How has JR able to remain untouchable?
A note in one of my old cases catches my eye.
Find D. Ask about Jose Rodriguez.
I freeze. I never followed up.
Four cases hit me back-to-back. I closed the file and moved on. Missed it.
I lean back slowly. "I guess it's time to visit that man."
The thought tightens something in my chest. Can I even face him? D isn't just a lead. He's… tied to Roberto now. To everything I've been trying not to feel.
I exhale, steadying myself. "One step at a time."
If I'm going to do this right, I start with someone easier. Someone official. Someone predictable.
PI work always crosses paths with law enforcement. Sometimes they help. Sometimes they get in the way. Most of the time, it's both. But I've learned how to make myself useful.
Useful enough to be tolerated. Useful enough to be called. A faint smirk tugs at my lips. "Detective Thompson Kane."
On one hand, Kane and I are opposites. His insistence on the laws and my bending of them whenever I see fit, his tireless lectures on doing things by the book when my job is coloring outside the lines, and his solemn seriousness sometimes annoy my sense of humor and my need to always have fun. On the other hand, we seem to be threads from the same weave. His dedication to justice and my strong belief in finding missing people who should not be forgotten brings us together in strange ways. He has saved my life a few times, and I've gotten him out of difficult situations quite a number of times. Some he's unaware of.
I type over our secured chat channel on my laptop: What do you know about Jose Rodriguez?
Kane doesn't like small talks either as evidence by his response: Ongoing or old?
Me: Maybe related to ongoing case.
Kane: Every time that name come up, it goes above my paygrade. They take everything.
Me: They? Kane: Sometimes CIA. FBI. Interpol. DEA. The acronyms.
Me: What cases have you encountered?
Kane: List is long.
Me: And? Kane: Whatever evidence, connections, or anything related to that name gets redacted, becomes classified, or disappears completely.
Me: Why?
Kane: Above my paygrade.
Me: What do you think?
Kane: He either works for us, has people in the inside, or he's a ghost like they say.
This again. Me: A ghost?
Kane: No one knows who or what he is. Some say he's black, other witness describe him as white, and finger prints data has him as some fifty years old Asian who has been dead for the last three years.
Me: Copycat? Kane: Maybe. Decoy. Ghost.
Me: Does he exists
Kane: Yes. The dead bodies he leaves in his wake makes him very much alive and dangerous. Careful, Nova.
Me: Anything in there that you can remember mentioning the word "mark"? Any clue as to what it means when JR put a 'mark' on a place or person?
Kane: Marked? No clue. No information.
Kane and I have never met. All Kane knows of me is from our chat, exchanges of evidences that are drops offs, and he thinks I'm a man named Nova Caldwell. However, I dug up everything I could find on Kane five years ago to confirm that he's a good person.
###
It's Thursday night. I knock on the door of a Chinese restaurant buried deep in a small alleyway on a side street of Chinatown that only a few privileged people know about. The alleyway is packed tonight with street food vendors, and the air is filled with the smell of fried, steamed, and mixed oriental foods that make my stomach growl. A mix of Vietnamese, Chinese, Korean, and Japanese languages is heard.
I wait in front of the side door. The big, intimidating man opening the door is the same one, D's security details, that met me on that Thursday eight years ago. Last time, he grabbed me, tied me up, blindfolded me, gagged me, and dragged me down the secret stairs that led to the basement where D waited. I was sixteen then.
This time, he lets me lead him down to D, who smiles brightly at me. His linen olive green outfits and the straw fedora-style hat make him look just as polished and well-dressed as I remember.
"Ace, you more beautiful." D takes my hand and touches it to his lips before letting go. He steps back, and the shining affection in his eyes is just as baffling to me now as it was when he realized I was Roberto's girlfriend. It makes me wonder if the only person who ever truly loved Roberto, besides me, is this man.
I'm sure he lied about Roberto. I'm almost certain he had a hand in helping Roberto disappear. D probably helped him find that awful man whom Roberto unfortunately shared blood with—a father in name only, Diego Ramirez. Through all the lies, I was never able to fully read D.
But one thing was always clear—he cared about Roberto. I avoid eye contact to contain the swelling tears. Taking a deep breath, I ask, "Who's Jose Rodriguez?" before meeting his gaze again.
D's smile instantly vanishes. He furrows his eyebrows as his eyes searches mine. "Why?" His word comes out in a quietly alarming tone. It sounds more like a warning than a question.
"Four cases–" I begin, but he interjects.
"If it involves him, don't take the case."
"Why?"
"Dangerous people, Mr. Nova Caldwell."
D addresses me using my full PI website name. I created that website after my last meeting with him six years ago. D's been keeping tabs on me. By the time, people find me on Mr. Nova Caldwell's site, they would have been vetted enough through my cybersecurity processes.
D sits down, one of his bodyguard takes out a cigarette and holds it for him. D presses it between his lips and his guard lights it up. He motions with his hand at the seat down the table. I sit. "What do you know about Jose Rodriguez?"
"How much that information worth?" The white smoke flies out with the words. Our usual dance begins. Back then, D also needed favors exchanges and values traded. There was only one time when he made an exception to this rule. It was the last time I saw him, when I asked him to go with me to confirm Roberto's burnt body. There was only enough DNA evidence and recognizable items that D and I were able to confirm it was Roberto.
"Depends on what you know, D."
"What ya looking for?"
"His drug territo—"
"Nah."
D exhales smoke.
"He ain't a drug lord."
His eyes lift to mine.
"He is the drug."
"Smuggl–"
"You ain't getting it. Without him, there ain't no drugs here or Europe. He is the whole damn thing."
This goes deeper into the criminal underground world than I suspected. How's John connected to all this?
"If he doesn't have territory, then why is certain area in LA out of reach for people like you? You're as big as they come in this state, so why is Akira Lounge-"
"He marks. Off limit."
"Why does-"
"I ain't no mind reader."
I search his eyes. He has the same look as when I asked him where Roberto was back then. D's hiding something.
"Do you know how... certain people could be connected to JR?"
"Who we talking bout?" D lifts his head up at me.
"John Bogle Jr or Nathan Most Jr."
"Don't know them."
"Thank you, D." I get up, but D's hands are on my shoulders as his eyes sear into mine.
"You listen. His mark means death. You stay away, you hear me?"
The warning in his tone are clear.
"You his executioner, D?"
"Nah. But if he calls, no one can say no. No choice."
"He's just a man, D."
"Nah. Don't know that. Some say the phantom a big group. Using one name. JR a several people. JR a made up name CIA created to keep us in line. Lots of rumors. No one knows. Whatever JR is. He power. He deaths. You stay away."
I leave D after promising to stay out of Jose Rodriguez's way.
But I'm going to dig deeper.
Whatever it takes to find Clara.