The Silver Lake Murder

by Gregg Matthews

  “Can I help you, Sir?”

  “Number 7 to go.”

  “Yes, sir. Anything else?”

  “No.”

  “$9.99, please. The meal will be ready in five minutes.”

  Handing the man, a ten-dollar bill, he can hear his stomach groan again. He wants to introduce himself but can see the man is busy with the dinner crowd. He gives it a try.

  “Blake Rivers. I am opening Rivers Tattoo shop two doors down,” Blake says over the noise of the dinner crowd.

  “Excellent. My name is Lu Xu. If you need any laborers, let me know. I hope we can talk at a more appropriate time. I have my hands full with the dinner crowd, as you can see,” Lu says over the noise of the dinner crowd.

  “OK, Lu.”

  He and Lu shake hands, and Lu quickly fades into the restaurant’s kitchen. In less than five minutes, a different Chinese man comes out and hands him a brown bag with a Styrofoam container in it.

  Exiting the restaurant, he walks down to the water’s edge, where there are several picnic tables. He looks out over the lake, still trying to process the last few days in his mind. The two big events, one: he cannot find his girlfriend Rose, two: he saw his childhood friend, Cindy Flynn, lying dead in the street.

  The reflections from the lights of the houses and buildings around the lake jet out over the water, giving it an orange and yellow glowing color. From here, he can see Little Rock Island in the middle of the lake. The slight glow of a bonfire is starting to show its strength. He assumes a small amount of people are starting to gather around the fire. He assumes he knows all the people at the fire, or he knows someone they know.

  He can see a few small wooden rowboats anchored on the shore. He can see more small wooden boats in different parts of the lake, all rowing in the direction of the island. If he had access to a small wooden boat, he would row out to the island himself. He is too tired for rowing right now; he needs rest. Small fragments of post-July 4th fireworks race across the sky in front of the stars and moon. The sky is telling him nightfall is approaching.

  Consuming the number seven, he is surprised by the quality of the food. He takes the brown bag and Styrofoam container and throws them into the sixty-gallon drum next to the picnic table.

  Night has fallen, and he makes his way to the back seat of his car and falls asleep as soon as his body collapses into the leather seats. He is too tired to set up a place to sleep in the new building, so tonight, the back seat will do. Trying to fall asleep, he cannot help but think about how he ended up back here in Silver Lake.

  His mind drifts off thinking about Rose, he wonders if he will see her again. Was it a mistake coming back here to look for her? Too soon to tell. Priority one, he needs to get the Tattoo shop up and running ASAP to get some money flowing. Without money, there is nothing he can do for anyone. Next, he needs to find his girlfriend, Rose. Did she leave New Orleans and come back home to Silver Lake? He wonders if she is here. If she is here, it sure doesn’t feel like she is. Next, he needs to find out what the hell happened to his childhood friend Cindy Flynn. How did she end up dead in the streets of Silver Lake? Who is responsible for her death? Who is he going to make pay for what they did to her?

  CHAPTER 4

  Blake squints his eyes, fighting off the glaring sunshine from the backseat of his car. Waking up the next day, he realizes he is back in Silver Lake. The perspiration on his body is already present. From the weather app on his smartphone, he can see today is projected to be a hot summer day. Half asleep, he gets out of the back seat of his car and walks around to the trunk. Opening the trunk, he quickly changes out of the clothes he is wearing.

  Walking down to the water’s edge with flip flops on his feet, cutoff jeans shorts, and a towel in his right hand. Gingerly he walks out onto the small wooden dock; he can hear the old dock flex and groan as he walks across the top of it. The dock has a couple of small wooden rowboats tied to it; he hangs the towel on one of the posts and dives head-first into the smooth, clear lake water.

