The Porch Pirate
The early years of the 21st century saw an increase in purchases from online retail outlets. During the Covid-19 pandemic 2020-2023, the number of online sales exploded. Delivery truck drivers usually dropped cardboard boxes containing customer orders on the front porches of homes in residential areas. Thieves who stole these deliveries became known as “porch pirates.”
Our house sits on a corner. About 100 meters away is a cul-de-sac that opens onto our street.
One morning after the dense fog lifted, I stood on our front porch and absently looked around. That’s when I saw a young man scurrying from the cul-de-sac. He appeared to be a Caucasian male in his mid-20s with medium-length bronze-colored hair. He wore athletic shoes, faded blue jeans, and a black t-shirt. I did not get a good look at his face.
He carried a large cardboard box. I think the box was heavy because he had to hunch over and balance it on his upper thighs as he headed toward his car. For some reason, he made me think of a leprechaun carrying his mythical pot of gold.
He loaded the box into his car, made a U-turn, and headed toward our end of the street. He stopped at the corner before making a left turn. I quickly snapped a photo of his license plate. He drove a Toyota Camry from the 1990s. It was maroon in color and its upper rear end on the passenger side was slathered with lumpy gray body repair putty that still needed sanding.
I called the police and shared a description of the man and a copy of his license plate. They thanked me for “seeing something and saying something.”
The news the next morning reported on an unusual death in Modesto, where the victim apparently died from an attack by a wild animal. This is how newscasters reported the story:
“Early this morning, police discovered the body of Jasper Denton Birmingham on the front porch of his residence in Modesto. His throat had been shredded. According to the police, 25-year-old Birmingham was not robbed, and his home had not been broken into. The police released video from his home security camera, and we need to advise you that it is disturbing. The video shows Jasper Birmingham approaching his front door while carrying a large box. The camera malfunctioned for a moment, but recorded a strange growling noise and a muffled scream. A moment later, the image of his corpse lay sprawled face down on his porch. No pool of blood was visible, and strangely, the box he carried was gone. We will have more on this story later today.”
Jasper Denton Birmingham was the guy I saw emerging from the cul-de-sac earlier that day. During the evening news broadcast, reporters covered the story in greater detail. While interviewing neighbors about Jasper Birmingham’s death, the maroon Toyota Camry could be seen in the background. It was true. He was the man I saw the day before, the man with the heavy box.
The neighbors told reporters and the police they did not hear any unusual noises the night before. They said the late Mr. Birmingham was in and out of his house all the time and noted that he didn’t seem to have any close friends.
A zoologist told reporters that the only animal he knew of that could make a similar wound to the one on Mr. Birmingham’s neck was a badger. However, he could not be certain as to what caused Mr. Birmingham’s injuries, pending identification of DNA retrieved from the wounds.
I usually ride my bicycle around our neighborhood. I took a detour from my usual route and rode into the cul-de-sac. I saw a large cardboard box sitting on the front porch of a house there. It was a house with an immaculately maintained front yard, closed window treatments, and no oil stains in the driveway.
“I bet the people who live here commute to the Bay Area every day; that’s why everything looks so neat and trim,” I said to myself, “And the box looks just like the one that guy loaded into his car the other day. What’s going on here?”
An unmarked police sedan parked on our street near the cul-de-sac entrance. The officer saw me ride out of the place. I stopped and talked to him.
“You’re here because of that Birmingham guy,” I said.
He sat up. “Yeah? What do you know about it?”
I explained that I reported seeing him sneaking around with a big cardboard box and took a picture of his license plate when he turned the corner.
“Oh, so you’re the one, right?” He shuffled through a folder and showed me a piece of paper he pulled from it. “This is you, right?”
I looked at the paper. “Yep, that’s me; that’s what I told the person I talked to on the phone. You know, right now there is a box in front of a house that looks a lot like the one the dead guy had the other day. It’s sitting right in front of the door. The delivery person could have easily put it to the side and no one would be able to see it from the street. Considering what happened to the dead guy, I’d be afraid to touch the damned thing. But I don’t think anyone’s at home, ‘cause the house seems almost empty.”
“What, are you superstitious or something?”
