"See, I don't recall that being a thing, nowadays." Said Beckett as I turned the wheel, peeling off to the right and into Hawthorne street, about four blocks away from the Big Boy Burger joint.
"What?" Asked Wyatt, who was sitting in the back. "You're telling me you can't pogo hope yourself across the U.S.A?"
"You can if you take a few breaks, here and there." Reasoned Beckett; I think he was appealing to Wyatt's sense of 'reason'.
For some reason, Wyatt and Beckett started discussing the logistics of a cross-continental marathon, using only a 'Thinkgizmos' Pogo stick bought off of EverythingOnline.com. Now, this, of course, was a pedantic debate to have. I don't even know why Beckett entertained the idea. Maybe he was just humoring him?
Wyatt always finds a way to bring something up and chat on and on about it. Last week he had brought up the infamously controversial topic of conversation: 'Is cereal a soup?'. The one question that scientists, nutritionists and chefs all around the globe have pondered. Dividing geniuses and pioneers in the field of gastronomic sciences. It was so, so, important for Wyatt to find the distinction. He would just disintegrate in a puff of ash if he never found out the answer to that colossally stupefying question.
For the record, cereal is soup in the sense that smoothies are milkshakes; they are superficially similar foods in some ways with different origins and ingredients, and even with some weird bona-fide gray area, bureaucratic big-cereal red tape, it should be argued that it's its own food type. Same reason you don't say 'Strawberry-flavored milkshake', you just say a Strawberry Smoothie. It's frothy, like a milkshake, but it has a fruit mixed into it, so I guess it's a smoothie. Beckett came through with nearly the same conclusion, even if he was a little misguided, his heart was in the right place. Wyatt, of course, fell asleep halfway through the car ride to Big Boy Burger.
I was driving, of course – this little modified corolla of mine. Ironically enough, it was a birthday gift from Wyatt and Beckett. After all, it ended up being Beckett's idea, mainly, he said that he noticed me fawning over it on The DASH/PASS Weekly car-related catalog. It's the one my mom always recommended but she never had the money for it, detective salary pays for squat, apparently. And we had to find out the hard way, heh.
And just a little secret between me and you – I stuck a V8 in it. My dad always said that you can stick the right engine in any car, as long as you have the right throttle linkages, decent enough cooling systems and functioning fuel delivery, you can make it work. It's like a grape and a cut of cheese; I heard about it from some fancy pants chick at school – it might have been Camille Knight – and thought it was disgusting. Then, on a whim, I was offered some grapes and cheese by Wyatt, of all people, and it actually tasted pretty good. Ten out of ten, would try again. I have some, every other week now.
Now the V8 can be a little loud at times, but with just the right muffling on those pesky cylinders and some computer know-how, I can safely say it's officially a sleeper. A sleeper is like a car that looks measly and slow on the outside, but on the inside; the thing is a beast. My little Todd is a beast.
Beckett sat in the front, shot-gun. I always let him ride shot-gun 'cause he's always had good manners and wasn't much of a loud-mouth, unlike Wyatt. See, Beckett is the type of guy that'd be allowed into any sleepover. He's just got that reputation of being friendly with everyone. But to us, me and Wyatt that is, he always seemed closer. Like he was at home. It's not something he ever admitted, which was weird, considering he's a pretty emotionally forthright type of guy.
He always liked to wear tighter brand-less t-shirts to show off those arms, and to be honest I don't blame him. He's very much a classically handsome fella. I'm surprised he still doesn't have a girlfriend yet. Or boyfriend – maybe he's just comfortable with his sexuality?
"I wonder what's on the radio." He said as he reached for the radio knob and twisted, adjusting it till he stopped on 94.8hz, the frequency for LCR News.
The radio fizzled until the frequency settled properly, the audio was quiet enough not to wake Wyatt up.
