Date = 14 July
Place = San Francisco (on the road)
POV – Enrique
“So, and correct me if I’m wrong here … you dropped River and her parents with Damion … Lee is back here with you … but where’s Skye then?” I look at the man riding shotgun. Axel interrupted his Olympic practice to go help Jackson – not much of a surprise there – and they found the little stowaway hiding in his truck after I let them know about her disappearance. That’s one super strange kid.
I shift my gaze to my twin. Together they rescued the innocent, picked up River’s parents in Portland and stuffed them safely with Damion’s group … wherever that may be. But, and I asked Mel about this, there’s no trace of this Skye chick …
So I’m trying the impossible – to figure out what Jackson’s done with the girl. His usual brainwave regime is like herding cats to begin with … so a smitten Jackson might act even more illogically ridiculous. Jackson with feelings – that’s a whole new concept. Right about now, I’m even considering the thought of her being tied up in his basement. For safe keeping that is.
“Some place I can keep an eye on her,” he groans, his eyes flashing mysteriously over his buddy seated on his right side. Axel lets out a grunt and stares out the window. The basement idea might not be too far of.
“Now stop the fucking interrogation,” my brother says and throws a newspaper at me.
“Have you seen the latest?”
“No.” I’ve been trying to avoid the press lately. Been a little preoccupied with something far more interesting – secretly dating Aria for real. Very secretly. And it’s been going pretty well, might I add.
“Well, get that fuck-face off and read it,” Jackson scolds and I oblige, not wanting to get caught out with dirty thoughts about my girlfriend. Girlfriend … it has a nice ring to it. I look at the front page.
World famous actress dies in fire.
“Police confirmed that the severely burnt body found in a warehouse indeed belongs to the Victoria’s Secret model and actress, Amanda Dee,” I read out loud. Guess the DNA results came out. “They opened a homicide case but no suspects have been arrested so far. A reliable source however confirmed that Amanda was indeed 8 weeks pregnant at the time of her death. Rumors speculate that Enrique Blackburn might have been the father, but this has not been confirmed as yet. The Blackburn brothers, as well as Aria Thompson, were however spotted on the scene.” I throw down the paper. “This is nothing new.” I’m not sure who I’m mad at. And Dean needs to clear up that I’m not the daddy – luckily we have the tests to prove it. Maybe he should give our special reporter friend a call – let him find the real father – for Amanda’s sake. Let her rest in peace. Yeah … I can do that with Brian’s help.
“Not that, dumb ass,” Axel picks up the paper and turns the page, folding it and then taps on another article. I take the paper from him again.
Honda rider’s new love interest.
There’s a picture of Graham holding the hand of a tall blonde. She reminds me a little of Amanda.
“And why would I care about who he’s fucking?”
“Look at her shoes.” I look. She’s wearing red heals. So what? “And?”
“Ug, bro, sometimes I wonder where the fuck your brain is at,” Jackson groans. Well, that’s not a difficult question to answer – Aria’s body … preferably naked.
“That is fucking Patsy … the Prada girl … ” I look again. This is the bitch that’s kicked Aria in the stomach … that tried to rape me … that kidnapped Aria and Lee … THAT fucking bitch.
“What the fuck is she doing with Graham?” I ask the first thing that comes to mind.
“Ah, now your thinking. That there is the million dollar question my man.”
We’ve arrived at Cuttings Wharf boat launch – the place where the rescue took place – and stop next to a pinkish-orange building with a sign saying ‘Moore’s landing’. The place seems to be deserted. But we’re not here for the people … we’re here to board the yacht Jackson was spying on to look for clues.
It too looks abandoned as it floats in the Napa river, right in front of us. I read the name on it’s side: The Butterfly. It’s not the vehicle Aria was talking about. Although this catamaran is not tiny, it’s way smaller than what she described. But it is very luxurious – made of money. Not something the average man can afford.
A motorbike races into the yard and I can literally feel us all tense up as our heads simultaneously jerk to take in the black bike. Axel slowly take the gun from the glove compartment, just in case. These last few months definitely increased all of our anxiety levels.
