Oracle: A Story from The Reels

by Brian Ewing

  “Caden,” Sisto announced, scaring her out of her daze, “I think I found something.”

  He pulled the last set of files out and set them to the side while he gathered the collage of other folders, reports, and images currently spread across the table and replaced them into their musty cardboard home. Caden got out of her seat and went to the same side as Sisto, so they could review what Sisto had potentially found.

  Hovering over him like a vulture waiting for a meal, she impatiently asked, “What is it? You found Mr. Tattoo?”

  “I don’t know exactly but when I grabbed these last files, The Reels showed me Mr. Tattoo leaving the farm, laughing when he noticed blood and flesh scraps on his face.”

  “Sick,” Caden said, in a tone of revulsion.

  The two split the last handful of files, about two or three each, and started sifting through each of the pages and images like miners from the times of the Gold Rush. Ten minutes passed and Sisto finally saw something that halted him in his tracks. Something in one of the images gravitated him towards it, but he couldn’t pinpoint the origin. Most of the surveillance photos the FBI had taken through the years, keeping tabs on the most prominent members of organized crime like Frank Vinnova, were digitized and filed on an encrypted server at Langley. The few images in the box were donated in an attempt at inter-agency cooperation to wrap up some loose ends on some state charges after the FBI got their big fish. The pictures were from a gathering some years back, with Vinnova the obvious muse of the photographer. Some pictures had backdrops at café’s or restaurant booths with Vinnova seemingly explaining a scheme to some of his cohorts, another was a group of expensive-suited gentlemen cheering at a horse-betting racetrack, but the one that stuck out for Sisto was a background that was familiar to him.

  The photographer’s angle indicated that he was not the person the group was posing for, but nonetheless, the snapshot captured an image of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. God bless the surveillance budget the FBI submits, then passes the bill to our country’s taxpayers. The picture was of Angie’s Marina and there were about ten people standing in front of the check-in office. On top of the dark wood panels was a custom-made white logo of a sun in the background with a shadowed, white speedboat jetting out of water in front of it with its name below. Most of that logo was blocked by the proud owner with his family. Standing right in the middle was Vinnova wearing an Ocean Blue polo with the embroidered logo Angie’s Marina over the left breast. His smile, sincere or not, infuriated Sisto to the core. Knowing what he knew, Sisto saw the devil himself in disguise. Next to Vinnova was a woman in her late forties, fighting evolution and gravity with noticeable plastic surgery in her chest region, and not a wrinkle to call out, aside from very faint crow’s-feet in the corners of her eyes and faint liver spots forming on her hand that was placed across Vinnova’s protruding belly. The two were unintentionally positioned in the image to look like leaders of a kingdom. The king and queen of the Saratoga City underworld, Sisto chimed to himself. Sisto thought about the images of tyrants portrayed in paintings throughout his social studies textbooks growing up and easily drew the similarities.

  On the left side of Mrs. Vinnova stood a knock-out beauty. She was no doubt their daughter, probably Angie, sharing the same face as her mother but with more ownership of it, not needing the assistance of Botox at her current age, which Sisto guessed was only nineteen or twenty. Kneeling in front of her was a man closer to Vinnova’s age and sharing the same hairline, indicating it may have been a brother or cousin. He was wearing the same uniformed polo as Vinnova, which made sense since most organized crime is kept in house between family. Sprinkled across the front row were three little goons-in-training sitting cross-legged and plastering on fake smiles their parents threatened onto their small faces. The bookend keeping the little fuckers in one general vicinity was a slightly older girl end-capping the front row. She held that angry, hormonal scowl only a girl transitioning into puberty can deliver. Coming full circle, standing behind the pre-teen and slightly off the side was a strapping boy around high school age. The athletically built young man wore a t-shirt with no collar but sported the same color tone and emblem on the left breast pocket. The kid was built like a tank, no doubt being forced into sports at a young age, probably more for the image of the all-American family Vinnova craved to cover his misdoings, as opposed to an actual interest on the son’s part. The young man had the cookie cutter wise guy haircut, with his jet-black part forcing the majority of the hair to his right, sides kept tight and all in place with gel or hairspray. It was in the young man’s face that a chill ran down Sisto’s back. The image was at least eight years ago, being that Vinnova was still alive, but could have easily been taken a decade or longer ago. That would put the young man with cold, familiar eyes around the same age as Mr. Tattoo. Putting his finger over the boy’s nose and mouth, he stared into the eyes and knew without a doubt that he had indeed found the sadist that was taunting him to play a deadly game. He looked up at Caden, who had already been looking at the picture over his shoulder. Not needing to say a word, she grabbed the photo and left the room to get started on typing away on her computer. Sisto slowly stood, as if recovering from a blow to his solar plexus. He fell into a flash of that blood-soaked head in the trunk and the newspaper clip, but quickly blocked it. He turned out the light on his exit of Interrogation Room Two and headed to the fleet of desks to assist in the search for Mr. Tattoo.