"Exaggerated reports of the VegaCorp scandal still persist; what went from a simple and absolutely accidental chemical leak, has now turned into the hoax of seven missing kids. As per the Blackwater Police Department mandate, we are hereby required to announce their names on each of our broadcasts. Stated by no order of importance; Kyle Crawford, Elise Saryn, Tyrell Aspin, Tim Hoff, Carmen Bordeaux, Macaiyla Vo and Renée Fyke. Their most recent and accurate photographs will be uploaded to FindTheSeven.com. In other news, Anthem, The Great American Pride and the greatest superhero has once again saved the day. Earlier today there was a robbery at Mesa Roja, one of the biggest banking firms in downtown Los Angeles. The twelve robbers who also happened to be superhumans took the entire building hostage using their superhuman gifts to harm and maim in an effort for ransom. Just as the day seemed lost, and the LAPD had begun to forfeit efforts, Anthem came to the rescue. The caped wonder neutralized all the super-terrorists and rescued those poor souls who'd been held hostage. He didn't even need any help from the rest of the members of VANGUARD, for crying out loud! At this rate, you really gotta consider your supervillain activities." Continued Marlon Comry, the LCR news anchor, "And now onto more pressing news; fans have been literally dying left and right to know who's the next hot candidate for the thirty fifth season of Hot or Bot, where--" Beckett quickly reached for the radio frequency knob, "Alright, that's enough." He noticed my souring expression.
He fiddled with the knob, 78.5hz Rock FM, he just caught Season of the Witch by Donovan. One of my favorite songs, it soothed the mood; it just has that vibe. Beckett smiled and relaxed a bit as he noticed my slight smirk..
I checked my GPS, 1.7 miles to Big Boy Burger.
"That's bullshit, y'know." I said;, referring to the bullshit that LCR keeps broadcasting.
"You have to let it go, at this point, Red." He pleaded with me, it wasn't the first time we had this conversation. "What happened, happened."
"The actual number of kids that went missing is five times that." I said to him, scoffing to myself as I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. "Thirty five kids don't just go up in the air, Beckett."
"I know, I know." He reassured, "all those nights spent sleuthing–"
"-There's something to be done about it, right?" I said, frustrated.
Beckett sighed, like he was listening to a broken record forced to ask the same question. "What do you think really happened?"
"They said it was a chemical leak." I said, "At first, when they announced the whole schtick, about four months ago, it was 35 kids, from our own dearest Liberty High, specifically. And then it was 30, and then 25 – you get the point. The crazy thing is, there had been a reported field trip in the school's finances-" Beckett quickly interrupted, "you hacked into the school's finances database?!" He asked, as if I'd crushed a puppy.
I snickered, "easy to do when their yearly IT budget is in the triple figures." I then continued after taking a deep breath. "Anyways, I snatched some info off of the school's finances and apparently, they received a payment from a certain Coleen Kovinsky of VegaCorp laboratories. We're talking two hundred thousand dollars in payment for them to send some kids over, pretending like it's some kind of field trip. That's how it was listed, anyway."
Beckett paused for a beat, "do you realize how far-fetched that sounds, right?"
"And the kicker is; all of those who got jacked were adopted orphans."
Beckett didn't speak. Was he surprised or shocked, I didn't know. All I know is that he was speechless.
The awkward silence was perfectly timed with me pulling into the drive-thru of Big Boy Burger. I had arrived just in time for the afternoon opening, which was at 15:30, on the dot. I made a habit of always being here on time. For some reason they'd always run out of my favorite extra jalapenos fajitas at around 17:25. It's the Addams' family's usual extra large order for their extra large offspring. Nonetheless, I made it a priority to be there in time for the fellas. We had a reputation of always being here first, something about my miraculous sense of timing. It's the reason the Chimeras call us the Lunch Crew – well actually, they called us 'The Idiots in the shitty Red Corolla', but it's all about perspective, I guess.
Beckett had remained silent throughout my ordering of those juicy and spicy fajitas. First time I'd seen him truly irked by something. The kind of look on someone's face that shows an inability to deal with a problem. Like they can't or else, a look that I've seen on my mom's face far too often.
"Hey, Lunch Crew is here, what up, what up!" I said, enthusiastically.
"Who?" Asked Derek, the drive-thru guy. His voice was the equivalent of listening to sad sandpaper.
