In the dark night, Paul crossed the street to the right.
Streetlights barely reached him. He moved steadily, closing the distance between him and the six-foot wall.
Raising his head and straining his ankle, he tried to look past the wall, but sadly, he only caught a glimpse of faint yellow light from two houses. The outside area showed no signs of life.
Finally, he looked left and right for a last check, just to be sure no one was nearby.
The area was silent and felt like a dark abyss. To his left, he could see blurry cars passing. To his right, a bike was parked outside someone's house entrance gate, next to a pole.
Confirming that no one was there, he grabbed the top of the wall with both hands and jumped up slightly. His right leg reached the top of the wall. Next, he lifted himself up, and he was on top of the wall.
Just as quickly as he had reached the top, and with more than twice the speed, he jumped down from the wall to the other side.
Silently, his footsteps moved towards Liam's place. He remembered that it was on the right side.
He could also see faint yellow light coming from the middle two houses; the house on the left side was dark, maybe the owner hadn't arrived at his villa yet.
He walked stealthily, trying not to make any noise, and inwardly he thanked the people living there, or the owner of this whole rental place—whoever had cut the bushes near the wall. I
If the bushes had been overgrown, he would have gotten dirty, so he was thankful.
As he reached the place, he heard faint sounds from the left side of the house: two men chatting about their unfortunate fate, around twenty-five, he guessed.
After checking the door, which was locked with a simple lock, he took out two small steel wires from the back of his jeans' pocket and bent his knees slightly, trying to unlock it, all the while doing his best not to make any noise.
After fifteen seconds, the lock opened with a faint "kachuck" sound—he could do nothing about this.
After putting the equipment back in its place, he pushed the door open with a slight "creak."
And of course, the inside was filled with darkness. He quickly took out his smartphone from his jeans' front pocket, turned on the flash, and searched the room's wall for the light switch.
He first turned to his right because it seemed like the right thing to do, but he couldn't find it. There was only a very old, cheap, dirty wall clock hanging.
Maybe right isn't always the right choice. He looked to his left side and saw the white switchboard. Taking a few faint steps, he tapped the switches, one by one from left to right.
When he tapped the first switch and looked around the room, nothing changed. After tapping the next switch, he looked around again, and something had changed.
White lights were coming from the right corner. He quickly turned off that switch.
Just as he tapped the next switch and was about to turn around to see if anything had changed, he heard a sound from above his head and quickly guessed that it was the sound of the ceiling fan.
He turned it off quickly, and finally, it was the last switch.
He was one hundred percent sure that this was the room's light switch. If someone else were here in Paul's place, they would feel a little irritated by now, but Paul was a patient man in this line of work.
He tapped the final switch and turned around, but nothing changed again. "Wha..." he was about to curse the owner of this place when white light filled the room, and the curse fell back into the abyss.
He wasted no time and quickly started his search.
The main living room was average, not big but not too small either. The walls were painted sky blue, but because of the passage of time or not cleaning the room properly, they had gotten dark, and black marks had appeared on them.
To his left side wall, there was a wooden bed, simple and cheap, and it looked new.
Paul deduced this because when he lifted the bed sheets up and down, the wood was without marks of dust, and of course, he couldn't find anything.
Next, he went to the table.
There were a few books lying there. Though Paul wasn't fond of reading books, he grabbed one of them, turned the pages first slowly. After a few seconds, he slid through all the pages.
He checked the other two books as well but found nothing.
Next, his eyes caught the window in front of him, at the back. He opened the window and let the natural air in.
He tried looking outside; below he noticed nothing but waste trash. To the left, he noticed six or seven beer bottles. They were from the room next door.
He stepped back, his hand sliding on the table's rough surface. He thought maybe he'd check out the kitchen next. Then he stopped.
His eyes dropped to the table. "The marks here are probably from a knife," he thought.
After carefully examining the marks, it looked like a rectangular shape. What could it be?
He pushed aside the books and noticed another five or six lines in a zig-zag pattern, intersecting each other.
Paul quickly speculated that it might be a map of streets or something. He tried recalling the streets.
"Corsalis? No... maybe the subway? Then, probably it's containers," he looked at the rectangle shape. "Maybe boxes. Are they shipping something?"
With a "tsk," he left the table and took two faint steps back. Observing the lines more carefully, trying hard to recall, he then noticed something else.
Down the table, there was a folded piece of paper, smaller than a one-year-old's finger. He bent down, picked up the paper, and unfolded it.
It was numbers: 23, 25, 38, 49, 49, 66.
Paul thought for a second and looked at the other side of the paper, where there were more numbers: 66, 69, 76, 77, 82, 87, 105.
The numbers were in ascending order, from small to big. "Are these coordinates to some place?" He thought, "Doesn't look like it."
He just stood there for a minute, looking out the window, thinking about what it could be. But he soon gave up, deciding he would figure this out later.
He turned his head backward and looked behind him. It was the door he had just walked through.
Next, he turned on the kitchen light and searched, but he found nothing, just wasting food and dirty dishes. He checked the bathroom too, just to be sure, but couldn't find anything useful.
Still, Paul wasn't angry or irritated because of this. Why?
Because he already anticipated that he wasn't going to find anything, but out of curiosity, he wanted to check if the cops or Baldy's comrades had left anything for him.
Checking the time on his smartphone, it was already ten minutes since he had stepped inside this apartment.
He made a decision: it was time to go and check the other place. He turned off the lights, closed the door silently, and went back to the streets just as he had come.
After walking for about ten to twelve minutes, passing street intersections, stores that were still open, and street lights, he reached his next place to visit, but he didn't directly go in.
First, he crossed the road and silently observed the scene unfolding in front of him.
The small bar had a black metal grill gate, and the name of the place hung above it:
NIGHT LIGHT.
In red color, with the edges in white, blinking every two to three seconds. In front of the gate stood a man around twenty-five, Paul guessed.
His head was trimmed, one could barely see if he had any hair. His beard and mustache were also shaved clean, his black eyes scanning everyone who was going inside and exiting.
There was also a small cut mark on his forehead, which looked very old. He was wearing a dark-blue checkered shirt underneath a brown leather jacket and scratched blue jeans. Paul also observed the people who were going in and coming out.
After three to four minutes, he crossed the street, walking toward the entrance gate of the bar, both hands in his hoodie's pockets, face down, and his head covered with the hood.
There were three people walking in front of him, and he was also trying to match their vibes, blending in with them.
The first man entered, and the second and third too, but when it was his turn, the man extended his hand and blocked his way. Of course, Paul didn't try to push through, because he knew what this guy was after.
Paul took out some folded notes and gave it to the hand that was blocking his way.
The man took the cash and gave way to Paul.