By Definition, A Crush Must Hurt 4

"Killing isn't like smoking. You can stop."
- Catherine, Basic Instinct

The halfway house lay in disarray among the small centenary houses of the neighbourhood. The setting Sun threw blood orange and gold onto everything, betraying Winter's depart. The air, while warm and relaxed, let it be known that the nights were still cold. But for now, for the brief period at the end of the day, the neighbourhood borough was a hive of people enjoying the weather and trying to forget that they lived in the same street as the neglected halfway house. Many nights recently there had been cars picking up and letting off, not to mention a great deal more shouting and domestic fury at the elderly hovel. Tarquin stood outside the house, the lattice that had originally meant to prevent prying eyes from seeing under the porch was all but completely destroyed leaving the dark lightless din of the underside of the house exposed. While not showing it, this unnerved Tarquin, recently developing quite the irrational fear of the dark. Even within his apartment Tarquin was loathed to plunge himself into complete night, resorting to leaving the toilet light on permanently.

Tarquin knocked on the chipped white pine front door. The door was surprisingly prompt to open, a small blonde haired young man sticking his face out to greet Tarquin. "Yes?" the small blonde haired young man predicated. Tarquin cleared his throat " Hi, I was wondering if I could speak with you about som..."
"I don't answer questions from pigs" Blonde haired man spat
"I'm not the police, I'm just... looking for someone and they used to stay here..."
"Lot's of people stay here dude and it's hard to keep up with all these bastards..."
"Please, I just need to ask you a few questions..." Tarquin scrambled for a picture in his pocket
"Sorry, bud I got shit to do..." Blonde haired man went to close the door but Tarquin stopped him, jamming it with his foot and pushing the door open. "Listen fuckwit, you're going to tell me what you know about Osric Dangerfield" Tarquin loomed over the emaciated junkie, presenting the picture of his brother clearly. "I know he stayed here and I know you must know something. I'm his brother." There was a pause as the blonde haired man studied Tarquin.
"His brother huh?" Tarquin nodded, panting. "Why didn't you say so?" he added, motioning for Tarquin to enter the warren. "If I'd have known you were Ozzie's brother I wouldn't of been such an asshole. Bastard still has all of his stuff here, even though I'm lettin' Steph sleep in there bastard has paid up to the rest of the month so it's still his room. Don't tell him Steph is sleepin' in his bed" Blonde haired man stopped in the long hallway, turning to Tarquin "He hates Steph." the pseudo whisper was followed by a wet, staggered cough "Name's Carmine" offering the wet coughed on hand to Tarquin "Tarquin." he replied with an awkward wave. Carmine opened the door to a room off shooting the dank hallway "Steph!" he shouted "Fuck off! This is Ozzie's brother." No response from the female figure lying in the unmade bed "Steph! Wake the fuck up you stupid bitch!" Steph, groggily awoke with a question and was promptly shoved out into the dank corridor, cursing and screaming as she went "... don't tell Ozzie I was sleeping in his bed!" she finished, walking down into the main living quarter, mumbling inaudible curses of Carmine's name as she went. "Ozzie was always pretty clean as you can see" Carmine explained as Tarquin ignored, engrossed in where his brother used to live. "Thankyou Carmine. I'll just have a look around for a moment."
"Uhh... yeah... sure. If you need any..."
"Thanks Carmine."

The door closed, leaving Osric's brother in his Osric's room. The walls, a pale yellow and the atmosphere stale. Dust and vermin droppings clogged the old vents in the corner of the ceiling, leading straight into the roof space. A chest of drawers, an old TV, a dirty mirror, a picture tacked on it. Tarquin inspected the woman in the Polaroid, he face smiling with Osric beside her. Who is she?. A knock on the door interupted Tarquin's inspection and Carmine's bird like revere stuck through. "Heya, I thought you may want to know. Ozzie was back on the gear. I wasn't gonna tell nobody cuz he used to pay a bit more for the room... But if Ozzie is in some kinda trouble... He was a good dude, wierd dude, but a good dude"
"Did Ozzie hang around or bring anyone over?"
"Naw, I don't think so. I never saw him bring anyone over. Dude kinda kept to himself most of the time." Carmine smacked his tongue, remembering the thing he came in for "Ozzie left his phone here. Motherfucker's been ringing non stop for a couple 'o days." he added, offering the small phone to Tarquin "You haven't answered it?"
"Do I look like a secretary to you?"
"Thanks" replied Tarquin, taking the phone and the photo off the mirror "You don't know who this is do you Carmine?" Carmine squinted.
"Sorry champ, wish I could help you."
"How much is rent here?"
"Hundred a week"
"Mind if I come back?" Tarquin asked handing Carmine two hundred dollars.
"Nah, come anytime. I'll even keep that stupid slut Steph out for you if you want?"
"That's fine thankyou" Tarquin pocketed the polaroid and mobile phone.
"Is Ozzie okay?" Carmine asked innocently, following Tarquin out of the house.
"No..." Tarquin replied, stepping off the erroded porch step into the dusk "No he isn't".

To be continued...