Vanished: City of Lies #1

by E. J. Larson

  “Alone?” Quinn marveled.

  “No,” Finch replied with a laugh. “I have a team of five employees helping me. This area wouldn't be manageable on my own.”

  “Quinn's new in town. We went picnicking up by the oaks last Sunday,” Amber continued to explain.

  “Red oaks,” he corrected routinely, as he motioned for his dog to stand with a wave of his hand. Immediately the animal rose and paused beside its owner, even without a leash. “I know, I've seen you guys.”

  “Oh, I forgot to mention that: Finch sees everything that goes on in the park. So watch what you do there and with whom.“

  Amber winked at her conspiratorially and continued to beam with the sun.

  “I'll have to be off, then,” the gardener declared. He stroked the dog's slightly too-small head tenderly and nodded first to Amber then to Quinn. The animal's short white fur shone. On its flank, Quinn could make out the ribs that curved the fur. Were dogs supposed to be this slender? She'd never had a dog herself. Kate's family had done quite well without a pet, but she'd met several dogs in her youth, all of which were a turn-off.

  “Are you okay?” Amber finally asked.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Quinn explained with a sigh.

  “It doesn't sound like it. Do you want to come in for coffee?”

  “I'd love to,” Quinn replied, finding Amber's unassuming nature very relaxing. Even though visually she bore no resemblance to her friend Kate, being with Amber felt very similar.

  Cool air hit her as she stepped through the door.

  “Close it quickly before the air conditioner starts humming again,” Amber pleaded urgently. “That noise is still driving me crazy. You'd think eventually you'd get used to this hot spell, but I still haven't after over two months.”

  “It's been that hot here for that long?” Quinn asked. “You can't tell anything from the plants.”

  “That's thanks to Finch. He really takes great care of everything.” A telltale glint appeared in her eyes. The young craftswoman tugged at her gray T-shirt and wafted cool air at her belly. “You want a cold one too?”

  “Absolutely. I get the impression you'd like to be one of his plants, too,” Quinn groped indiscreetly. Only with Kate would she have followed up in a similar fashion. The considerable age difference between the gardener and Amber made a possible liaison between the two tricky and therefore particularly exciting.

  “Oh come on, I just admire what he does,” Amber plausibly rebuffed. “He even lives in the middle of the park.”

  “That sounds really great.” In the middle of the park, she would feel comfortable, too. Surrounded by honest plants instead of beastly colleagues.

  “Say, do you want to go out and party with us tonight?”

  “Oh, I'd really like to,” she returned, but her anticipation was dampened. “But I just got an important assignment and I'll probably be sitting on it all weekend.”

  19. Milo

  HE CERTAINLY WASN'T the biggest baseball fan of all time. But the readers of his newspaper were interested in the sport. Especially when the Fairfield team played in the Southern League. That was why Milo had flown to Knoxville that night for the team's away game. Actually, he liked that part of his job. He got out of town for a change, met new people and saw strange places like Kodak, a suburban area of Knoxville. In general these trips offered him charms he wasn't otherwise exposed to. Privately, he never traveled. He simply could not afford it on his income. Now that he was using his meager savings to buy a luxury gym of all things, private travel would be out of the question in the near future.

  Still, his wanderlust was dimmed this weekend. He had a lot to do. He would have preferred to spend the weekend in the gym, learning something new about Burton. As he well knew, Burton had no fight that weekend. He would be in Fairfield for training, but instead of hot on his heels, he had ended up in Knoxville, of all places.

  The baseball game on the field made his pain a little easier. The teams were providing real entertainment and he would have no trouble writing his contribution. Milo watched the game with more excitement than he had ever mustered for the discipline before. When it was finally decided who would carry the victory home, he could quickly send his text. He had already taken a usable photo.

