Quintic
Authors: V. P. Trick
Tags: #police, #detective, #diner, #writer, #hacker, #rain, #sleuth, #cops, #strip clubs
Quintic
Copyright 2016 Vega P. Trick
Published by Vega P. Trick at
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Thank you for respecting the hard work
of this author.
More than a pastime,
a passion
,
more than a passion,
a life. Thanks
, girls.
Chris, teamwork
and other things
Get set, or
MacLaren’s longest hour
T
he weekend was going
well so far. Really well. A weekend spent at Christopher’s place, a
weekend of mere teasing, without one heated discussion, fight or
argument. Her place was roomy enough for a twosome once in a while,
but since they had not planned on staying in bed all weekend, his
place was better.
First of
all, it was easier for him to cook break
fast in his kitchen. She smiled at the thought. She liked
his breakfasts. She ate cereals at her hotel, but a plate of
specialty bacon, sausages and eggs at his place was grand,
especially with those thick slices of
baguette
bread he had
bought. The leftover bread had made delicious
pain doré
this
morning; the French recipe was her contribution to the
breakfast.
Patricia’s
contented smile grew wider. If it wasn’t for their personalities,
or temper, mostly his she thought; their work, his and hers; her
peculiar past which she was trying very hard to keep in the past
(with less and less success); if it wasn’t for all of that, but
mostly for his wanting to take charge, solve everything and protect
her, their relationship would be perfect. If it weren’t for the
rest of the world and well, the two of them, their relationship
would be perfect.
She sighed
lightly, her smile fading a little. She felt Christopher’s eyes on
her as if he was trying to follow her silent trail of thoughts. He
had the interrogative eyebrow raised and a small smirk lingered on
his lips. She kept on staring at the scenery as they drove
on.
S
he liked small art galleries
like the one they had visited north of the city. They were heading
back to the city, and the drive through the suburbs was pleasant.
How a guy she found at times so infuriating she could find so
charming was still a mystery and as always, she forced herself not
to think about it. Now was not a good time. It never was, but
especially now since he was sitting right next to her.
His forearm
brushed against her knee when he shifted gear. Good thing she was
wearing that short skirt, she enjoyed his feather touch. The scent
of his cologne drifted to her. She sighed again as she realised he
was trying (successfully so) to arouse her. With the late afternoon
traffic, they had an hour at least before her hotel, more if they
went back to his place.
“
Want to
stop some place for coffee?” He asked. “I know a cosy coffee shop a
couple of streets out the next exit.”
If she
turned her head and looked at him, she would find him smiling at
her with that sexy crooked grin of his. The grin either meant he
was about to trick her, pick a fight,
talk
as he called it, or
touch her. She sighed again. Mixed feelings.
“
It’s right
next to this little park, your kind of place, Angel.” The man was
so sure of himself.
Still, she
felt something close to contentment. He could always tell, of
course; it was one of the things they had learned about each other.
Their bodies never failed to react to one another, his often a few
paces ahead of hers. She took a deep breath and was about to reply
when the phone rang.
His mobile
phone had three ringtones. One for official police business, he
rarely answered that one. The second for the
important-but-not-life-threatening business, only the team, close
friends and she had that number. The third ringtone was for
life-or-death. This time, it was an important but not deadly type
of call. His turn to sigh. He smiled at her softly.
“
Once again
saved by the bell, Darling of mine. I still intend to take you to
that park.” He picked up his phone. “MacLaren.” He grew serious as
he listened, his contribution to the conversation minimal as usual.
“Where?” “When?” and “We’ll be there in fifteen
minutes.”
It
appear
ed the detour by the park was not
going to happen and the weekend was now over.
The shabby
motel was a short drive from the exit. It looked old and
out-of-place, an out-of-date leftover from the fifties. The long,
low building was way at the back of an unnecessarily broad parking
lot sprawling between the building and the street. On each side, a
useless fence protected the lot and the buildings, the fence
seemingly continuing in the back. Included in the gated area, on
the left of the parking lot, sat a small one-storey cube of a house
bearing the name
Office
.
An old diner
long since closed down bracketed the right side of the lot. Sitting
at the dead end of a low-income family neighbourhood, rows of small
greying houses surrounded the motel and its companion buildings.
