The scavengers

Small drops of water started falling on the windshield. Abrams was annoyed.

“Great, just great. Beaton, what are you staring at?”

“You missed the…. I think we need to go back. This isn’t our street.”

A distracted Abrams turned the steering wheel and the car quickly changed direction.

“I can’t tell, even with directions,” said Abrams. “All these damned houses look the same.”

“Yeah. The cheaper by the hundred type,” added Beaton. A large truck parked in the driveway of one of the houses caught his attention. “The team’s already here.”

“I hope the rain won’t slow us down too much,” replied Abrams. “I need to get Tina and the kids from the airport. Six o’clock. Two weeks of peace and quiet coming to an end. You have your badge with you? Just in case of nosy neighbors.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Happy to finally see you joining our ranks as a full inspector. You’re of good stock. You deserve it.”

“Thank you very much, sir.”

“No problem. Anyway, this one’s small. No family, so no potential issues. There’s value in it, from what I can tell. Antiques and such. We keep what we like. Clean up, and then clean up. The guys are getting a cut, of course.”

Abrams parked the car in the street. Three workers were sitting on the porch.

“How long have you been here?” shouted Abrams.

“About 15 minutes,” replied one of the workers.

“Bags?”

“Got’em.”

“Great. Gentlemen, let’s begin.”

Abrams pulled out a chain full of keys from his bag.

“Number 45…. Ok.”

The foulness of the odor coming out of the house caught them by surprise. Beaton got nauseous.

“This is too much!” exclaimed one of the workers.

“Wear your masks for this one, guys,” said Abrams.

Parts of the plaster had fallen from the damp walls all over the dirty floor. In the small hallway they found an assortment of sharp agricultural instruments, all covered in what seemed like blood. In the living room, animal carcasses at various stages of decay were spread in a circle.

“Murderer?” asked Beaton.

“No.” replied Abrams. “Killed just animals. Lots of them, apparently. The smell of dead meat eventually alarmed the neighbors.”

“I’ve seen worse, I think,” said Beaton. “Remember the Perkins case? Boxes upon boxes….”

“...And granny rotting away under them. Yup. Lovely trip, that one. Guys, start by removing the… cadavers and making some room for me and Beaton to go around and assess the situation.”

Abrams looked over the furniture and the rolled up carpets as the workers moved in.

“These are pretty nice,” said Abrams. “Still in good shape. Beaton, let them do their thing here and we’ll check the bedrooms.”

Beaton agreed. The first bedroom was a mess. The mattress was torn apart and the doors of the wardrobe ripped from their hinges. A plate with rotting food and a glass with dirty red water stood on the cabinet next to the bed. The floor was completely covered with newspapers.

“Check the other one,” said Abrams.

This room was dusty but in a much better shape overall. Pictures were spread on the small bed. Beaton was anxious. He went closer with all sorts of horrible thoughts in mind. The photos turned out to be simple images of a family: father, mother and son. Beaton muttered under his breath, slightly amused: “What were you expecting, inspector?”

"Not this!" shouted Abrams in the hallway. “Focus on the dead bodies, Nick.”

“Calm down,” came the reply of one of the workers. “I’m not running away with anything.”

“We have a procedure,” Abrams replied. “Please, respect it.”

Beaton stared at photos, captivated by the details of an idyllic life, now completely gone. He put his gloves on and picked one. The father was holding the child in his arms and the woman leaned over both. It was a beautiful summer day at the beach. The pictures had been placed on items of clothing, both female and male – child size -, scarves, pieces of jewelry, school items and small toys.

“He was a real loony, wasn’t he?” said Abrams as he entered the room. “I mean, look at this. And left to his own devices. So many things wrong with this country. Anything interesting?”

“Some pieces of jewelry,” replied Beaton. “Didn’t have a chance to take a closer look.”

“Well, all goes in the bags. We’ll sort it later,” said Abrams. “If you want anything in particular, don’t wait. I’m having an agent over tomorrow evening. Everything of value will be gone after that. The money should be in our pockets by the end of the week.”

“No, I don’t think I want to keep anything,” said Beaton. “It all looks like...too much.”

By the time they finished, it was late in the afternoon and the sun was shining again. The workers loaded up the truck under Beaton’s supervision. Abrams did a final check of the rooms in the house and then came out.

“Is that everything?” Beaton asked.

“Yes, we’re good to go,” replied Abrams. “About an hour to get to the warehouse. We’re good on time. Money in a couple of days.”

“How much are they taking for this?” asked Beaton while they were driving away.

“Well,” said Abrams. “I have a system. A hierarchy set in place. It’s about the value of the merch, the value you bring and the perspective for future collaborations and growth. For example, you are now set at 15. Those guys back there are manual labor, so 10. Each, of course.”

“But is it enough?”

“Hey, don’t get greedy!”

“No, no,” replied a flustered Beaton. “What I mean is, is it enough to keep them quiet?”

“Of course. They look forward to their next pay day. Don’t worry, I will teach you how to handle all of this. I’m thinking of expanding and need a right hand to delegate things to.”

Beaton smiled.