  The cooling sensation ripples through the core of his body as he swims deeper underwater. He opens his eyes and can see the dull ray of sunlight shining through the clean, clear water. He stretches his arms and legs out as far as he can. Rising to the surface, he floats on his back on top of the water to rest and catch his breath. The warm sun flows across his body. Swimming in the lake makes him feel at home. Swimming out to one of the boat moorings and back lets him know he is in decent condition. Floating on his back again, he can feel the warm sunlight hit his face. He floats on his back for a little while. Silver Lake is a quiet and peaceful place this morning. The quiet and peace reminds him what it was like growing up here.

  Feeling a slight tug and a sting on his right leg, he quickly swims to shore. Climbing out of the water, he can see the red blood coming from his leg. Realizing it’s been a while, but he is sure he was bitten by an eel. He is quickly reminded the lake is a beautiful place, but it can be dangerous too.

  Walking back to the trunk of his car. He moves a lot of his personal belongings from the trunk of his car to inside the shop. He was too tired to do it last night. He takes a shower, washing the lake water from his hair and body. He gets dressed and ready for the new day: Old brown leather cowboy boots, jeans, a two-inch-wide belt, and a wife beater T-shirt. He needs to have a talk with his neighbor at the K-9 Academy.

  Walking out the front door of Rivers Tattoo, he goes one door up and steps inside the K-9 Academy. The bell above the door rings a few times. The smell of wet dog is

  prevalent in this shop too. He can see someone is shuffling about the store with multiple dogs barking. He watches as a man with a military brown hair cut. Muscular body, small frame, black military boots, jeans, a green T-shirt, and dog tags. His face is tanned. His teeth, when he smiles, show gaps and decay. His old friend is standing in front of him.

  “Blake?”

  “Kevin?”

  Kevin quickly extends his right hand. Blake does the same. The two of them shakehands.

  “Hey, Blake. It’s been a while?”

  “Hey, Kevin. Yes, a few years.”

  He and Kevin get settled into the seats at the entrance of the store. The seats are for people to sit and wait for their dogs. The two of them take a seat. He holds it in as long as he can, he blurts it out.

  “Kevin, have you seen Rose?”

  “Nope, it’s been years.”

  Blake listens as Kevin explains how he was in the Marines for several years after high school. The Marines is where he learned about training dogs. After his time in the military was up, he came back here to Silver Lake. He started a business called the Barking Boutique. The business was to wash, clean, and take care of dogs. He changed the business to the K-9 Academy, which is focused on training people’s everyday dogs. It also trains Guard dogs. This business is more aligned with his skills from the military. He does most of the classes for people and their dogs down by the water’s edge over by the clear green grass area. He will also go to businesses with guard dogs and train them on site.

  “Thanks for leaving the mess next door, man.”

  “Sorry, Blake. Eleonor told me I had until the weekend to clean it.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I filled the dumpster yesterday. I am trying to open my new tattoo shop as fast as I can. I need to make some money.”

  “I understand, Blake.”

  Watching as Kevin gets up and begins to move his feet and walk towards the barking dogs, he wraps up the visit.

  “Kevin, can I borrow your Wi-Fi password?” Blake shouts over the barking dogs.

  “Sure, no problem,” Kevin says, walking back, handing him a piece of paper.

  Taking the piece of paper from Kevin, he reads it:

  Username: K-9 Academy,

  Password: WoofwoofK9.

  “Thanks, Kevin,” Blake says, smiling.

  “Yes, Blake. If you need any help with any kind of dog training, let me know.”

  “I will. Thank
s again.”

  Blake walks back to Rivers Tattoo; he sees an older pickup truck in the parking lot close to the front of his shop. The truck is rusted out but maintains the color blue. In the bed of the truck, there are several signs of different shapes and colors sticking up and hanging out the back. He also sees a man hanging a sign over his storefront. A white sign with black letters spelling out Rivers Tattoo Shop. He realizes after talking to Eleanor

  this is the way things work around here. He doesn’t say anything to the man hanging the sign.

  Walking into the shop, he goes into the alley where he saw a folding chair next to the back of the building yesterday and grabs it. He sets the folding chair up and goes back into the alley to look through the rubbish in the dumpster, he pulls out a small folding table. The table and chair will be his starting point. He goes to his black backpack and pulls out his laptop, logs into the internet using the K-9 Academy username and password to begin looking for his first tattooing workstation.

