Decay

by Zach T. Stockwell

  SEVEN

  Marco was awoken by his own internal clock, without being burdened by the abrasive buzz of an alarm. He realized how impulsively he’d behaved the night before, buying an expensive car that was more than a little bit out of his price range and then staying the night in a hotel whose nightly rate was a quarter of the amount of one month’s rent. But he didn’t care. He would never go back to that apartment again, except to move his things. It was dirty and dingy, and he hated smelling the cigarette and marijuana smoke every day. Besides, if he ever met a girl, he wouldn’t dare take her there. First thing after work, he would begin apartment hunting.

  But for now, he understood that all his clothes were back at the apartment, so without showering or brushing his teeth, he took the elevator back downstairs and walked out to his car. Upon seeing it, he felt the same pride he had when he was first handed the keys, perhaps even more so after having ample time to process it. After a brief admiration, he unlocked it (again admiring the LEDs as they lit up) and stepped in.

  ---

  It only took a few minutes to gather his things up: his clothes, his toothbrush and shower soaps, and he packed them into a duffel bag and rode right back into the city, right up to his expensive hotel. He walked into the gorgeous lobby with his day-old clothes and duffel bag, rode the impressive elevator up fifteen stories, and then into his room. It was only now just after six a.m., so he had plenty of time to get ready and grab some hotel breakfast before heading into work. He hoped to park next to Gene, with the two of their cars side by side, gracing the parking lot.

  Marco leisurely showered in a shower that held up to the standards of the hotel, then brushed his teeth and styled his hair in the typical greaser fashion, and got dressed in his plain outfit: a dress shirt and slacks with no tie. He took his brand-new keys from the table they sat on, waiting for him, and he rode the elevator down once more to have his plain hotel breakfast.

  Everything about this morning was peaceful. There was no cigarette smoke or weed. There was no banging on the walls around him, or drunken screaming coming through the floors. No loud music coming from anywhere, or the sounds of a ghetto party. No disruptions, no disturbances. There weren’t even police sirens blaring in from the outside world while he was trying to sleep. All of the inconveniences he was used to, for one night, were not present, and it was the most peaceful he had felt in all the years he had lived in America. Instead, he simply drank a couple cups of coffee and continued eating his breakfast, while the quiet background bustle of businessmen went on around him. Men in suits walked in and out throughout the lobby and the sounds of traffic grew slightly louder over time, but it was mostly white noise. By comparison, it made his apartment seem even worse than it ever had.

  After breakfast, Marco went into work and was surprised to see that Gene had beat him there, at 6:58 a.m., and so he pulled into the spot next to him. After carefully navigating perfectly in between the white lines, to leave no risk of getting hit by doors, he called Gene with his car still running, pumping heat through the vents at the bottom of the cabin. Marco’s father always told him to make sure to pump the heat through the bottom, because the hot air will rise, and this will keep a constant circulation. The heat forces its way through at the feet, and will rise in the cabin, forcing the cold air at the top down. Eventually the cold will dissipate, completely overtaken by the heat.

  “Hey, Gene, walk out to your car,” he said after he was greeted on the other line.

  “Uh, alright. One sec.” Gene grunted as he stood up, and ended the call.

  After a brief wait, Gene walked through the doors and stopped after seeing it. Through the windshield, Marco could see Gene clearly, but the sound insulation kept him from hearing anything. Gene’s hands rose to his head and his draw dropped at once. His whole body shook with laughter as it often did with Gene, and he moved more quickly than Marco had ever seen him move, toward the passenger side. Gene climbed aboard and shut the door as quickly as he could without slamming it, locking out the frigid winter’s air behind him.

  “Kid! Did you buy this? What, did you just leave work last night and go straight to a dealership?” Gene’s entire body language was radiating a jovial pride - like he had been the one to influence Marco into joining the Mercedes-Benz club.

  “I mean, yeah. Basically,” Marco said, barely getting the words out before the two shared a laugh together. Marco left out the part that it was a tad bit out of his price range and that he impulsively (and irresponsibly) indulged anyway.

  The two friends sat in the car talking and laughing, and playing with the new machine, until well after seven a.m. For the first time in his adult life, Marco was late into work.

  After running out of things to show off, Marco and Gene walked inside together. Once they passed through the threshold of the workspace, Gene spoke up about the one and only case Marco was assigned to. “Hey, by the way, we’re gonna need to tackle this thing old-fashioned. How does that sound? Real detective work, I mean,” Gene said, nudging Marco. “We’re gonna have to grind this one out, for real.”