  CHAPTER 13

  A quick half hour on the SCPD databases and Caden was able to generate and print off a good amount of information on Carson Vinnova, Frank’s heir to a broken dynasty. Sisto and Caden, famished from the onset of events taking them away from even the thought of food, took an empty manila folder on Caden’s desk and put all the papers she had printed in them so the two could go over the case while they finally replenished themselves. Feeling the need to predicate the sit-down with the statement that it was not a date, Sisto sarcastically thanked Caden for clarifying. They chose a little brewery restaurant up the road from the precinct, Chrome Canyon Brewing, that was known to keep their kitchen open late on the weekends, despite Sisto suggesting they go back to IHOP.

  “We were there less than twenty-four hours ago. I am not going there twice in one day,” Caden stated assertively.

  Shrugging off the loss, Sisto held the heavy front door open for Caden and then entered himself into the poorly-lit bar. A young hostess, visibly worn from the beating only a dinner rush on a Friday night could deliver, forced a smile and asked if they needed menus before escorting them to a corner on a two-step raised deck away from the main bar and jukebox, per Caden’s request. The girl gave Caden a menu first, and then nonchalantly penciled her fingers over the top of Sisto’s hand as she handed him his menu. Sisto didn’t have to look to know that the action hadn’t escaped Caden. Uncomfortable, Sisto politely creased his lips in an upward attempt to convey he appreciated the menu. The hostess took her dangerous, barely-legal self back to the front but not before shooting fuck-me eyes over her shoulder at him. That solidified the awkwardness from Sisto’s side of the table for the next few minutes, as Caden let him squirm.

  As the server approached, Sisto looked at Caden. “We still working tonight?”

  Putting thought into it, she decided, “Nah, I think we can go over what we got here while we eat and then call it a night. I will have to get Bell updated early tomorrow.”

  That was what he needed to hear as he immediately ordered an amber ale and a shot of Jameson when the server came and introduced himself. The certainty in his order surprised Caden, but with only a slight hesitation she informed the man with the small notepad that she would have the same. She also asked for a basket of fried pickles and chips and salsa to get started.

  Impressed as always by her appetite, Sisto asked Caden if she preferred to move over to the four-top table so they had room for her smorgasbord, to which she replied with an unflattering facial expression. The waiter introduced himself as E
ric and asked if they were ready to order or if they wanted a few minutes to review the menu. While he felt he could eat a horse and knew for a fact Caden could, they requested a few minutes to just unwind with their drinks. They both lifted their shot glasses in the air and silently toasted each other before letting the light brown liquor smoothly burn down their throats, heading towards their empty stomachs. Trying to put off the task at hand, Sisto asked Caden something personal that he had wanted to ask in the past but had never felt the timing was right.

  “What made you choose this line of work?” he blurted out, letting the Jameson speak freely.

  Caden didn’t have to think of her response as he was sure most of her family and friends had probably asked her the same over the years. “I was fourteen and went to my first high school party with a group of girls I had been friends with since fifth grade.”

