Chapter Fourteen

Priety looked around trying to see a way out but she was under a spotlight on the floor. Everything around her was in blackness and she felt as though on the edge of the world, alone, without Luke and wanted to cry. Her mind flashed back to the last time she felt that way. Her parents had just died and all she could do for days on end was sit in a corner, curled up in a ball and sob.

It was a horrendous time in her life, a time she never wanted to revisit but this sick, evil person made her live it all over again. Taking a deep breath, she glanced around again hoping the darkness would vanish and she would see her captor, but that didn't work. She started thinking of happy times. How she felt when Luke thought he hurt her during their love making. Since her parents' death, the only person that cared deeply for her was Kerry.

“Oh God,” Priety whispered as she remembered her friend. She knew Kerry must be worried sick. Priety hadn't called her since that night at her house. She feared her phone call to Kerry would lead the killer to her friend's door.

Happy times.

It was her tenth birthday when her father bought her a yellow balloon because he couldn't afford to buy her anything else. Priety thought back to the day and how sad her father was. But Priety was happy just to have the floating object. She took the strings, kissed her father on the cheek and then took off across the yard with the balloon floating above her. She remembered laughing and giggling as the balloon bopped along with her. For it was bright yellow with birthday girl on it.

But then it popped.

A loud bang sound that caused Priety to jump so many years later and whimper as sadness coursed through her body at the loss of her gift.

Happy thoughts.

The first time Luke kissed her in his office. Sparks turned her body into a live fireworks show that made her moan and melt against his body. Her toes curled at the mere thought of his large, chocolate lips taking hers and she wanted to have him again no matter the danger.

Happy thoughts.

Luke loved her. Priety knew that but he hadn't said the words. He hadn't formally told her, but she could tell by the way he touched her; softly, gently, lovingly. She remembered the way he stroked her hair as though she would break, and then reared up from the bed just to take her lips.

But then he had to go.

Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts.

* * * *

Lombardi Street was the high street of Edison. The place was filled with high-rollers, shot callers, and wanna-be gangsters. The street was lined on both sides with luxury cars, some of which weren't even on the market for regular people yet. Lombardi Street was filled with the Hollywood type.

It was the busy street that had all the posh hotels, the thousand dollar dinner restaurants and the expensive barbers. Luke remembered going in for a hair cut when he was fifteen and his father dropped three hundred dollars on one hair cut for him. They had the money but Luke didn't see the point. The hair was only going to grow back. His father said, “Son, when you get my age, you learn that you can't take it with you.”

The street made him uneasy. There were too many lights. He got the feeling of no privacy. The place was like Vegas on steroids and he growled.

“Let's find this guy and get outta here,” Luke said to Michel who was looking around as he was trained to do. “See it?”

“Nah—is that it?” Michel pointed and Luke glanced down at the paper in his hand and folded it up. Shoving it into his pocket he nodded and they dodged through traffic to the other side. One car almost slammed into Luke. He brought a fist down on the hood of the car and glared at the driver with enough fury to cause the man to reverse the car and drive away in a hurry.

Ducking into the tattoo parlor, a blonde woman walked over to them. “Welcome, are you gentlemen looking for a tat?”

Luke was looking around even as he pulled out his badge and held it up. “We're looking for the person that did this.” Luke held up the piece of paper. He could see the fear in the woman's eyes and Luke felt Michel press in closer.

“Who did it?” Michel questioned and the woman pointed.

Holding up their badges, Luke took a deep breath. “Everybody out!” he yelled.

When no one moved Luke wanted to howl. He was beyond losing his patience and those not co-operating were only making it worse. He decided to ask nicely by pulling out his gun. “Please.”

They may have been hard of hearing but a black man waving a gun in posh Edison got people's attention; cop or not. People started screaming and tearing for the door.”The gun they get,” Luke shook his head.

The man made a dash for the door but Michel stuck a foot out and tripped him, “Where you going, Skippy?” Michel questioned as he reached down and hauled the portly man to his feet. “Hang around a while. We need to chat.”

Luke watched as Michel shoved the man into a chair causing it to wobble before settling back on its legs. He re-holstered his gun and walked calmly over to the door to lock it.