  Marco was happy to be talking about the case already, since it was his only current source of work. Captain Cole didn’t want to overwhelm him on his first days, since this case was a relatively large and difficult one. Most of the other stuff was going to Jeff and Sergeant Davis in the meantime, and the small stuff was distributed between the officers, until Marco had his feet planted.

  “What do you suppose we do, then?”

  “Well we know that Miss Edmund’s night started at a bar, right?” Gene looked at Marco, with an eyebrow raised. The two were now stopped, standing outside of Marco’s office.

  As Marco opened the door to his still lifeless office, he said, “Well yeah. So? We don’t know what bar.”

  “Well. Then we’re going bar to bar. ‘Til we find someone who recognizes her.” Gene’s face drew stern and solemn.

  Marco was only halfway around his desk to his seat, and only halfway into the motion of setting his bag on his desk, when he froze himself and turned around. Gene stood there, shoulders shrugged and waiting for a response.

  “You serious?”

  “Yeah. Only shot we got is to go door to door.” Gene’s expression didn’t change at all.

  “Come on. Do you know how many bars are in Dallas?” Marco choked out a laugh, but sucked it in just as quickly. “We could be searching for days straight, going to every single bar, interviewing every bartender, in the hopes that one of them happened to be there that night. And it may be a big waste of time. And even if we did find the right bar, what are the odds that someone there would even have served her, let alone recognize her over any of the other thousands of people they have seen since then? It’s been two weeks, Gene.”

  “We don’t have any other choice. Normally, I’d agree with you, but we got nothin’ else. We have to hit the streets if we have a snowball’s chance in hell of finding her. And I don’t know about you, but I really want to find her,” Gene said, locking eyes with Marco and not wavering. “I took a look at her credit cards and bank accounts before we went for the interviews yesterday, hoping a charge would show me where she went to drink, but there was nothing. She must’ve used cash that night, and there hasn’t been a single charge or withdrawal since days before she went missing.”

  Gene cleared his throat and sat down in the chair adjacent to Marco’s desk, then continued. “Now, I really doubt she’s just not spent any money in the last two weeks, especially if she was traveling. And by now, after two weeks of travel, she would have either had to use a card, or make a cash withdrawal. So, this girl is definitely somewhere around here, and she may be dead. Or she may be in trouble. And if she’s in trouble, then every day we’re not out there working to find her, is a day she’s closer to drawing her last breath.” Gene stood up to exit the room, but Marco was still silent. “Now, settle in. Get out your computer and do some typing, or whatever it is you do with that. Get a cup of coffee, and get your min
d right for today. It’s gonna be a long one. We’re gonna leave the station around ten, because the bars don’t open ‘til around ten or eleven usually.” With that, Gene walked out of the room, leaving Marco alone to decompress.

  He was impressed with the enthusiasm that Gene was exhibiting. This kind of vigor and fire was not something he had ever seen present in Gene for the year he had known him. He was the type to show up late and burn out the clock until retirement. This motivational Gene, talking of hard work and grinding was someone else entirely and Marco was thrilled to work with this version of him. Whether that be the new Gene or the classic Gene, he didn’t care; he was just ready to work alongside someone who matched his tenacity - surpassed it, even.

  So Marco continued his routine. He went and poured a cup of coffee and pulled out his personal computer, which he opted to use instead of the slow police station desktop, and he checked the news. He read articles about the economy, then some about football and the upcoming Super Bowl. He relaxed and started his day like any other. Except this time, after killing a few hours, he went to Gene’s office, who was ready and waiting with his coat on. And the two men set out for the long day of work ahead of them.

  ---

  “Alright, I suggest we start at the bars nearest her apartment first. They make the most sense, especially for someone who hasn’t lived in the city very long. Staying close to home would be the natural thing to do,” Gene suggested as Marco drove them in his car, heading downtown. “There are three within a mile of her address, so let’s start with the closest one and work our way around, yeah?”

  Gene seemed chipper and upbeat while Marco, who tried his best to keep up with the old man, failed to match his enthusiasm. The task seemed daunting and, while this is what Marco was hoping for, it seemed that he may have bit off more than he could chew. But he played along and followed Gene’s direction. Marco decided that learning from the best would make him the best, so he sat back and shut up.

  Gene rerouted the address from Zoey’s address to the nearest bar, and then sat and enjoyed the ride.

  The two pulled up in front of the first bar, just a short while later. It was kind of a rundown-looking place. It wasn’t kept up very well; the windows were dirty and the front steps were crumbling, matching the aged brick that was chipped in some places around the entryway. Marco thought to himself that it didn’t seem like a place a young lady would go to party on New Year’s Eve.

