Nick was finishing up his breakfast and coffee before he had to jet out to the precinct. He had already decided he was going to look into whether Tommy was reported missing yet or possibly found (even though he was pretty sure no one's gonna find any part of Tommy, according to his memento sitting on the kitchen table, assuring him he wasn’t crazy).

  He picked up his dishes and put them in the sink for later, grabbed his leather riding jacket, memento, and keys off the hook by the door, locked up, and proceeded to his barn where he stored his bike and his dad’s old Datsun 240Z that Nick drove on occasions. As Nick climbed back on his bike for the morning ride to town, he couldn't help but appreciate the steady rhythm of the engine. The sound reminded him of a Ducati—a peaceful thrum that soothed his nerves when cruising, offering a gentle reprieve from the chaos of the night before. The crisp morning air filled his lungs as the countryside blurred by, the open road serving as his favorite escape during the daily grind.

  With every curve of the road, he tried to push thoughts of the previous night to the back of his mind. But the memento, tucked safely in his pocket, lingered like a stubborn reminder that there was no leaving it behind.

  The station was in the downtown area that tied into the historic district. It was actually on any tour guide pamphlet you’d find in hotels and gas stations on the outskirts of town.

  It used to be a very elaborate two-story library and was retrofitted as the police station for whatever reason. Guess they wanted to still use the building, and at the time, they actually needed a new station that was big enough to hold more than a desk and a drunk tank.

  After passing the miles of cow pastures and the occasional Esso or Texaco gas stations dotted here and there, Nick was about halfway to town when he was pulled out of his daydream by a bright orange light on his gauge pod. “Ugh, guess I shoulda fueled up last night before I got home,” he thought, rolling his eyes. “Oh well, Frank’s it is then.”

  Just so happens Frank’s was less than a mile and the last gas stop in the middle of nowhere before town. Frank’s also had some of the best food in town (technically on the outskirts, but you get the idea), which was why he enjoyed stopping there when he wasn’t busy, if nothing else to shoot the breeze with Frank or one of Frank’s family members that worked there.

  He coasts up to the first pump, parking his bike as he goes in. Panning the store to see who was on shift today, his pan stopped when he spotted Elis cheerfully smiling at him, giving her signature small wave from the register.

  “Howdy Nick! The usual today?”

  “Only part today, ma’am. Already had breakfast. Give me $10 on pump one and a pack of Reds, please.”

  “Elis! Is that Nick out there? Ask ’em if he wants the usual!” Frank, hearing his wife talking to Nick, hollers from the kitchen.

  “Yeah Frank, no he said not today!”

  “A’ight!” Frank replied, going back to his kitchen duties.

  Elis grabs Nick’s usual pack of smokes and keys up the pump while they make small talk. He hands her the money for the cigs and fuel. They say their goodbyes, and he’s out the door to go fuel up.

  After filling up, Nick continues his cruise, passing more fields of hay bales and several fields with herds of cattle. Beef and dairy were the main exports of the town, just to give an idea of how laid-back it can be. That being said, the only issues out of the ordinary were some of the crime spilling over from the nearby city. Hence, the remodeled library/police station that happened about five years back.

  Passing the Nailers general store, which marked the downtown area, meant that he wasn’t far from his destination. He pulled into the entryway, pulled his badge out of his pocket to scan for the gate. He was rewarded with a faint beep and a green light before the gate started to roll up. He then made his way into the underground employee parking garage.

  Getting off his bike, Nick heads to the elevator that leads to the investigation office for the detectives. He’s just glad he didn’t get stuck in a cubicle, but since there were only two detectives, they were given the large broom closet that was converted to an office.

  When he reaches for the office door, he notices the small double name plaque next to the door that was etched “Investigations Dept.” Paused, he looked again, “Ugh, haha funny Adam.” (Office of Dick Nixon & Adam McFarlane) Someone was having a bit of fun swapping letters around, and it didn’t take a detective to figure out who.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “Mornin’, Dick,” Adam said, peeking from the other side of his newspaper with a smirk.

  “Very funny, asshole.”

  “I know, right?” Adam retorted. “Soooooo, how’d it go?”

  “How what go?” Nick responded as he was hanging his jacket and helmet on the rack before going to his desk.

  “Didn’t you have some leads to look into last night on the Menendez case?”

  “It was a dead end.”

  Adam flipped his paper down and looked at Nick with a raised eyebrow. “Oh? I thought you had a solid lead with a person of interest or info?”

  “Like I said, dead end.”

  “Fine, if you don’t wanna talk shop at work, then I won’t pry.”

  “Ha! You not prying, you should use that as your opening act.”

  “You know, before I was so rudely interrupted, someone dropped off a package for you.”

  Nick then returned the raised eyebrow back to Adam.

  “It’s too early for the mail to run….” Adam folds his paper, sets it to the side, and kicks back in his desk chair, sipping his coffee.

  “It was a lady, real cute too, just your type.”

  Nick gives Adam an unamused flat expression.

  “What?” Adam asks innocently.

  “I’m waiting for you to make a crack about my type being something along the lines of having a pulse and believing Frank’s is fine dining, which in my opinion, they should be, to Frank and Ellis’s defense.”

  Adam tries not to choke or spit his coffee out, giving Nick a give-me-a-minute hand signal until he choked down his sip without too much error.

  “As much as I agree with everything you just said, no, that’s not what I meant. You’re not exactly subtle at who or what you look at. This one was dressed odd; you don’t see too many skateboarder goth types around these parts, but what do I know. But man, she had all the fat in the most wondrous of places,” Adam mused in a joking manner. “I don’t know how she got such a thick and toned body, not to mention she was a redhead. That’s even rarer around here than a skateboarder goth.”

  “Wait, a redhead?”

  “Yes, and a damn fine filly at that.”

  Nick’s mind froze over for a moment, recalling Tiffany from the party. “It couldn’t possibly be her from the party, could it? Why? How did she know where to find me?” He was thinking to himself when Adam interrupted his daydream.

  “Hey, you okay? You left the building for dreamland when I started talking about that girl.”

  “Sorry, it was just a late night last night.”

  “Suuuuure it was. Get your mind outta the gutter; here.”

  He leans to his desk, fishes the padded envelope off his desk, flinging it to his work buddy.

  Nick catches the flung parcel before sitting down at his desk. “Did she give a name or anything?”

  “No, she just seemed really sweet, plus what I've already told you. Oh! She did ask if Dick Nixon was Nick Dixon,” Adam said with a grin.

  “Fuck you, Adam,” Nick retorted, rubbing his forehead with his right index finger and thumb.

  “You’re not my type. She, on the other hand, would pass. Besides, you’d have to do more than just wine and dine me at Frank’s, ya cheap bastard,” Adam replied with a chuckle.

  Nick starts to tear the envelope. “You can be a real bastard when you want to be.”

  Adam just smiles from his coffee. “I aim to please. Besides, I was always told to stick with what I’m good at.”

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re too good at your job?”

  “All the time,” Adam replied, nodding and raising his coffee mug in a cheers kind of way.

  Nick tilted the envelope, and a card dropped into his hand. It was a driver’s license, spotted with blood. He read the name silently: Tommy Penske. His breath hitched as his hands instinctively clenched the card, his color draining as his mind froze over. It couldn’t possibly be her from the party, could it? Tiffany. Why? How did she know where to find him?

  The carved message on the back snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts: “Old East Playground, 8:00pm tonight ?.” The heart almost made him laugh, but there was no humor in it. His gut twisted as his instincts whispered a warning—this had trap written all over it. He’d seen enough setups in his time to know better than to walk into one unprepared.