  The local listings will quickly get him the massage-table, barbers-chair, setup for tattooing. He has all the tools he needs in a carrying case traveler setup on wheels. He does need some supplies. Ink and all the cleaning chemicals for the body as well as a workstation. He logs into www.worlwidetattoosupply.com and puts in a big order. He has an account with this distributor and pays his bill at the end of every month.

  Exchanging a couple of texts with the person online advertising a used massage-table and barber’s chair for sale, he quickly settles on the price. He punches the address into his smartphone maps-app.

  Quickly getting into his car, he drives north on Route 38. He twists and turns his way in the roads, listening to the direction from the GPS, he arrives at his destination, and he pulls the car around the back of the old barbershop. He gets out of the car, walks around the front of the shop and into the front door.

  There is an older gentleman reading the newspaper in the empty shop. He pulls the paper down and puts it on the chair next to him. He stands up and walks toward the front door. The gentleman is smartly dressed. He is wearing shiny black shoes, black dress pants, and a clean white barbers’ smock. He is in good physical condition; his hair is cut short, not one hair is out of place.

  “Hey, are you Paul?”

  “Yes, are you Blake?”

  Blake and Paul walk to the back of the shop. Paul waves him towards a side room. The light is switched on. There are several old barbers’ chairs in various stages of repair, and a few of them are being re-upholstered. To the right of the chairs, there are a few massage tables, needing to be re-upholstered as well.

  “They’re not in great shape, but the quality and brand-names are the best you will find. You do the work to re-upholster them, and you will have a great buy,” Paul says.

  “Great.”

  After some simple negotiation on the price, the deal for one each is made. Loading the barber’s chair in the trunk first, the massage table next. He grabs a rope, using it to secure the trunk closed.

  “Thanks, Paul. I may be back for more.”

  “Great, you have your own barbershop?”

  “Tattoo shop.”

  “Where is your shop?”

  “Silver Lake, Shady Lane.”

  “Tough area, something happened there recently. I was reading about it in the paper.”

  “Yes, have you heard anything about what happened?” Blake says.

  “No, my customers talk about sports.”

  “Right,” Blake says, ending the conversation.

  Soon he is driving down Route 38 back to Shady Lane with an open trunk tied down, rope exposing the purchased used furniture. Stopping the car after reading the sign Big Joe’s Sub Shop, he settles on a large Italian with everything on it to go. He quickly gets back to the shop, consumes the submarine sandwich, and gets right to work.

  Taking most of the day, he works until he has one workstation up and running. With one barber’s chair, one massage table, and his tattoo needles and ink on the folding table, Rivers Tattoo shop is officially open for business.

  Looking around the inside of the shop, he still needs to paint the walls and clean the floors, but if he had to, he is able to take a customer and make some money. His first thought is to try to hire a local, to do the cleaning and painting. Someone who might help him understand what is going on in Silver Lake. He hangs the certificates he needs from the town up on the wall for people to see. He has his website up and running from before the hurricane, www.riverstattooshop.com, and is able to process paying customers with credit cards. He prefers customers who pay in cash. He emails his web developer, and she makes the necessary address changes from New Orleans to Boston on the website.

  Surprisingly, a couple of local customers looking for ink are sitting on the step-in front of the shop. Opening the front door, he lets them know he is ready.

  “Come on in, guys.”

  “OK, we were not sure if you were open,” one of the young men says.

  “Yes, I’m open,” Blake says, hanging the Open sign on the front door.

  “Cool,” one of the young men says, looking at his friend.

  Taking the time to discuss what each customer wants; he does the best he can to design the two different stencils. He applies the stencil to the first young man’s shoulder. He has to hold up a small hand mirror for the customer.

  “Looks good, OK?” Blake says.

  “Yes,” the young man says nervously.

  “Stay still, and I will get this done quickly.”

