The fact remained that it was likely that a group of kids from the neighborhood were about to unknowingly inject a mind-controlling parasite from another dimension into their bodies if he didn’t do something about it, so Patrick decided that he would have to play it by ear and worry about justifying his actions when and if the need arose.
It was late afternoon, the sun sinking over the buildings to the west, and would be getting dark soon. He was somewhat comforted by the tohuna mark amulet and sandwich bag of salt in his pocket, but even so, he hoped to be back home before the sun set.
There was a ratty old screen door that was barely held up on its hinges, and when he pulled it open there was a screech of metal against metal. He rapped his knuckles on the door, noting the flaking paint on the wood. Through the peephole in the door Patrick could see a pinprick of light from within.
He was about to knock again when he heard footsteps approaching the other side of the door, and muffled voices. The pinprick of light in the peephole was snuffed out as someone looked out from the other side, and Patrick did his best to appear unthreatening, keeping his badge out of view in his pocket and his pistol still in its holster under his jacket.
The clack and clatter of locks being turned went on for a few seconds, suggesting that the house was more well-fortified than its somewhat shabby exterior might suggest. And when the door finally opened it was only for a few inches, with a security chain stretched taut from the leading edge of the door to its base on the door jamb.
“Yeah?” a gruff voice said as an eye peered out the gap in the door. “What do you want?”
“Is Hector Jimenez here?”
The eye disappeared for a moment, and angry whispers could be heard from inside.
“Who wants to know?” the voice said when the eye returned.
“I teach at his sister’s school,” Patrick said, deciding to play the concerned citizen for the moment. “I just want to talk to him for a second. Is he here?”
The door shut suddenly, and for a moment Patrick thought that they’d slammed it on him. But then he heard the rattle of the security chain being slid back, and a moment later the door swung open wide.
A skinny white guy in his mid-twenties stood in the open doorway, a lit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He was wearing a stained white t-shirt, tattered jeans, and scuffed up sneakers, with a patchy tuft of beard on his chin and long, greasy hair. He had a glassy-eyed look, and smelled of marijuana smoke. From the interior of the house, Patrick could hear the sounds of electronic bleeps and the simulated gunshots and screams of a video game being played.
“You don’t look like any teacher I ever seen.” The skinny guy sounded pretty stoned as he looked Patrick up and down. Then he narrowed his eyes with suspicion, and studied Patrick’s face. “Are you five-o?”
So much for playing the concerned citizen, Patrick thought. There seemed little point in denying it now. He pulled his shield out of his jacket pocket and held it up, cupped in the palm of his hand.
“This isn’t a bust,” Patrick said, keeping his tone level and soothing. “I just want to talk to the kid for a second.”
The skinny guy made a move to shut the door, but Patrick stepped forward and put his shoulder against it. His feet were still on the threshold, so technically he hadn’t entered without being invited, but from this vantage point he was able to lean forward and look past the skinny guy into the living room beyond. He could see a bong, grinders, pipes, and an open sandwich bag half-filled with bud, which not long before would have been enough to justify probable cause for a search without a warrant. Seeing that it was legal now, Patrick would have trouble making that stick. But the skinny guy didn’t necessarily know that.
“Look, friend,” Patrick said, leaning in close to the guy while keeping his weight on the door. “I didn’t come here to make any arrests, and I don’t have a search warrant. But I’m seeing a lot of drug paraphernalia on your table there, and I’m thinking maybe I need to do a thorough search of the house to see what else I can find.”
A look of alarm registered on the skinny guy’s face, and Patrick wondered what the guy was worried he might find. He didn’t have the look of a dealer, and didn’t show any of the signs of Ink use, but instead seemed to be just what he appeared to be: a stoner who had a place for others to come over and hang out.
“But,” Patrick hastened to add, “if you let me in for a second to talk to Hector and his friends, I’ll be on my way. And since I’ll be too busy talking to notice anything, there won’t be any need for a search or for any arrests. Does that sound like a deal?”
The skinny guy narrowed his eyes and Patrick could probably see the thoughts bouncing together in his head.
“So I let you in, then you leave,” the guy said. “But if I don’t let you in, then you’re going to come in anyway and search the place, and arrest