The super bike jolts to a halt right beside us, it’s small rider’s feet barely reaching the ground. It’s a Reaper bike … Jackson’s to be precise. I let out the breath I was holding. Axel returns the gun to it’s place.
We get out of the Jeep – Jackson shuts his door – HARD – he looks pissed. The rider dismounts and takes of the helmet. It’s Lee. He hangs the helmet over one handle and unzips his oversized leather jacket.
My brother grabs his arm and sternly pulls him right up to his chest.
“I fucking told you to stay put.” Jackson is clearly not happy.
“And I told you, you’re not my boss.” Lee is not backing off. They pierce each other with scorching heated glares, until I’m wondering who’s gonna kill who first.
“ARGH!!!” Jackson let’s him go, hits the tire with the side of his fist and start walking to the small dock. Axel bumps Lee with his shoulder.
“Great bikes, those,” he whispers while we follow my grumpy twin.
“I know, right. Best bike I’ve ever rode. I am getting myself …”
BOOM!!!
The explosion knocks us backward. Lee, the little short shit, lands on his ass – eyes wide in disbelief.
KABANG!!!
Part of what could be a mast comes flying right over our heads to crash a small outbuilding, catching it on fire.
“This is not good,” Lee mumbles as he gets up and dusts his pants. Standing in a row – Lee, Jackson, Axel and me – four pairs of eyes on the destroyed yacht a couple of meters in from the shoreline. Engulfed in flames and black smoke, The Butterfly, clearly is going down.
“Holy fuck,” Axel gawks in horror. I don’t know what to say. I’m just glad my ass is still in one piece here. We are all, however, covered in small superficial wounds where the debris cut us – but nothing serious.
A car rushes in and park next to ours, three men inside, but this time we might still be too much in shock to embrace the visitors.
A short, sturdy-build man dressed in a formal gray suit, less the jacket, with an undone tie, walks towards us.
“Not you guys again.” I look at the owner of the super-sarcastic, vaguely-familiar voice. Captain David Maron from the Bayview station. I am a little surprised at their super-quick response. We haven’t even dialed 911 yet and this place must be way out of their jurisdiction.
“At this rate we’re quickly going to become so close we’ll be having Christmas dinner together.” Smart-ass. But he’s not wrong. It’s officially our third meeting in less than three months.
“Let me guess … someone send you a location, and then everything just went BOOM.” Again … he’s not far from the truth.
“Eh … sort of.” Axel answers.
“Why are you here?” He keeps on looking at me.
“Eh … we … were invited to dinner,” Lee answers quickly. It’s a stupid answer typical of Lee. But again, David stares at me for a while as if gauging our sincerity.
“I’m guessing it was a barbecue.” Great. The man has a sense of humor.
“Luckily it blew up before we got on,” Axel mumbles, “or it was bye-bye for us all.”
Two minutes later and we would have been toast. Burned to a crisp.
“Fucking leprechaun luck.” I’m not sure what Lee means by that. But then again, he tends to say senseless stuff all the time. Jackson smirks. He gets it, I guess.
“Still the same guys?” The captain gets serious. I pull up my shoulders. We’ve told him the moral of the story the day at the warehouse – a shortened version – that some unknown people kidnapped Aria and Lee because they are looking for revenge for the death of their friend, Darren Brown. None of us mentioned anything about The Circle, the Old Man or the Italian mafia. And we also didn’t say anything about the messages.
“Why are YOU here?” Jackson asks gruffly. He’s not himself … he’s a way worse version these last couple of months. Understandable I suppose. None of us are in our right minds lately. I just hope he doesn’t get us into trouble with the police. I have another secret date with Aria tonight that I don’t want to miss.
“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my actual job is to oversee that my detectives follow up on every lead they find so we can catch the bad guys.” He then glares at the burning vehicle. “But it’s a little difficult if those leads tend to blow up all the time.”
“Hey, Cap … ” one of the other men slowly makes his way towards us, while looking on his phone. It’s Shoestring – the skeleton officer Mel almost attacked at the precinct. I thought that he was just a rookie cop, but judging by his casual dress code he must be a detective working under David.