  “OK.”

  The buzzing sound of the tattoo needle begins. One at a time, he processes the two young men through the shop. Pressing the wad of cash in his right front pocket makes him think the money is beginning to flow. He can now start to refocus on what he saw when he first drove back into town.

  Night has fallen. It has been a very good and productive day. He logs into his computer and checks the local obituary listings. Fitzgerald’s Funeral Parlor Route 38 Silver Lake announcements: Cindy Flynn.

  CHAPTER 5

  Blake showers up after working all day and gets dressed. He puts on his usual clothes, plus, a clean button-up shirt and sportscoat he retrieved from the trunk of his car. Driving along Route 38, he sees the new sign to his left, Welcome to Silver Lake. He cannot erase the memories from his mind, picturing Cindy Flynn’s beaten and bloodied body lying dead under the sign. It sends chills up and down his spine. The memory of her is going to be with him for a long time.

  His temper flairs, he again makes a promise to himself, he is going to find out who is responsible for killing her. He is going to make sure he delivers his own version of Silver Lake justice to the person or persons responsible for killing her.

  Revenge will happen at a later date and time. Tonight, he needs to pay his respects to Cindy and her family. Driving past the front of the lake, he looks to the left and can see the sun hanging high over the lake water. In a few hours, the sun will set.

  After driving past the lake, he looks to the left, where he sees the old familiar fencing. The area next to the lake is surrounded by old heavy wrought iron fencing. The fence is at least six feet high. The way into the area is through the main entrance. The main entrance has two stone pillars on either side. The stone pillars are twenty feet high and ten feet in circumference. Across the top of the pillars, there is more wrought iron fencing arching across the top of the two pilers over the main entrance. Looking over the main entrance, he reads the white lettered sign, Silver Lake Cemetery. He keeps driving.

  Across the street from the cemetery, an old wooden sign white with gold peeling letters spells out Fitzgerald’s Funeral Parlor. He tries to pull into the parking lot on the right side of the road and soon realizes there are no open parking spots. He quickly exits and parks in front of the furthest car on the right-side shoulder of Route 38. He takes his time walking down Route 38 to the funeral parlor.

  The line of people wraps around the big, old Victorian house with several garages i
n the back with several older hearses and limousines parked. The funeral parlors main room is on the first floor. The embalming and preparation of the dead bodies is done in the basement. The Fitzgerald family members live on the second and third floors. He went to school with one of the kids, Colleen Fitzgerald. Colleen grew up in this house, and over the years Blake has been in every room of the house. He has no choice; he has to wait inthe long line of people and show his face.

  Waiting in line, he can see people from years ago turning and looking in his direction. He hears his name, Blake Rivers, being passed up the line. The line moves slowly; he watches as the setting sun on the back of the lake fades, and a dark-gray dusk is consuming the sky over the lake area. He keeps creeping forward in the line until he sees a doorway. Struggling to look inside to see what’s going on is unsuccessful.

  After an hour or so, he is able to step inside the funeral parlor. He can hear the sounds of a piano being played as delicately as possible. The lights are dim, and the décor is rich and lavish. The style is from years gone by. He can hear people crying and whispering. Several heads turn in his direction as he creeps up closer to the coffin.

  He sees Cindy’s face but looks away. As he does, another face comes into focus, a disheveled version of his childhood friend Billy Flynn. Billy is standing at the end of the receiving line with his mother and other family members. He steps closer to the coffin; he is next to pay his respects. He steps up and kneels down on the small altar in front of the coffin. Leaning his head forward, he closes his eyes and says the part of a prayer he can remember. Our father who art in heaven hallowed be thy name….

  As he looks deeper into the coffin, he can see Cindy’s hands are folded on her stomach. He looks behind him, and everyone seems preoccupied. He moves his head

  forward and looks closer into the coffin. He sees one of Cindy’s hands has the crude outline tattoo of a Jackal in between her thumb and index finger. He looks behind him and can see Billy staring intently at him. He stands up from the altar.