  Afterwards he would finish the evening with some colleagues in the city, before he retired to his awful motel room as late in the night as possible. Normally he would have been happy about the opportunity to sleep in. His night's sleep had been distinctly lacking over the past few days, but SteamPower 3 was really fun by now. The big bugs were out and they would probably play through it again in the coming week to see if everything was running smoothly now. Restful sleep was desperately needed, but the editors had booked him an impossible motel to sleep in.

  The place was easily the cheapest place to stay within fifty miles of the city. The only positive thing about the shabby motel was that it was right on the interstate that connected the suburb of Kodak to downtown. He could lock his bag in the room on the way into town. That would mean little detour for Darren, his Knoxville colleague with whom he planned to hit the nightlife. Later that night, he would catch a cab and lie down on the sagging mattress for as little time as possible.

  Milo's fingers flew across the surface of his tablet, typing word after word. Three hundred was the limit to which he had to adhere. He was only allowed to exceed this limit for an absolute top topic. It was a good game, but it wasn't nearly enough to be a top subject. For a baseball game in this league to get more than those three hundred words, it had to be either a championship or a hit on the stadium. The former was impossible on this night, and the latter not particularly desirable.

  His fear of ending up in the middle of a terrorist attack was limited. There were plenty of reasons to be wary of life. Not sticking his nose too deep into dark matters, for example, would be good advice to give himself - if it weren't for Delia's disappearance. He avoided risk when possible. He'd always been that way. Even though he admired how other people willingly took risks, there remained with him that vague fear of an untimely end. He had no definite plans for this life, but he wanted to know what else it had in store for him.

  Again and again he looked up from his display after a few typed words and watched the action on the court. Then typing again and waiting for the end. '...and finally ... won with a final score of ... to ...'

  The crowd cheered and at last it was clear what he was allowed to put in the gaps. Fairfield won 3 to 2. He pressed send even before the applause of the six thousand or so spectators in the stadium had died away. He had done his job and could now start the pleasant part of his business trip.

  “Steve, you ready?” Milo asked his colleague from Knoxville, who was sitting at another table.

  “In a minute,” he returned, continuing to hack away at his laptop. “We'll take Andy, too.”

  He gestured in the direction of a man who was probably about ten years older than Milo.

  “You're from Fairfield, too, aren't you?” he asked the man with the three-day beard, who looked vaguely familiar, holding out his hand. “I'm Milo from the Chronicle.”

  “Andy, from the post office,” the man addressed timidly returned, shaking Milo's hand. It felt like he was holding a frozen fish. No tension, no energy. Hopefully this evening wasn't going to be a bust with lukewarm beer and no topics of conversation. “I'm filling in for Mike after his surgery. Didn't I see you at the Burton fight the other night?”

  “Yeah, that's where I was,” Milo replied with interest.

  Actually, he should probably inquire how Mike was doing, but Burton was his favorite subject at the moment. Mike had had shoulder surgery, if he remembered correctly. He'd announced a few weeks ago that he'd be out for a while and the post office was scrambling to find a replacement for the time.

  “What else do you write?”

  “I usually do local stuff. It's cool. I like the little stories from the neighborhood. Sports is more new territory for me in
terms of vocabulary,” Andy replied, seeming interested in talking.

  “Where did the post office put you?”

  “I'm staying at Daisy’s. It’s a little bed and breakfast downtown. What about you?”

  “In a cheap motel off the interstate. Next time I go on a business trip, I guess I'll have to sleep with the organizer first,” he explained, shaking his head. Startled, Andy snapped his eyes open. “Hey, calm down, I was kidding.”

  Blinking, the representative of the post office's eyes shrunk back to their original size. Why he was getting so wound up by that line, Milo didn't even begin to understand. Did he know Jenny more intimately, or perhaps he was actually sleeping with his own assistant editor and felt caught? An awkward silence spread between them.

  It could be a wonderful evening, if he couldn't even say the smallest thing without Andy's ears turning red.