"The fucking Lunch Crew, man." I said dejectedly as I gave up halfway, "just gimme three extra-jalapenos fajitas, a Royal Salade-Niçoise and top it off with four Big Boy Baconizers."
"Uh, would you like some kind of refreshments with that?" Said Derek with the charm of a wooden board.
"No, Derek." I said coldly.
"How do you know my name?" I could sense the nervousness through the intercom.
"I come here like every other Friday, dude." I said, "It's the Lunch Crew."
He paused for a moment, it felt like a minute before he spoke up again. "I don't know who you are ma'am, please stop addressing me by my name. I am the Biggest-Burger-Boy, not Derek. Your order is ready, proceed to check out."
For so long, I've thought that Derek the Drive-Thru guy was a bit of an oddball. He always sounded nervous whenever I would order. And every time I've asked him what his problem was, he'd be quick to dismiss it or, better yet, threaten to call security. He never did call security. I mean, the guy couldn't ask for ketchup at family dinner even if he was neck-deep in Colombian Cocaine. That's neither here nor there.
I then heard a beep followed by an LED sign hung above that read 'PROCEED TO CHECK OUT'.
As I proceeded to check out, as per the routine, Beckett handed me the Zip-Lock swear-bag full of dollars, which I used to pay for the hefty lunch. The same lunch that was handed to me in a bright blue and pink paper bag that said Big Boy Burgers. Ironically enough, the bag from Big Boy Burgers had not a whiff of burger on it.
I then handed the bags to Beckett, he laid them on his lap and I drove off into the parking lot, finding a nice spot to park. Big Boy Burgers is by-and-large, a shoddy burger joint. More of a generic fast-food enterprise that you only went to for sentimental value; the type of place that feeds off the greatest human weakness; Nostalgia.
So, we had a sleeping Wyatt, food and my sweet Corolla; the perfect trifecta.
"Who's gonna wake him up?" I asked Beckett as I unbuckled my seat belt and grabbed the bag inside the bag that had my fajitas.
Beckett sighed and leaned in the back seat, shaking Wyatt's leg which did more than shock him awake. "Food?" He asked.
"Food," replied Beckett as he handed Wyatt the Royal Salade-Niçoise. "You should also prepare for a pretty wild hypothesis." Added Beckett, hinting at my THEORY.
"Oh, not this shit again." Complained Wyatt as he began digging into his salad "Is it about those kids again?"
"Yeah, the whole Field Trip Incident."
"The one where all the seven kids went missing?" He added, "#FindTheSeven and all that bullshit?"
"Yeah, I found that they were paid by VEGA.Corp labs, specifically Arthur Knight, to send those kids over on that 'field trip' that led them straight to God-knows-what in those labs."
Beckett sighed as he gently and eloquently inhaled his Big Boy Baconizers, remarkably not leaving any bits on anything that wasn't the towel that covered his lap. Wyatt stared, clueless, into the distance as he spoke with a mouthful of salad.
"Arthur Knight as in Lucille Knight's ultra-rich daddy?"
"Yeah." I said.
"Fuck, man." He mumbled, "I was just starting to warm up to her." He begins tearing up. I think it was the food.
"Yeah, well kids are being experimented on, so."
Wyatt for some reason gets very emotional when he's eating. Not enough to start bawling his eyes out, but something in that salad that just makes him all the more approachable. It's like a switch that went off in his brain that turned all that edgy, non committal defensive attitude into somewhat chill vibes. Not Beckett levels of approachable, but still.
Beckett noticed, he always did, and started stirring the drama pot. He leaned in close to me and spoke softly, "shelf this whole VEGAcorp ordeal and leave till the break and then we can investigate ourselves, yeah?"
I caved in. It was a trade off for getting their help, which I kinda needed for what I was intent on doing.
"So, Wyatt." He said, leaning back into his seat. "What's the deal with Lucille?"
"Oh, yeah." Wyatt's mood seemed to lighten up, "she's just the best dude."
"What, are you guys dating already?" I asked. I never thought someone would find an in with Lucille Knight, let alone some like Wyatt Walker.
