Matthew lived on the Southside, a good thirty minutes from the garage, even in light traffic. I made my way to the back of his building and parked my bike next to his. A good sign.
Taking the wooden steps up the fire escape two at a time, I got to his apartment at the top floor quickly. I listened through the door. Nothing. I raised my fist to pound on the door, and almost ended up pounding on his face, again, when it swung open.
His face probably couldn’t take another punch by the look of it. His right eye was swollen shut and a deep purple ring already started to form under it. A dark red line of crusted blood covered his fat nose, probably broken. He took one look at me and stepped back into his apartment, trying to slam the door closed on me. I put a hand out and muscled my way in.