“Wh-what do you want?” the man questioned but no one answered. Luke was walking back to him and Michel hopped onto the counter.

“Okay, listen up,” Luke said. He knew the scowl on his face said it all; his mood, his temper, his impatience. “I am a man with very little tolerance for lying; especially when someone I care about is in danger. Understand?”

The man nodded.

“Good.” Luke held up the paper. “Did you do this?”

Again the man nodded.

“Who got it?”

The man glanced over at Michel. “Small tolerance,” Michel reminded him by holding up his pinky finger.

“Some cop,” the man wheezed. His face turned bright red and from somewhere deep inside Luke’s subconscious he knew a human being should not be that color but he didn’t care.

“Do you understand how many cops there are in this city...this town alone?” Michel inquired from his perch.

“Be specific.” Luke pushed through gritted teeth.

“Look, I never got his name. He just said he wanted the tat to remember his mother. Actually he got two tats that day. That one and one set on his chest. I kinda thought it was odd that he got two eyes tattooed to his chest to remember his mother, but I did it. He paid cash and only came back once for a touch up about two weeks ago.”

Silently, Luke nodded while his mind traveled. “Describe him.”

“Short, about 5'7”, on the chubby side, slightly balding....brown hair, looks Chinese—yah Chinese. I remember wondering how come a Chinese man had brown hair.”

Michel and Luke looked at each other. Luke said nothing but Michel arched a brow. “No way.”

Before Luke could react, sirens could be heard in the distance and Michel was off the counter. The two left the building and made their way down the sidewalk, and made a left onto another street. They wanted to be long gone before the cops came into view of the tattoo parlor.

“There is no way,” Michel repeated as they pushed into the hunting goods store. The small building looked run down and out of place for a street where nothing costs less than three hundred bucks.

“Let's see what this guy has to say,” Luke spoke but his mind wandered to their recent discovery. It could have been a huge coincidence but Luke knew that in his line of work, coincidences are few and far between.

Tiny bells jangled above his head and the dirty looking man at the counter looked up to face them. “Can I 'elp you?” the man questioned closing his newspaper.

Luke got busy looking through the cabinet of knifes while Michel questioned their store-keeper. Luke stopped and stared. “Can I see that?” He pointed to a particular knife.

“Yo' 'ave good taste,” the man bared his teeth like a hyena ready to pounce. He removed the blade from the case and handed it to Luke. “This is the Buckskin trader stag hunting knife. It can skin anything you catch out there in the wild. It's designed to cut smoothly and take pressure off ya wrist. The blade, look how thick and heavy the spine is. It has a five inch blade...amazing.”

“How long have you owned this place?” Luke asked, examining the blade.

“Forever...ma grand-papi started it; passed it down to ma papi, who gave it to me.”

“Throughout the years how many of these, would you say, have sold?” Luke wanted to know as he placed the blade on the counter.

“Not many. My papi always comes home with this big grin on his face when he finally sells one because they’re so expensive and you can’t really use them for everything—just skinning the big things. I don’t know if this would mean anything, since you asked. But about twenty five years ago I remember ma papi saying some punk kid bought one once...” the man leaned against the counter. “He remembered because the boy was whistling as he left. Scrawny looking kid, with brown hair, his eyes sunk in like he hadn't slept in years. Papi said he was shocked because he thought the knife was bigger than the kid.”

“He would stand out to me too.” Michel sighed and turned to face Luke.

“Tell me,” Luke was almost afraid to ask the question. “Was he white, Indian, black—did he say? Would you remember?”

“Chinese. I remember because it was the first time in my life I’ve ever heard him use a racist term...” The man had a frown on his face. It was clear he disapproved of racism and Luke had to appreciate that but at the same time, his worse fears came through.

       “Oh damn,” Luke muttered and both he and Michel tore from the store to where they parked their car. Luke was on his cell phone to his brother.

“Keegan, it's Luke.” Luke tossed the keys over the top of the car and Michel caught them before he hopped into the driver's seat and turned on the ignition. “Bro, I know who has Priety...”

“Who is it?”

Luke paused to put on his seat belt before replying to his brother's question, “It's Chen!”

“Oh hell no!”