"Not really, I mean got her number, she said something about liking to get to know me better."
"Lucky you; that means she wants to take her time with you."
"Meaning she respects the possibility of you being an item." Said Beckett, almost finishing my sentence.
"Is that good?" He asked, like a kid in a candy shop. "I thought she turned me down easily."
"It depends," said Beckett, "if you were looking for a hook-up, then Lucille Knight isn't really your cup of tea."
Upon realizing that Wyatt might be in the market for dating the Lucille Knight, I bit my tongue. I didn't want to judge, but you know what they say; the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Maybe the same was true for Lucille, but I didn't want to make that assumption. No one had ever really given him a chance, dating wise. And me speaking up now, would certainly spell a rift between us. And as annoying as Wyatt can be, he's still my friend. I didn't want to jump to conclusions, but I had already begun to suspect that his 'entanglement' could lead to a conflict of interest.
"He's right," I added, "Lucille seems like the type to settle down, plenty smart." I noted.
Wyatt groaned in boredom, "why can't some people want to fuck." he complained like some kid who got denied their toy firetruck by their stuck-up mother.
"You're almost eighteen, you can start screwing around in college." Beckett commented as he covered a belch with his hand, finishing his second Big Boy Baconizer.
"College parties, you mean?" Wyatt asked.
Beckett unwrapped the third Baconizer, "yeah, you'll find plenty of, uh, open-minded girls."
Wyatt continued for him, "you mean girls that are more than willing to open their legs after a few drinks in them."
"You can't be seriously suggesting date-rape, right?" I asked, slightly annoyed. "Can't you just rent a girl when you break eighteen?"
"Fuck no." He snapped, "I'm in it for the long run, I guess."
"Well then give Lucille a proper shot," Said Beckett as he continued munching through his Bacon sandwich. "Stop waiting around and start getting to know her, you never know when things might take a turn for the ugly." Beckett shot me a glare, the first time he's given me attitude.
"Sounds kinda weird, doesn't it?" Said Wyatt, "Settlin' down this early?"
"I mean, do you really like her?" Asked Beckett, finishing the third Bacon sandwich.
Wyatt twiddled his thumbs as cheeks flushed. His gray eyes narrowed and his leg grew restless, a tell-tale sign of someone who's nervous.
"Maybe," He said with the smallest hint of confidence and the greatest showing of cuteness.
I grinned as I stared at him through the rear view mirror.
"Well then give it a shot, monsieur Walker," teased Beckett, "Text her now, actually."
"Yeah, why not." Said Wyatt who was now in a devil-may-care type of mood, ripe with spontaneity. "Hey, how's it going?" He began reading off the texts as they were being exchanged.
Wyatt received a text back, almost instantly.
"Just finished my piano lessons, you?" Texted Lucille.
Wyatt panicked, looking to us for help, "Any ideas? I would say that I'm eating takeout in the parking lot of a nose-diving shitty fast food joint with my conspiracy theorist friends, but that sounds a little sad."
"Not really," rebutted Beckett, "just be honest, it's the best thing you can do for a relationship is be honest, communication is key, all that boring stuff."
"I thought the whole idea nowadays was to be as cryptic and indirect as you can be?" I asked, finishing my third fajita.
Beckett quickly interjected, waving his hand, "yeah, that's the safe approach. You keep it up with the double-speak and plausible deniability to the point where you either end up being lead on, or lead on, which is a waste of everybody's time."
"Also, she might just be in it for the attention." I added.
Wyatt raised a suspicious brow at Beckett, "Sore spot?"
Beckett shrugged, visibly annoyed about the topic, "It just sucks gettin' lead on, you know?" Even his voice sounded disappointed, "I start thinking that girls like me for me, rather than a superficial reason, and the second I try to get a foot in the door, it ends up being a fluke."
"Is that why you haven't 'dated' anyone for a year?" I asked as I patted him on the shoulder.
"Yeah, just focusing on myself." He said with a weak chuckle.
Wyatt nodded along, "so, general guidelines?" He asked.