“We alerted the Napa county fire station – they’re about,” he looks at his watch, “three minutes out now.” One can already hear their sirens in the distance. But Shoestring is busy with his phone.
“The ownership request just came through – the yacht belongs … ” he lifts his gaze from his phone to the boat, “eh … belonged … to Graham Scott.” Graham? The yacht is his? I glance at the boys who seem just as surprised as me. Especially Lee … he’s turned as pale as butchered frog legs. Something I must still learn to eat. Someday. If I can get over the fact that they look like an old ladies butt. Maybe.
“Graham Scott.” David knits his eyebrows. “Why does the name sound so familiar?” He’s asking his man this time.
A small rubber boat refs up, spraying water it pumps from the river, onto the flames as it circles around the catamaran. Almost at the same time a firetruck swirls past us to the edge and for a moment we watch the commotion in silence. Graham is gonna have one huge insurance claim. And that’s saying if he’s not involved in any of this shit.
“You were saying?” David brings us back to the conversation.
“He’s famous. The main MotoGP rider for Honda.” Shoestring answers eagerly. Then he leans forward towards his captain as if going to share some secret, “And his father is Hamilton Scott.” Ug, that is common news. Everybody knows that.
“Fuck me! I knew I’ve heard the name before. The guy brags about his son at every function.” Captain Moran sucks in his breath – eyes big, focused on his thin detective, who now looks like an over-caffeinated bobble-head. Okay, maybe everybody except David Moran knows that. “This just turned very messy. Fuck.”
“And there’s more, Cap … ” Shoestring stops shaking and hands his phone to his boss while looking at us. “I pulled Graham’s file,” he pauses for a beat, “Graham went to the same school as Darren Brown. They were even in the same year.”
“That’s just fucking great.” David rolls his eyes. “This could cause ugly departmental politics. Fucking shit. Why is it always me?” I’m not sure if he wants us to answer that question. I’m just gonna leave it as rhetorical.
“I can ask that very same question, Cappy.” Lee taps a finger in the air. “I always gets the bad cards.” Great, the little guy recouped from his previous paleness. David doesn’t say anything, but luckily it seems his focus turned from me to Lee. He hands the phone back to Shoestring.
“Good work, detective.” The guy pushes out his chicken-chest and looks very pleased with himself. “Now find me this Graham and bring him to the precinct,” Shoestring turns on his heels and stomps of. “But … ” David shouts after him and he stops in his tracks, “Do it very discretely … I don’t want to deal with the people on top right away.”
“Captain … ” the other man that was seated in the car this whole time, walks over with big strides. At least this one has some meat on his body. “Fire crew just told me … they can see two bodies on board but the fire is still too hot, so they can’t reach them.”
“Fuck!” David sweep his hands through his hair and paces up and down. The man that brought the news, stands quietly and patiently waits for orders. David stops in front of his officer. “I want you to find out everything you can about Graham Scott. I need to know what he eats for breakfast, where he pees, where he drinks, who he sleeps with, what car he drives, even what his fucking shoe size is … EVERYTHING … understand.” With each word he taps his index hard against the detective’s shoulder. The man nods and goes on his way.
“Well, since our dinner got canceled, we’ll be heading home then,” Jackson says and without hesitation he grabs Lee’s arm and steers him to the Jeep. Axel follows suit. David blocks my way with his hand on my shoulder.
“Why didn’t you tell me it was your brother in that video?” I swallow some spit. How does he know?
“Eh, you didn’t ask.” He smirks and lets me go. I’m not sure yet if I trust this man or not. Police gets bought all the time. This guys could be dirty cops for all we know, working for the people that wants to hurt us.
“How do you know?” I’m curious.
“You look identical, but your attitude and body language differs a great deal.” Good to know. I give the man a little smile and a wave before walking away.
“I’ll be seeing you guys,” he shouts after us, but none of us look back. I really hope not. Life is complicated enough as it is without interference from the cops – no matter if they’re clean or not.