The motel’s backyard was a vast land of emptiness except for the
freeway overpass made blurry by the distance. The few cars parked
on the street were old and rusty. Among them, an old black Impala
stood out on the opposite side of the street, the wide vehicle a
boat run aground, a souvenir from way back that fitted right in
with the motel’s
décor
.
The
motel
parking lot was empty except for a
red Corvette and six police blue and white cruisers, one parked
next to the office, one next to the diner and the four other side
by side next to the rooms and the Corvette. Christopher turned into
the parking lot, drove straight up to the rooms in the back and
parked next to the Corvette.
He smiled as
he turned to her.
“This shouldn’t take
long.” Right, like it never does, she thought. “You can wait in the
car if you like. Or I can have someone drive you back to my
place.”
Either way, I will be
waiting for you, Big guy
. Not good. “I
think you should wait in the car.” Right again, she thought, like I
always do. Not.
“
I’d rather
walk around outside,” she answered back with an innocent
smile.
He frowned
then shrugged. She
sat as he got out and
walked to her door. Hand extended, he opened the car door and
leaned in to help her out. How she so liked those old-fashioned
courtesies!
When she was
up next to him, he smiled again. “Try not to get into trouble,
Angel of mine.” Like all previous troubles were her fault. Really.
Who went out of their ways to find trouble? Certainly not
her.
“Not to worry, I won’t even go
near whatever you came to see.”
While they
were studying at each other, a young cop standing watch had gone in
the first room at the left end of the motel. He was now coming out
with an older cop. They both walked over to introduce
themselves.
“
Chief
Officer Floyd.” The older man extended his hand. “You must be
MacLaren?”
“Chief Officer Chris James
MacLaren.”
She figured
the old Chief Officer Floyd to be the Corvette man. He was
not
too discreetly wearing a toupee.
Someone should tell him he’d look sexier without it.
“Thanks for coming, MacLaren.
Appreciate it. This is Officer Charles.”
The men
shook hands before turning to her. “Pleased to meet you, Floyd.
Charles.” She shook their hands. “I’m Patricia.” Prudence told her
to leave out her job title. Not their business anyway.
Since
Christopher failed to provide the missing information such as her
rank or her role, both officers looked her over with annoyed
curiosity. It didn’t improve the men’s disposition when Christopher
ordered junior Officer Charles to stay with her and keep her away
from the rooms. The Big guy was infuriating!
“
Chief
Officer MacLaren, this is absolutely unnecessary,” she snapped
back. “I can assure you I have no intention whatsoever of going
anywhere near that room.” She was angry, and she wanted to make
sure he knew it. Childish. So what if he did not want her to go
inside, she had no intention to snoop around, so he didn’t need to
have her babysit by some cop. Again.
He went
inside with a
lazy shrug and Corvette
Floyd while she stayed outside in the sun with Charles the
rookie.
Patricia at the
Motel
J
unior Officer Charles did not
look happy. He also looked brand-new. Patricia didn’t give him more
than two years on the job. He had probably left his countryside
with dreams of making it to the big city. Had he worked with the
local police in the hopes of, one day, he would become a detective
like his childhood heroes? Didn’t they all? Probably this was his
first dead body, and he had to babysit some− She didn’t complete
Charles’s imaginary thoughts. Since Christopher had left her
standing in the middle of a dried-out parking lot with some kiddie
cop, Patricia decided she was going to make a new friend, perhaps
even flirt a little.
She
took
off her sunglasses, looked up and
smiled at Charles. “How about we take a walk in the shades along
the motel building?” She took his arm as she talked and started
walking, a well-practised move, without waiting for his
assent.
“
Is it a
gruesome crime scene?” Silly question, all crime scenes were
horrible. “Six police cruisers seem excessive for the
neighbourhood, is it not? Although I don’t know much about securing
a crime scene. And what are your responsibilities here, Charles?
Can I call you Charles?”
Charles’s
mind seemed to have frozen upon her taking his arm; he looked both
silly and very in charge but barely managed to walk along with her
without stepping on his own feet.
Hence, they
slowly walked as Patricia talked, teased and smiled. Charles gave
back monosyllabic answers as if he did not know what to do with her
but felt flattered to have her undivided attention. Cops were so
easily manipulated, weren’t they? Well, all except one, most
infuriating.