"Just be yourself." Beckett and I said, almost at the same time. We exchanged finger guns to mark the occasion.
"Easy enough," Said Wyatt in a preoccupied tone as fell into a texting trance in the back seat.
The texting went on for about an, which was as long as we stayed in the parking lot. We then decided to drive off to Wyatt's place to drop him off. By then, the sun had fully set. Since I had a super-secret meeting with a super-secret someone in about an hour, I decided to fill Beckett in.
"Alright, you're probably gonna be mad at me, but I did set up a meeting with someone who'll give us more leads on this whole damn gun-powder plot."
Beckett briefly looked up and groaned with frustration, "Do you know who it is, at least?"
"It's someone online who goes by the name 'V'." I said, half-honest. The person never mentioned a gender, but it was a fair assumption to say that they are some weirdo in a basement.
"Are they the one feeding you all the info about the VegaCorp scandal?"
"Just a little bit," I said, "They've given me leads but I've done all the investigating myself."
"And why are you meeting them?"
"Why are we meeting them, you should say." I corrected him as I gave a pleading glance.
"Why we?" Asked Beckett.
"You're the muscle, Becky." I smiled.
Beckett shot me a suspicious look, squinting for a brief moment. "You're not getting me to beat someone up, are you?"
"In case the dog-shit hits the fan I might need you to bail me out."
"Alright, fine." Beckett said, I could already tell he was pretty disappointed in me.
I was half-glad, half-sad, since I knew that him being onboard with this might have meant that he was just doing it for my sake, instead of uncovering the colossal shit under the VegaCorp rug.
"We're meeting him at the Queensdale park, which should be about six blocks from here."
"Just so we're clear, I'm not okay with this." Said Beckett with a slight hint of annoyance in his voice. "I'm only doing it 'cause I know that you'd go through with it on your own and get yourself in trouble, or worse."
He knew me well.
After driving around for a few minutes in a very awkward silence, that was only remedied by a few random songs that played through the radio. The night fell and darkness seemed to overtake most alleyways and streets. We were now entering the west end, which was chock-full of bad people and even worse circumstances. We couldn't go two blocks without Beckett catching someone from an alleyway staring our car down.
It was my first time that I'd gone here, and I had to pretend like it was good under my hood. All the while sweating bullets and getting more paranoid than ever. I mean, I was used to talking shit to trolls online; people who'd say that they'd skin me alive and make my cat watch, but this was new.
It was like passing through a court of owls, and everywhere you'd look, there'd be a cluster of eyeballs tracking your every move. Reminiscent of that fatal instinct of knowing you're being watched. My gut was telling me to turn the car around, it was also telling me that I was headed in the right direction. Beckett, of course, was stone-walled, seemingly cool as a cucumber on the outside. He even put his hand on my shoulder, 'cause I think it was pretty obvious that I was nervous, as much I tried to hide it.
"Are you feeling the pressure yet, Bridget?" Asked Beckett, hoping to convince me to turn the around.
"Nope." I said, "All good over here; how're you holding up? Do you need a change of diapers, yet?" I joked as a nervous laugh came through.
Beckett shook his head and sighed, he knew this idea was getting riskier and riskier, whilst I thought it was completely manageable.
After what felt like an eternity of being stared at, we reached Queensdale park, I parked the car a block before, just in case.
As I exited the car, I grabbed my mom's old frock coat and slipped a balaclava on. Weirdly, I had to put my glasses over it; I didn't think this through. Beckett put his thick, brown leather aviator jacket on and slipped a cap on. He tucked his hands in his pockets and followed me as I led him to bench 34A.
Most of the park was pretty abandoned. It's been caught in this sweeping wave of crime that's been going through the city, block by block, turning it into a ghost town. We saw a couple of hobo's and delinquents but none of it seemed to faze Beckett, he was still cool with it – not really, but you know what I mean.
I checked my phone, 20:05 PM, it said on the clock. The meeting was at 8 o'clock, on the dot. Just as I thought I was late, Beckett was quick to point out a man sitting on a bench just twenty yards away from us.