  Taking a sip of the amber ale to soften the burn of Jameson in the back of her throat, she continued, “It was a kegger being held by some asshole whose parent’s had jobs that allowed them to shit money out and spend it on stupid stuff, including weekend trips that left their son to a house of his own. There were six of us girls that went and we stuck together most of the night, but as it got later and we started letting the introduction to beer set in, we eventually got caught up talking to cute boys and started drifting into smaller groups. We had never had the attention of older boys, at least I hadn’t, and it was nice. After a few hours, we tried to wrangle everyone together so we could go back to my friend Julie Ann’s house for a sleepover but couldn’t find her anywhere.”

  Hesitant to presume, Sisto raised his glass of caramel-colored ale and took a sip to stop himself from interrupting.

  “Took almost a half hour but we found her in the laundry room in between the washer and dryer, crying with her underwear balled up in her hand.”

  A look of remorse for even asking crept up on Sisto, but Caden kept trudging through the horrific memory. “Basically, she was raped by this jock, Bryce Coldwell. We called the cops, had Jenny fill out a report, and file to press charges.”

  Taking another sip of her beer and waiting to continue as Eric set down the appetizers with his pearly-white smile before attending to his other tables, she grabbed a chip and dipped it in a beer cheese while indicating for Sisto to join in. His appetite, only slightly wavering from the story he was being told, proceeded to grab a fried pickle chip and dip it in a house sauce that looked like Thousand Island dressing. The instant hit of salt and tang reminded him of how goddamn hungry he had actually been, proceeding to grab a handful of chips while Caden explained further.

  “Two weeks after Jenny made a formal complaint, the charges were dropped. Mr. and Mrs. Coldwell procured the best lawyers money could afford at the time, and intimidated Jenny’s parents along with Bryce doing his own active part to taunt Jenny at school. He had all his girlfriends give Jenny shit, calling her a slut, putting dead bugs in her locker with notes . . . stuff that only makes sense when you are a popular teen cunt.”

  Her use of the word cunt surprised Sisto, but only slightly. He was agreeing with her upon reflection of what he had heard thus far.

  “The Coldwells basically condoned their son as a rapist and bullied their way out of a conviction, driving Jenny and her mother to move as soon as winter break came about. Jenny distanced herself from everyone in our group. I had reached out numerous times, trying to connect. I found out before the end of freshman year, she tried to kill herself with pills.”

  “Fuck me.” Sisto shook his head in disgust.

  Nodding in agreement, Caden admitted, “The day I heard about Jenny, I told myself no one should ever be so powerful that they act above the law. I studied the next three years, graduated high school, went to the SCPD police academy during the day while doing online college courses to get my bachelor’s in criminal justice. Never regretted one second.”

  Silence loomed over the table until Sisto, with honest appreciation, said, “Thank you for sharing that with me, Caden. You are a great detective. SCPD is lucky to have you.”

  Expecting a slightly more playful response than the one she’d got, Caden was now the one left in silence. The two sat across from each other and examined the menu so Eric could stop hawking over there every few minutes. When he approached, Sisto ordered another round of drinks and shots for himself and Caden and then gestured to her to order. To wash down the fried pickles and chips and salsa plate, the small-statured woman with the iron stomach ordered a double patty burger, each a half-pound slab of ground beef, with white American cheese, crisp bacon, and spicy ghost pepper ranch dressing on it, followed by two sides. The first was the standard steak fries that was offered with the meal, then she ordered a half portion of the southwestern green Chile mac and cheese, practically a meal in itself. The astonishment was oozing out of Eric’s face to the point he couldn’t hide it if he tried. Looking over to Sisto and shaking a cramp out of his writing hand, his look of disappointment was visible as Sisto ordered a Philly cheesesteak with house battered onion rings.

  Appalled that it had almost slipped past her, Caden’s eyes lit up and she grabbed Eric’s forearm as he was heading back to the computer to enter the order. “I’ll take onion rings as well.”

  “Okay, sure. Did you want that instead of the steak fries?”

  Mentally assessing what was on the table currently and what she had already ordered, she said, “Yeah, okay. That works. Thank you.”

  Eric left and Caden looked back to see a grin ear-to-ear on Sisto’s face.

  “What?!”

