The wood frame windows Cuito hauled out of the old mansion he was paid to empty turned into a susto and made rancho in the Southside.
The police car and its two passengers stopped frequently as it cruised the Southside. It went to one neighborhood then another and stopped every few minutes. What made it stop were the many sites with wood frame windows. Fences, dog houses, kid-made play forts, incomplete window installation projects, and the occasional stack of wood frame windows.
“It’s happening again. Like the shag carpet last week. This time framed windows. Over,” the driver, a rookie, reported over the police radio.
“Any of it in the right-of-way. Over,” the police dispatcher asked.
The driver looked over at his companion, the shift supervisor who was riding along.
The supervisor looked back and nodded yes.
“Well, there’s one shrine where the accident took place over the weekend. Over,” the rookie announced.
“Then go check out the source and report what you find. Over,” said the dispatcher.
“There’s nothing we can do if he’s not the one who put it there. But let’s go see what’s going on,” the supervisor said.
The cruiser turned west at the next intersection and proceeded in that direction until it reached the “road of shame,” the street that ran parallel to the main street running through town. It was called that because it was the road people just getting out of county jail walked back into town on to avoid baing seen on the main street.
Even as the car came into sight of Cuito’s house, the officers could see tall stacks of wood frame windows in the front and backyard.
“What the…,” the rookie said.
The supervisor merely shook his head.
As soon as the cruiser parked in front of Cuito’s house, a chorus of neighborhood dogs started up.
Cuito rushed around the corner of his house from his back yard, alerted by the dogs.
“Qué onda, officers?” he said.”
“Those stacks are dangerous! Somebody’s gonna get hurt, ” the supervisor said.
“Nambe. People come by for them on their own and take it to their houses. I bet they’ll all be gone by next week, ese,” said Cuito.
“And the shrine?” the rookie said.
“Watcha, that’s not my susto,” Cuito protested.
The rookie looked over at his supervisor.
“I’ll tell you later,” the supervisor said.
“Like we told you about the carpet, keep it up and you’re gonna get fined for littering, at least,” the supervisor said.
“Nambe. That’s it for the windows anyway,” Cuito said as the officers walked back to their car.
“Only the paneling’s left,” he said out loud to himself as they drove off.