"Now, you stick behind me." Said Beckett in a shaky voice as he started slowly walking towards the man on the bench. "Looking like ten years older will finally pay off."
"The name's Bridger, by the way." I whispered.
Beckett turned back toward me, "Really? Your hacker name is different from your real one by a single letter?"
I shrugged, "Hide in plain sight, that sorta thing."
As we approached the man, I got a better view of him. More light seemed to seep in as one of the neighboring lamps flicked on with impeccable dramatic timing.
He looked to be in his early thirties skin-wise, but he did have a few gray strands that cut through his jet black short-cut hair. He was fairly pale with a dark pair of those iconic steampunk glasses with the little covers on the sides. The rest of his clothes were just all black. Coat, pants and a dark tee-shirt underneath. From his jawline, I could tell he was pretty toned.
"To be honest, I was expecting you to be a lot fatter." I joked, "More neck beard, less whatever this is."
He remained silent and then spoke, as Beckett stood guard, scanning the area.
"Bridger." He said. Just from that one word I knew he had a deep and commanding voice. A voice of someone who knew what they were doing. He looked up and gestured for me to sit.
I didn't trust him one bit. Yet funnily enough, he was the only other person in this town to have a stake in this whole VegaCorp debacle. Everyone else would either threaten to leak my IP or as it's called nowadays, doxxing.
Beckett made the first move and butted in, forcing some space to the left of V. As he did, I took a long look around for any exits, anything of note.
North-East was one of the paths that led to the DeBraude diner, it was chock-full of lights and it was open 24/7. Straight north was a jogging couple of men, steady pace, mid thirties if I had to guess their age. The park itself was decently spaced from the buildings, which made it easy to take a vantage point on one of the windows. Snipers? Unlikely. Thinking more camera feeds directly snooping us on. Either way, I knew I had four exits, one to the North-East toward the DeBraude diner, the trail that the couple had gone through, straight back toward the car, or South-East toward the metro. I knew my way, I wonder if V did.
"Let's talk business, this isn't a social visit." I said as I steadied myself, hoping V wouldn't notice.
"Elevated heartbeat, I'd wager about 140 BPM; what's with the adrenal response? I can smell it from here."
How the fuck did he know I was losing my shit? And he smelled the adrenaline? Since when do hormones have a smell?
I couldn't fold just yet.
"We, uh, didn't come here for a physical." Beckett stuttered, I think he was nervous too.
"Is this your first time meeting with a client face-to-face?" Said V.
"Client?" I asked, aloud, for some reason.
"Fucking hell, you guys aren't even trying to hide how green you are." He sighed, seeming as disappointed as it gets when it comes to shady people. "Who else do you have running security?"
"Does it matter?" I asked, "you're not gonna stab me in the back, are you?"
He chuckled as an awkward pause took over for what seemed like forever until Beckett chimed in, this time his voice seemed more confident. "Just give us the info, buddy."
V chuckled and relaxed even more into the uncomfortable bench. A light smirk creased his high-cheek-boned lower face. He rubbed his gloved left hand on his chin and stared at me. Or at least in my general direction.
"With that attitude you might as well be a bouncer," He laughed for some reason. Joke wasn't even that funny. "Standard info exchange, right?"
"Then why would you ask for a face to face meeting?" I asked.
V nodded once and stood up. He wasn't much taller than the six foot six Beckett. I'd wager about six foot two, six foot three, and as he inched closer I got an even closer look at him. Whatever skin routine he's using, I definitely want some. Not in that sense, but, whatever.
"Things're gettin' sensitive; I'm not fixing to risk my skin." He paused and stared daggers at Beckett as he asked, "are you?"
It didn't take a sharp pair of peepers to take note of the fact that Beckett was starting to crumble a bit under pressure. There was just something about V's demeanor that made him nervous. Beckett's the type to volunteer for public speaking occasions just because. Why was he losing it all the sudden?
"No," I spoke in lieu of Beckett "not really."
"Good." He continued, "You got the info?"
"Yeah." I replied urgently, "you?"
"You first, as per usual." He exposed an empty hand expectantly.