  “Nothing,” said Sisto, comforted in the fact that he could rely on her appetite to stay on point in any situation.

  Caden pulled up the manila folder but waited for Eric to drop off the next round of drinks before diving into their findings. Dropping off the shots and drinks, Sisto couldn’t help but notice Eric’s cheesy grin was directed solely at Caden, making him wonder for a brief moment if Eric even realized Sisto was there with her. That thought caused Sisto to turn his head to the front, where he saw Fuck-Eyes looking at him with no shame to her game. Jesus, Sisto thought, how many orgies occurred here with all these horny fuckers after hours? Getting drawn away by a few guys entering the front entrance, Fuck-Eyes stopped staring and let Sisto turn back, just in time to see Eric wrapping around the corner, leaving Caden and himself to finally go over the case.

  “So, Carson is definitely trying to prove something to dear old daddy,” Caden said, looking between a paper in each hand and the one resting on top, still in the open folder. “Carson Vinnova was taken under his Uncle Jack’s wing, who was also in that picture. He has operations in Brooklyn and just happened to be visiting around the time that photo was taken. After the passing of Frank, Jack groomed Carson the same way I assume him and his brother were when they were kids. Carson got charged as an adult, when he was seventeen, for aggravated assault.”

  Sisto’s eyes raised for some reason, even though it shouldn’t have been surprising, given the memories he had intruded on earlier. “Didn’t kill him though?”

  “Not for a lack of trying,” Caden answered. “A loser with two jobs that bet on all the wrong ponies racked up a huge debt and had been dodging Jack for weeks. Carson introduced himself to the poor sap with a car jack.”

  “You mean the tire iron?” Sisto asked, puzzled.

  “No, I mean Carson went in his trunk, probably assuming the tire iron was in there, but it wasn’t, so he grabbed the jack and used the hunk of metal to fracture the man’s skull in two places, along with crushing the left orbital bone, leaving him blind in that eye.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Yep. He went to prison for only two years after Uncle Jack bought the best lawyer and probably paid off the judge too, getting the sentence reduced to a class five penalty. After getting back on the street, accompanied by some nice prison ink,” looking up at Sisto to acknowledge the vision, then back to the papers, Caden went on, “he continued to be an enforc
er until disappearing about nine months ago.”

  Doing quick math, Sisto realized that nine months ago was May, the same time Max Halstead released that article about him. Everything was slowly coming together. Carson must have seen the article and remembered Sisto from the events leading up to Frank’s death. Hell, Carson could have been in the courtroom that Sisto testified in for all he knew. That timeframe was the end of one life and the beginning of another as far as Sisto was concerned. Sisto shared the info with Caden and she agreed that the timeline fit. She had some reservations about how a common street thug could act with such precision but kept that to herself.

  “He spent the last few years in Brooklyn working for his uncle after prison. How would he find this article in a local paper?”

  The question had not crossed Sisto’s mind before that moment. “Does his mom or siblings still live here?”

  “No, after Vinnova’s death and most of their inherited protection wiped out by Boyle, Alessa Vinnova took her daughter and youngest sons and moved to Jersey to be closer to family. As far as I can tell, Carson has no ties remaining here in Saratoga City.”

  The question plagued them as they ate their meals. They ran different ideas past each other, writing down any plausible ones for Caden to pursue the next day at the office. The food was settling and the buzz increasing from the second round of drinks. The conversation organically went less work-related and by the third shot, they were talking about movies, favorite books, first kisses, and most embarrassing moments in high school. Aside from being a hard ten physically, Caden had a great personality to match. It was nice to let his guard down and have the opportunity to be genuine with her. Whether she was attracted to him in that way or not, her acceptance was a huge turn-on for him. Not many people accepted the baggage that came with being a carnival freak, as Bell had so eloquently pointed out. They had gathered a good game plan and just after midnight, asked Eric for the tab so they could pay and try to get rest. Eric dropped off the tab and Caden delved into her handbag, pulling out her folded wallet. Caden pulled out a credit card, as expected, but it wasn’t the one Sisto recognized—with the SCPD logo in the upper right corner.