“I don’t know; maybe I am. Some of the people who moved out here bought these houses, but they’re never at home. They drive over to the Bay Area, and it’s like the instructions on shampoo bottles, the ones that say, ‘wash, rinse, and repeat.’ You know, thousands of people commute from Modesto to the Bay Area. They spend so much time driving that we only see them on weekends, and even then, the homeowners spend most of their time grocery shopping or recuperating. I just started calling them “ghost people,” mainly ‘cause we never see them. I mean, several houses like that are right in this area. Everything looks perfect and untouched because no one is at home.”
“Yeah, my brother-in-law does that commute. He leaves for work in downtown Fremont at 5:00 a.m. every day, and doesn’t get home until around 5:30 to 6:30 p.m. and that’s if the traffic is on the lighter side. A lot of times he gets home at seven in the early evening, even later every once in a while.”
“Are you gonna check out the house with the box on the porch?”
“Yeah, I guess I better get to it. You said the yellow house has a box sitting on the front porch? Are you sure you saw a box there? Ok, I’d better get to it. Talk you later.” He got out of the unmarked police sedan and walked toward the house with the box on its front porch.
I went home, drank a glass of water, and ate a couple of microwaved quesadillas. I went back outside and finished my bike ride. Forty-five minutes later I was back in front of our house. The unmarked police car was still parked near the entrance to the cul-de-sac. I put my bike in the garage and prepared to go see a movie with my beloved. I remembered I needed to make a quick trip to the grocery store before we left but I got back with plenty of time before the feature began.
When we got back, there were several cars and police officers near the entrance to the cul-de-sac and flashing lights lit up the neighborhood. The unmarked sedan still sat parked in the same place it was when I talked to the guy earlier in the day. A small group of our neighbors gathered across the street from the cul-de-sac. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. I saw two people walking toward our house. I parked the car in the garage, got out, and walked toward them, a man and woman who identified themselves as detectives with the police department. They already knew my name and wanted to ask me a few questions. I told them that I talked to the plain-clothed officer earlier in the morning. I recounted the details of our conversation. When I said he went to the yellow house to look for a big cardboard box I saw at the house, the detectives looked at each other, exchanging mysterious glances.
“And that was the last thing you said to him?”
“Yeah, that’s right. I went home for a few minutes, then I finished my bike ride. About 45 minutes later I got back home. I noticed the car was still there, but I assumed he was talking to someone who lives in the cul-de-sac. I mean, he was kinda friendly. Then my beloved and I went to see a movie over on McHenry Avenue, those theaters, the ones near the auto dealerships. That’s why we just got home. By the way, what happened? Why is his car still there?”
“All we can tell you is that he’s missing and we’re looking at video from doorbell and security cameras right now to try and figure out what happened.”
Later, I asked my beloved what she thought about all the commotion outside with the police. She laughed. “I know what you did last night; I could smell it on you. You did that porch pirate, that Jasper Denton Birmingham guy, didn’t you? How did you find him?”
“I picked up his scent when he stopped to turn the corner. When I saw him come out of the cul-de-sac, a soft breeze blew my way. You know when I told you about him and said I needed to pick up a few things from the store? I followed him. I caught up with him over on Scenic Drive. Pretty easy, really. Scenic only had one drivable lane because of road work between Coffee Road and downtown. He had his window rolled down and his scent was distinctive. He smelled like Soap, shampoo, men’s cologne, French fries, hamburgers, and sweat. He lives, I mean lived, a couple of blocks from the Department of Motor Vehicles. I paid him a visit in the early morning. I took him because he had the scent of murder all over him; his blood verified it. I flashed a little bit when I morphed, so the security camera couldn’t see me. The stupid box he stole had a microwave oven in it. Now, what do you know about the cop I talked to earlier today?”
“I have no idea what happened to him. You said there was another box in front of one of the houses in the damned cul-de-sac? You think some specials live there?”
“I didn’t see a sigil when I rode my bike this morning, but I wasn’t really looking for one. Besides, the Treaty requires that all specials in a given area be notified when another of us moves in. Well, I guess we better report it. I don’t want to get in trouble with the Plurality.”