  An hour later, the three of them sat in a rustic sports bar in downtown Knoxville, washing down the game with a cold pitcher of beer. Darren was the only one of them who cared about baseball to any significant degree. He seemed latently miffed that the other team, of all teams, had taken home the win. Of course, neither Milo nor Andy could help that fact, so he was still a good host and kept his annoyance largely to himself. The first pitchers had been emptied when Andy finally began to thaw. Darren timed that exact moment to slap his thigh and rise from the table.

  “As much as I'd like to keep partying with you guys, I've got a wife and kids waiting for me at home,” he explained, panting. “I'm really going to be in trouble if I don't get off work soon.”

  He tossed a note on the table and tapped the tabletop in farewell.

  “See you around, have fun and get home safe.”

  Milo murmured greetings, as did Andy.

  What a rash end to this evening, but he should have guessed. Steve had a life in this town where he was only a guest. For a moment Milo braced himself to say goodbye to Andy now as well, but he made no move to do the same to Steve. Calmly, he remained seated and waved one of the attractive waitresses over to order two more beers and six tequila shots. What he was going to do with all those drinks was a mystery to Milo.

  Andy's gaze followed the girl, keeping suspiciously low as if staring after her apple-shaped ass, which hadn't escaped Milo's notice. Steve and the waitress were out of earshot when Andy started whispering.

  “I hear you're after Burton's secret.”

  Milo nodded and remained silent with interest.

  “Are you sure you want to do this? I've heard these people don't take long. You know about the Delia Gupta thing, right?”

  Again Milo nodded and listened intently to what Andy had to say.

  “Word is she got too close to the secret and burned herself on it. You seem like a nice guy, but I don't think you realize who you're messing with. Burton's got the whole mob behind him.”

  “The Mafia,” Milo echoed in amazement. He had never heard of Mafia connections of the boxer. It wasn't completely absurd, but in his estimation it wasn't particularly likely.

  "Yeah, some criminal organization at least. Whether it's the Italians, the Russians, or the Japanese, I don't know.” He noticed a stumble of Andy's tongue, which was starting to get heavy from the alcohol.

  “What makes you think that?”

  The waitress, her dyed blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, set two more pitchers and the row of shots in front of them. Andy handed her the note Steve had left to settle his share of the first few rounds of beer. “Keep the change.”

  Routinely, Andy dumped three shots into a pitcher and slid it over to Milo. The other three shots he emptied into his own beer.

  “Drink,” Andy urged him, as if this were some important ritual that sealed a pact between them. Milo raised the large glass to his lips and sipped carefully. The tequila didn't taste so bad in the beer. He took a bigger sip.

  “That's just what they say on the quiet. You haven't been around long enough to know the right people for this. There are backers, and they're more powerful than you can imagine. They'll stop at nothing. I don't think Burton himself had anything to do with Delia's death, but these backers…" Andy hinted, tapping the corner of his mouth with his finger.

  Milo's gaze followed the waitress's carefree bobbing hair with increasing interest. He definitely wouldn't turn her down if she tried to drag him into the back room. He was unattached and could indulge such whims whenever they assailed him-just like Jasper. Except he had that good fortune far too infrequently.

  Then Andy's last words seeped into his consciousness.

  Delia's death? Actually, it was no wonder Andy was seriously considering that option. She had been missing for weeks and her death was becoming more likely with each passing day without a trace. But Milo didn't want to accept that possibility as fact. He felt a thick lump in his throat.

  “You should definitely watch yourself,” Andy continued his lecture. “Are you really going to probe into this?”

  Milo nodded decisively. There was no way around it for him now. If that was why Delia had died, he had to reveal it.

  “All right, then I'll tell you something. But let's change locations first.”

  In one go he emptied the still almost full glass and put Milo under pressure to move. If he wanted to quench his thirst for knowledge, he too had to follow suit and empty his mug. He took a deep breath and raised the glass. The tequila beer trickled down his throat. There seemed to be no end to the liquid that trailed into his mouth. He swallowed and swallowed until it was all gone. Relieved, he exhaled and sighed as he wiped foam and liquid residue from his face.

