luis. Oh wait, oh no, no, no, I shouldn't say that. Look at me being so inhospitable to my guest! You are a bad influence on me.

"Okay, Luis, I gotta go to work. I'll be back by 6 or so, maybe 10, if I drink with the IT guys again. But we can certainly chat when I return. I'm hoping you'll be a better interlocutor then."

Luis stopped kicking and slapping, and his tone turned conciliatory. "Bro, please, would you, just let me out to use the bathroom?"

"That's what the bucket is for, Luis."

"Bro, please, I need to use a real toilet... There's no toilet paper..."

"Eh, you can use your hand. Someone once told me that's what they do in Turkey. If it works fine for the Turks, it should work for Luis too."

"I can't... Please..."

"Mmmm, yeah, not sure about that, Luis."

"Bro, I swear, you let me go, I don't say nothing to no one. Just lemme out, please."

"Perhaps we can strike a deal. If you answer my question honestly, I'll let you out. Right now. Do we have a deal?" I asked, grinning widely, crossing my fingers behind my back.

"Fine, whatever, please, yes, okay. What?"

"Do you have a brother, cousin, or friend named Miguel, and is he a security guard here?"

A long pause.

"Luis, I'm not hearing an answer..."

"Fuck you! I'm no snitch!" was the acidic rejoinder that eventually arrived.

Ah, yes, the "Code of the Streets," snitches get stitches and all that. I understood. So I sent a text message to our building's management company asking them to check the background of Miguel, that I saw Miguel "acting suspiciously" and that I believed him to be involved in the recent robberies. Although I made no mention of tonight's events. Or my houseguest.

"Alright, Luis, catch you later, alligator!"

As I strolled over to the bathroom to shower up, get ready for the workday, I could hear Luis frantically hitting the hallway closet door and screaming an amusing batch of muffled invective...

In my suit, walking past the hallway closet again, Luis was still at it. Smacking the door, shouting. Maybe he thought the neighbors would hear or maybe he was just venting. But no one would hear him through these reinforced concrete walls.

"In a while, crocodile!" I yelled, smiling and merrily swinging my briefcase as I walked by Luis's room and out the front door.

3

Throughout my workday I checked in on Luis, using my phone. I saw him eat the salt & vinegar potato chips I'd left him. I saw him spinning the combination lock, pulling at the lever, lamely trying to break into my gun safe. I also witnessed him attempt lunging kicks at the door, trying to batter the door with his uninjured shoulder. At one point he looked like a little sumo wrestler or an offensive lineman the way he crouched and pushed at the door, tried to wedge it from its frame. I also observed him as he bunched up into a fetal ball, shaking as he cried. That part I recorded, took screenshots of... Just in case I needed to (or just felt like) extorting him later.