I’m Looking for You

   Marta drove up to the house. She looked around the neighborhood that was neither wealthy nor poor. She checked the map on her phone, and rifled through the computer printouts on her passenger seat. She checked herself in the mirror.

   She got out of the car and went to the door and knocked.

   After a moment the door opened and a man in his pajamas with a coffee answered. Marta looked him over carefully.

   “Sorry, no solicitors, no religion, no energy saving programs, no uninvited guests. Have a nice day.” He closed the door on her.

   Marta went back to her rental car and sat sideways on the driver’s side with the door opened. She reached back and looked at her printouts again. She snatched them up and went back to the house. She knocked again. The papers held against her chest.

   “What are you doing? What do you want?”

   “May I come in?”

   “No.”

   “I’m Marta.”

   “That’s nice. What do you want?”          

   “May I come in?”

   “No, I don’t think I want to you to do that. What do you want?”

   “I’m looking for someone.”

   “Okay, good luck.”

   “Are you sure you want your neighbors to see me out here?”

   “What do I care about my neighbors? Okay, this is done.”

   Marta threw her papers in the door onto his hallway floor.

   “What are you doing?’

   Marta stepped in, apologizing. He stepped back from her. As she was kneeling and collecting her papers she said, “I’m looking for Manuel Lapa.”

   “Yeah, it’s Manny, okay? I’m not interested, get your stuff and go.”

   “I’m Marta.”

   “Yea, I don’t care.”

   “I want to tell you why.” She moved towards him. “I have to tell someone. And I think you can help me. The man I’m looking for is a crook. He’s a violent man. He’s hurt a lot of people. Then he disappeared a long time ago.”

   “Whoa, I don’t know people like that.”

   “I think you do.”

Manny was twice her size and age, but he backed further up. He took a picture of her with his cell phone. “Okay, I have a photo of you and I’m going to send it the police if you don’t leave my house. You’re scaring me.”

   “I’ve been looking for a long time.”

   “Yeah, well, keep looking. Outside.”

   “My name is Marta Nasato. I got married. My husband’s name is Nasato. Before that my name was Marta Scavo.”

   “I don’t know these names.”

   “Before that it was Lanaro. Marta Lanaro.”

   “Alright, sure, can you please go now, please?”

   She handed him a printout. Manny read it then handed it back. She handed him another. The printouts were of murders and robberies. “I want to meet him.”

   “I’m going to be sick.” Manny ran to the bathroom and locked the door.

   “Are you alright?”

   Manny flushed the toilet and ran water in the sink. He dialed nine-one-one on his cell. He turned the shower on.

   “I need to talk to you!”

   “Police. Twenty-seven Elm Court. I got a crazy women here who broke into my house. No, no, she’s not violent, but she is scaring me. She won’t leave. She pushed her way into my house. Yeah, at least five times. She's getting more worked up. Please, get them to hurry.”

   “I know it's you!”

   “What?! Who’s me?” He shut the taps off, and put his phone on speaker for nine-one-one to record.

   “Mateo Lanaro.”

   “Who’s Mateo Lanaro?”

   “You are.”

    “What, this killer in those… are those real news?”

   “I’ve been searching for you.”

   “Why? He’s such a bad guy.”

   “You’re my father.”

   “Yeah, you’re not looking for me, you’re looking for Darth Vader.”

   Marta kicked the panelled bathroom door several times. “That’s not funny.”

  “Why do you want to find this psycho? And why do you tell people you’re his daughter? You know, they might come after you to get him. Get out of my house.”

   “I want to meet my father. I want to meet you. You were gone before I was three.”

   “Yeah, that doesn’t sound like a good idea. Did you talk to your husband about this?”

   “You could meet him. I want him to meet you.”

   “Meet him? I didn’t even want to meet you.”

   Marta kicked the door some more. Manny stretched a foot against it to strengthen it. “I called the police. You want to leave now.”

   “I’m not going. I’m want to see you.” She kicked harder and harder. One of the panels near the bottom began to split.

   “Look, lady, you’re going to go to jail. I will press charges.”

   The kicking continued. “You have grandchildren.”

   “Grandchildren? I don’t even have children. What are you talking about? Stop hitting the door!”

   The panel broke inward and Marta’s ankle was lacerated by the jagged pieces. She kept kicking, now on the other panel. The lower centre piece between the panels was now shifting sideways and might give way soon. Blood spots were appearing on the bathroom floor.

   The sirens came. The kicking stopped. Manny waited until the police announced he could come out.

   “She says she‘s your daughter. We need to check your ID.”

   “Yeah, of course.” Manny gave the officer his driver’s license. The officer took a cell photo of it and handed it back. “Do you know her?”

   “Never met her before. And I don’t have any kids. And it’s not, I-don’t-have-any-kids-that-I-know-of, it’s, I don’t have any kids period.” Manny went through how Marta arrived, never seen her before, never heard of her, the papers, the bathroom, and trying to kick the door down.

   “Officer, I don’t want to press charges. She needs help. After you talk to her could someone call me and let me know whether I should get a restraining order? I’d appreciate having some advice about that. Apparently, she’s married and got kids, maybe her husband knows why she’s like this.”

   “We’ll follow up with you.”

   After they left Manny went to his home computer and printed off a small copy of the photo of Marta he had taken with his cell phone. He went upstairs to his bedroom, dressed, and from under the bed he pulled out two suitcases. He opened them to check they were fully packed as he always kept them.

   Downstairs he took his Manny Lapa ID, and cell phone, and dropped them in the kitchen garbage pail. From the computer printer he took Marta’s photo and cut away the excess paper until it was wallet size. He opened his wallet, flipped through the plastic holders to a baby photo, then he placed Marta’s photo with it, he held back the tears, and then he left Twenty-seven Elm Court and never came back.