  Outside, the fresh air hit him like a fence post. The alcohol he'd poured into himself over the past hour only took full effect outside, threatening to pull the rug out from under him. He had to keep himself upright or Andy would be gone with his information and an opportunity like this might never come again. He put a chummy arm around his colleague.

  “Oooh,” Milo wittily pointed out, the swell of the MS Knoxville giving him a mighty hard time. “Where are we going?”

  He hoped the walk wasn't too far. And he equally hoped Andy even had a plan that could be implemented before either of them lost consciousness. Why was the idiot slipping tequila into his beer, too?

  “There's a rock club around here somewhere. Must be just around the corner,” Andy explained tersely, urging him to turn right into an alley.

  That could be fun. Drunkenly staggering through the streets with another local stranger was something he had always wanted to do. Nothing else in the world would have driven him to a rock club, of all places, but Andy seemed to know what he wanted.

  “There,” he called a little too loudly next to Milo's ear. “I knew it was here.”

  His eyes searched the alley and lingered on a black-clad, long-haired man who could have been his father.

  Purposefully, Andy staggered past the long-haired bouncer, who didn't give them a closer inspection, and stepped through a gray steel door. Behind it, guitar riffs burst upon them. The noise was deafening. It was as if they had slipped through a portal from a green field and reappeared under a braking express train. Everything about Milo felt numb. Lost in thought, he tapped himself on the forearm to check if his skin felt the same. Yep, strangely numb too. He felt something, and he heard the noise, but it was all kind of like being wrapped in cotton wool. Tequila magic?

  “Burton owns a warehouse on the river,” Andy shouted in his ear over the noise. “If you want to find out anything, you ought to look around there.”

  Milo's head was pounding. The guitar riff was followed by the roar of a singer who, judging by the sound, was trying to shout all his frustration at the world. Andy left him standing and stalked forward to the bar. That anyone had overheard his valuable information was impossible under the circumstances, but he seemed to want to linger here for other reasons as well. He could now either flee or resign himself to his choice of location. A hasty escape would be rude, so he decided to stay and
followed him to the bar.

  20. Olivia

  THE PENT-UP air in the Pink Elephant was drenched in the perfume of dozens of guests. A potpourri of different brands and fragrances became a generalized overall scent that only existed here. It was common knowledge that the ventilation system in the Pink Elephant was not sufficient to provide pleasant breathing air on weekends. That's why people only went to the bar before going to the club and avoided it for the rest of the night.

  Olivia brought in her own fragrance note with a delicate floral scent. She loved natural scents in particular and flowers in general. Her friend Amber had gone without an enticement. But at least Olivia had been able to persuade her to try a short skirt and shirt from her closet that night, instead of opting for her usual casual look. This smart move should increase her chances of attracting interest tonight. Yet she was basically a pretty girl. She just didn’t make much of her looks, which shouldn’t be a deal breaker. But it was.

  Ever since their early teens, the two had been polar opposites when it came to fashion. Olivia had a burning interest in trends and big-name labels, while Amber bought jeans and T-shirts indiscriminately when her old clothes fell apart. The main thing was that the clothes were practical and could withstand many washes.

  “Can I really walk around like this?” Amber asked again as she looked down at herself uncertainly.

  “Of course, you look great,” Olivia encouraged her persistently. “Just wait and see how differently men will treat you. You're going to love it.”

  She simply had to convince her friend, otherwise she would turn on her heel right away and change her clothes again at home. But she couldn't. They wanted to go to Insomnia tonight and in the club they had no chance to get in wearing jeans and a shirt.

  “Well, if you say so,” Amber returned skeptically, tugging at the hem of the short skirt that accentuated her slender legs. “I hope the club is worth the sacrifice.”