Larson moved before the double-wide’s motion-sensitive lights switched off because after that, if he approached the building, the sensors would bring the lights back on. Although the windows were blacked out, he couldn’t rule out a visual or audible alert connected to the lights on the inside.
He worked around the near side of the building past four plastic trash cans, some discarded truck tires, and pieces of plywood used for target practice. Wedged between the trash cans were the cardboard and Styrofoam from packaging that had contained a microwave oven.
The double-wide was a glorified shoebox with a flat roof that extended in short eaves on every side. Larson followed with his eyes a black wire that attached to a video splitter under the nearest eave. Next to the cable wire ran a power line extending from the same pole.
To crash through the door and attempt a rescue was not going to help anyone. Even if he reached Penny-doubtful-they’d never make it off the property. He had to get inside quietly, and sneak off the property with a five-year-old in tow. Possibly Markowitz’s grandson as well. Might as well throw in a tap-dancing elephant.
Where were Stubby and Hamp?
Larson found a stout branch to use as a club, preparing to carry out his developing plan. He then crept to the back of the structure and placed his ear to the glass, hearing only the low rumble of television and nothing more. No small voices. No kids crying.
The front floodlights clicked off. But because of his continuing movement, the back lights remained on. He wondered if this gave him away.
He leaned the wooden club against the trunk of the tree nearest the structure and climbed quickly. Several of the evergreen’s stout branches hung over the building’s sloped roof. Larson reached five branches up and then worked his way out along the thickest of these to where he could make the transfer from tree to roof. The back lights now went dark, leaving Larson literally out on a limb over the roof in the pitch black.
He could sense that the limb he stood on was taxed by his weight. It sagged too low, bent too far. Somewhere just below and to his left was the edge of the roof. One last step was all he needed. But if he jumped in the dark, it would make for a loud landing.
Slowly his eyes adjusted. First, geometric shapes. Then, the branch. The roof, directly below. The roof’s edge.
Larson slid his left foot out and stepped off. On the roof now, he moved like a ballerina toward the eave and lay on his stomach. He reached under the eave and fished around until he found where the cable was attached. He unscrewed the cable from the splitter but only partially removed it.
Inside, the television had either lost its picture or gone extremely fuzzy. That would be significant. Larson knew protection work. Live by the tube, die by the boob tube.
The darkness left nothing but shifting shapes and made the going difficult as he worked his way over the edge of the roof. He squatted, prepared to jump.
He could hear grumbling and bumps from inside. He waited.
When the front floodlights popped on, Larson let himself drop to the carpet of spongy pine needles.
A male voice complained loudly to the others inside. “Where’s the fucking cable again?”
Larson grabbed the club like a bat and stepped up to the plate.