“What do you guys think about Graham? Could he be behind this?” Axel asks when we reach the car.
“Sure looks like he’s involved,” I give my honest opinion. First the girl, now the boat. Can’t be a coincidence. And he went to the same school as Darren … so they could have been best friends for all we know.
“Graham would never do this,” Lee gives Axel and me one of his creepy glares, forcing Jackson to grab him again. His voice comes out thick and cold with a tyrannic hint, “How do you know that?”
“Cause he’s a good guy,” Lee answers immediately in a tone that is clearly managed, “and he would never hurt me.” He looks up at Jackson with innocent round eyes.
“How can you be so sure?” Jackson clenches his teeth, but Lee seems oblivious, too preoccupied with trying to make my brother see reason.
“Because we’re very close.” Axel gasps, I forget to breathe … Jackson goes bleak. I’m sure the temperature around us just dropped. Those crazy blue eyes bore into Lee with a blistering icy stare … I back away. Axel and I share a look – that ‘what-the-fuck’ one. Lee still doesn’t seem to notice the danger.
“Trust me, he’s like family … he won’t do this.” Jackson’s face scorns into an effigy of ballistic jealous outrage. He clenches his fists next to his body, knuckles going white, his body rigid. He’s fighting for control – not something you would expect for a guy who mastered that at the age of eight. Without a word, he holds out his hand, palm up.
“Keys.”
Lee hesitantly hands it over. Jackson grabs the helmet and throws it at his roommate. Then he swings his leg over his bike.
“Get the fuck on.” Lee rolls his eyes, but puts on the helmet and gets on behind my brother.
“We’ll see you later, keys are in the ignition.” He speeds of and I look at Axel to say something here. But my twin’s bestie just pulls up his shoulders with a pout and gets into the Jeep. I sigh deeply. With one last look at the burning boat I also get into the Wrangler to drive the 50 miles home. He’s a grown-ass man and can do whatever the fuck he wants. What do I care? Right now, all I care about is sinking into my girlfriend – over and over again and relieve all these cropped up feelings.
“Hey, bro,” I slowly start, curiosity getting the better of me, “do you think my brother is gonna beat up Lee?”
“Nah,” he answers without hesitation, “that’s one person Jackson would never dare to hurt.” After a beat he continues. “Not physically at least.” He leans back into his seat and tops : “I wonder how Lee knows Graham?”
Yeah, that is a good question. But I’m guessing Jackson is gonna demand an answer for that.
“Do you really think Graham could be behind all of this?” I turn my head to look at him. He pouts, a frown between his brows.
“I don’t know. It just feels too easy.” His frown increases. “But I don’t know Graham that well.” Neither do I. I look back onto the road. And he’s right. It’s confusing. I know Chloe, Amanda, Brian and Graham know each other – so them working together make sense.
“Who the hell are those Italian dudes then?” I think out loud.
“Hired help?” This time he sounds unsure. Could be. But they don’t seem the type to take orders. The messages sounds more personal. I rub my temple with my fingers where a headache is brewing.
“This whole thing is so fucked up. Let’s talk about something else … tell me about Tina.”
Axel laughs.
“There’s not much to tell. We have this sex pact – whenever one of us is in need, the other one provides. No strings attached. And never outside the work place.”
“Does she know about the no strings part? Cause it wasn’t the message I got from her.”
“She knows, but I think she wants more.” Clearly. “But I like things the way they are. She’s a nice girl and all, but she doesn’t hold my heart.” I flinch at his words. Is it just me or does it sound like this man lost his heart already? I look at him again.
“Hey, man, is there a special someone we don’t know about?” Resignation clouds his face before it falls. There definitely is someone.
“Nope. I fucked that up a long time ago.” And the edge in his voice tells me not to dig further. He’s not going to say anything more. My stomach growls expectantly.
“You hungry?” We’re passing through San Rafael.
“I can eat.” Great. I pull of the highway into some small shopping mall and park at the Black Bear Diner. Let’s see what they can cook up. Maybe if the grub is good I can bring Aria here. It’s far enough from home for a secret date.