The cabbie eyed Jimmy in the mirror as Jimmy stumbled out of the cab, shuffled toward the front of the vehicle, and threw a fifty at him. The fare was only $23.30 and the cabbie didn't really want to make change, but he mumbled, "Change, sir?" nonetheless.
Jimmy waved him off, "Nah. Keep it."
This was good enough for the cabbie, who revved the engine and was about to take off before this drunk realized he just gave away his return trip money, but there was something about this fare that pricked at the hairs on the back of the cabbie's neck. Guys like this never came to neighborhoods such as the one they were currently in. Gated communities were one thing, but the address outside of which the cabbie now idled was completely surrounded by a twelve-foot wall made from some kind of marble that the cabbie didn't recognize -- but figured it probably cost more than ten times the worth of his crappy little house.
He continued looking in the mirror at this guy, with his beat-up leather jacket, tousled hair -- likely unwashed, and sunglasses (even though the dashboard clock indicated it was pushing midnight). He most certainly did not belong in that neighborhood, and the cabbie hesitated before releasing the brake and driving off. Fifty bucks was fifty bucks; he wasn't going to question it. As he drove away he watched the dude in the rearview and prayed he didn't just leave a serial murderer at the gates of one of the swankiest estates in all of Ohio.
Screw it, he thought as he made his way toward the highway. On second thought, he really didn't give a shit anyway.
... ... ... ... ...
Jimmy paused at the gates long enough to appreciate their enormity. He grit his teeth and threw down another recently emptied bottle of beer at his feet. Not to worry, there were plenty more where that little long neck came from. He produced another triumphantly from inside his coat and held it aloft to the hidden cameras which were surely watching him. He walked forward and beat his fist against the wrought iron bars, then giggled when he noticed the talk box set into a little recessed shelf next to the entryway. He pressed a button and slurred, "Hello?"
He waited, wavering but never quite losing his balance. He lost his patience after thirty seconds and stabbed at the button again, "Hey! I know you're in there, Enrico Esposito! I wanna talk to you, asshole!"
Even as his temper percolated to a fiery red haze behind his eyes, a calm disinterested voice of a security guard spoke to him through the speaker, "Please leave. This is private property and the authorities will be called should you continue to trespass."
Jimmy threw the beer bottle at the speaker and told the disembodied voice what he could do with his "Private Property." There was a glimmer of satisfaction inside him when the bottle broke with a loud POP and showered the area with glass and foam. He was unsure of the placement of the security cameras so he waved both middle fingers high in the air in every direction so there would be no mistake.
The security guy popped back on the speaker and informed Jimmy that the cops had indeed been called.
Jimmy sidled up to the box and crunched over some green glass shards before pressing the COMMUNICATE button again. He leaned in close and hissed, "Tell Enrico Esposito I know what he did to Rebecca Cattrell, and that I will personally make sure he burns in Hell for that!"
And then, for good measure, he spat on the box and walked away into the night.