I dug my sweaty hand into the deepest pocket of my hoodie. It was one of seven pockets hidden and latched on the inside of my hoodie. I usually buy oversized just so I can store enough snacks. I mean you never know when you might need to hide that pesky stash of twizzlers.
The package I pulled out had been in the pocket that usually held the chips. Had I known two weeks prior, I'd have sewn an extra pocket into my the inside of my sweater specifically for packages, but then again, I'm not really a courier.
I handed over the package. I could care less about packaging, it was just wrapped in paper with some scotch tape.
"This it?"
"Yeah, you got the list?" I asked urgently. I was looking around even more now, scanning the buildings and alleyways near us. "Make it quick."
"Better to be quiet when you're not on your own turf." He said, smirking. He went by his bench and crouched, feeling for something under the stone slab of the bench. What he was feeling for was a thumb drive, the same drive he handed me after he stood up. "Here's the list."
"Alright, thanks." I grabbed the drive and began urgently walking over to my car, gesturing for Beckett to follow close by. I didn't look back as I tried to hold back the lump in my throat. Even my knees felt like they turned to jelly as I reached the door.
Beckett sunk into the passenger seat and covered his face with his cap, sighing heavily.
Before I reached for the ignition, I heard a knock on my driver side window. It was fucking V. How the hell did he even get there so fast? I didn't even hear his foot-steps. It was easy to hide the fright since I still had the mask on. I think at the time Beckett passed out after hyperventilating.
V tapped the window and I reluctantly lowered it. "What?!"
He seemed surprised at my demeanor, like it was an average Tuesday of him spooking someone in their car, "why're you doing this?"
I didn't expect any interest after his show of arrogance earlier so I took a while to answer as he leaned over the window sill. "None of your business."
"Are you some self-righteous path to breakin' 'em out or what?" He scoffed, "Most everybody who browses Cyclone has left that case to rot in server limbo."
He stared at me for what felt like forever. I thought to leave but just couldn't bring myself to it. It felt like finally someone actually took interest and lent me proper ear. Every damn time I'd bring this up they'd all laugh and bully me into the dirt. Even mom tried to gaslight me into thinking that I'd lost my mind. Only Beckett ever entertained the possibility but even then I could tell he was just doing it to be nice as Beckett usually does.
"It's just not right what happened to them." I said, finally getting over that lump. "twenty five kids go missing and everyone forgets about it after a month?"
"It's a surprise you haven't gotten offed for the shit the you post on the main page of Cyclone."
"Somebody's got to say something." I could feel the palms of my hands getting sore from gripping the damn steering so tightly.
"Your whole Don Quixote shit doesn't really work; if Arthur Knight wants to put a rug over a turd, then there's no peeling that thing off, best you don't try."
"Are you threatening me, V?" I asked as I grit my teeth.
His expression changed. No more smirking or cheeky mannerisms. Like you just told him his dog died, V's demeanor dropped dead. "I could care less what happens to you or your himbo." He then left.
Just walked away.
The drive back to my place was even more awkward. I think I got home at about 3:32 AM. Not a school night, which was a relief since it meant I wasn't gonna risk a stroke or aneurysm from obliterating my sleep schedule. It's nice to get a few more years on my calendar, y'know? Being healthy and all that, though the only time I leave my house is when I have to go from home to school and school to home.
Speaking of home… mine wasn't the biggest or flashiest. It's one bought on the salary of an Engineer and a Police Sergeant/Detective. It was the usual place in West-End's boring Suburbia. It was a boring neighborhood to live in. But like my mom always says:"Boring is safe" And I guess that's all it took for my dad and her to move here and start a 'new' life.
As Beckett and I sneakily entered through the back porch door, I noticed it was dark as hell. I couldn't see shit so I flicked on the lights in the kitchen and it didn't take me long to notice my mom sitting there, ominously. Resting on the armchair in the far left corner, about twelve feet away from me.
For some reason she was still in her usual gray work suit, she has like twelve sets. Cup of coffee in hand and her usual stern look. She tucked her dirty blonde hair behind her and looked straight at me and then at Beckett who was hunched over behind me.
"What excuse is it this time?" She sighed, somehow sounding even more disappointed than the last six hundred times, "traffic? extra 'errands' to run?"
I gritted my teeth and tried not to lose my cool, she always takes away car privileges when I don't 'act' accordingly, "I had a thing with Beckett."
She wiggled her eyebrows at me, "A thing?"
"Miss-"
Before Beckett finished, she cut him off, raising her chin, "Please, call me Constance." She got up and took off her suit jacket. "I get enough of that uppity stuff back in the precinct."
"Constance, we were just finishing up some of our interviews for the finals' project." Said Beckett.
"I hope you did things safely."
"Uh, yeah." Stammered Beckett, "yeah we were plenty respectful to the interviewees."
Mom went over to the kitchen counter and set coffee mug near the espresso machine and started refilling. She loves that stuff. Coincidentally she happens to be one of those people who just can't function without their cup-of-Joe. As in she's a certified psycho.
She turned back to Beckett as I stood there awkwardly, "Reminds me, what are you planning to do after high school?" She took a sip, "A kid like you should have many prospects, no?"
"To be honest with you, I'm not sure." He said shyly, "I'm still considering options; especially hard when I'm getting scholarship offers left, right, up and down."
Mom chuckled as she took a long, drawn out sip from her mug. "Go upstairs; I wanna have a talk with Bridget."
He nodded and did so.
"Are you finally hitching your wagon?" She smirked. "Guy fancies you; should give him a shot."
This crap again.
"Mom, for the last time, we're not together." I insisted, "we're just friends. Really good friends."
She hung her head back, somberly as if thinking of some fond memories. I knew who she was gonna bring up.
"Your dad and I were once good friends.."
"This is entirely different." I grit my teeth. "Why would he date me, anyway?"
Mom cocked her head and gave a cheeky smile as she got close and put one hand on my shoulder. "Who wouldn't like you? You're smart, obsessive, sleuthy, agoraphobic, careless, blunt, rude and often inconsiderate; those all sound like lovely characteristics."
And here I was thinking she was hyping me up. "That's one way to show tough love, mom."
She remained silent and smiled at me. I think she had a couple glasses of wine before I got home. Looked like it, anyway. Whenever we have a sliver of closeness when it comes to conversations, she just pulls away emotionally by making some stupid, far-fetched joke about the situation or, better yet, bringing up some sore spot subject.
I went up to my room without saying anything.
Beckett was already asleep in a bedroll on the floor. I guess even he wanted to avoid contact. Or maybe he was tired from all that suspenseful shit with V. Speaking of, I couldn't get my mind off of that interaction. What's with the shades? The weird creepy behavior? I don't, at all, get what was that dude on.
I mean it read 3:44 AM on the laptop's digital clock. Temptations, temptations. To be fair, I wasn't exactly tired, nor sleepy. And it wasn't a school night. Surely a little all-nighter pulling wouldn't hurt?
I said fuck it and hopped on Cyclone again, the number one forum for 'Conspiracy' theories. It was one of those degenerate hives for morons who couldn't stand to let something slide. It's a mixed big, chock-full of actual experts in their fields and colossal virgins who look things up when prompted and pretend to be super knowledgeable in the field.
I figured I could do more reading up on this 'V' guy. I assumed I wouldn't find much on him. And I didn't. The guy's a ghost, I mean. No public records considering there are thousands of people in the city whose names could start with the letter V. Maybe it was a nickname or something. Maybe it was phonetic, as in 'Vee'?
Whatever I came up with, it's not gonna be enough. Guy seems shady enough, maybe he has a criminal record I can check? To do that, I would have to steal my mom's 'work' laptop and break into the BCPD criminal database. Even then, I'd have to scour through a sea of bullshit corporate emails to find even a lick of actionable data on him. Actionable; I need to use that word more; I saw it once one of my mom's police reports.
Even though my eyes were melting out of the sockets from the white of the screen, I felt like I could still pull through with the half-nighter. It was 4:44 AM, I finally gave up and hit the sack. I couldn't hit it any harder since I was already laying down but you get the point.