  Confirming Marco’s intuition, Gene said, “This doesn’t really seem like a place you would go on New Year’s, huh?” They both half-heartedly chuckled, and then went inside to find a mostly empty bar, only occupied by two employees, who were watching the TV that hung over one of the booths across the room.

  A man was behind the counter washing glasses, and a woman was sitting on the bar top flipping through channels while they talked. After noticing Gene and Marco enter, the girl, who was thin and blonde and looked like she had an easier time getting tips than most, walked over to them and greeted them with a smile.

  “Hey guys, is it just the two of you?”

  Marco thought her perfume smelled delightful.

  While Marco was beauty-stricken, Gene spoke first.

  “Yes, ma’am, but really we just have a few questions. I’d love to talk to you and the gentleman over there for a moment if that’s alright,” he said gesturing to the other man.

  The girl thought this was unusual, and her face displayed her confusion.

  “Uh, sure. One sec,” she said. “Can I ask what it is about, though?”

  “Oh, that’s right. Pardon me. We are detectives with Dallas Homicide, and we merely want to ask you if you can help us with a missing person case that we’re working.” Gene pulled his badge and held it out for the girl to see, and she took a short look at it before nodding appreciatively. “I am Gene Maxwell, and this is my partner, Marco Moretti.”

  “Oh. Wow, okay.” The girl turned around and yelled, “Mark!” She got his attention and waved him over to join the conversation.

  The man walked around the bar and over toward the rest of the group.

  “What can I do for yeh?” He was still holding a dish and nervously wiping it with a wash cloth, even though it looked to already be dry.

  “Were either of you two here the night of New Year’s Eve?” Once again, Gene questioned them while Marco took notes and watched. This didn’t bother Gene, because he liked to feel seasoned and valued, but he did wonder if Marco was ever going to step up and volunteer to lead.

  The man, Mark, shook his head no, and was thanked and dismissed by Gene. He turned around and went back to the bar, still watching from the distance. The girl, however, nodded.

  “Excellent. I know I’m asking something difficult of you, but can you remember that night very well? Like, how many customers you had, or can you remember the faces of particular ones very well?”

  “Uh, well, we were pretty slammed. I mean, it was New Year’s, so the bar was packed all night of people coming and going. A lot of people do some bar hopping, and go from bar to party or party to bar. Busiest night of the year, usually,” she said to Gene’s dismay.

  “Yeah, I figured it would be difficult to remember the faces of everyone, but I still have to ask. At this point, my partner and I are going from bar to bar and asking if anyone had seen this woman that night,” Gene said, holding up the photo of the missing Zoey Edmund.

  The girl, who he realized he still had no name for, stared blankly at the photo, her expression never changing. Before she even responded to his question, Gene already could tell by her eyes that there was no recognition.

  “No, I’m sorry,” she said, but Gene expected nothing different.

  “Well the picture doesn’t show it, but she is a little bit larger. She had just been through a divorce, so she may have been seeking a bit more attention than most other people,” Gene said this, not really hoping for results, but figured that it couldn’t hurt his case any.

  “No, sir. I really am sorry, though.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate your cooperation. We’ll be on our way now.” Gene smiled at the young lady, and then turned around and walked away, with Marco following closely behind.

  ---

  This pattern repeated itself at each bar they visited. Over the next couple of hours, Gene and Marco visited the six other closest bars to Zoey’s apartment, but received nothing. Some of these bars were lower end, and some were upscale and higher class. Some of the workers worked that night, and some didn’t. One bar had two bartenders and three servers on preparing for the upcoming shift, yet none of them happened to be there that night. That was more shocking than anything to Marco, who had worked as a server and bartender for a while; getting off on New Year’s Eve was impossible, and for the three years he waited tables, he had never done it successfully.

  Gene and Marco walked out of the seventh bar they had visited that morning, feeling a bit defeated. Gene knew that this was a shot in the dark, and Marco knew they would be unsuccessful, but that didn’t detract from the looming aura of disappointment that surrounded them. The air felt denser than usual, and the silence only made the atmosphere heavier. They sat there for a bit, not saying anything, and not wanting to pass the threshold of another bar.

  “Maybe we need a change of pace,” Marco suggested. He looked at Gene and shrugged, raising his eyebrows.

  “Like what?” Gene looked perplexed and simultaneously doubtful, but at this point he was open to anything.

  “Well, she drove a car, right? Surely if a car sat somewhere for two weeks and didn’t move, it would be towed, right? Well can’t we call a tow service and see if her car has been impounded?”

  “Oh, come on, pal,” Gene laughed, “I already did that. ‘Bout a week ago I called around, and none of the services in Dallas had her car. So I went by her apartment and looked through the parking lot. Her car is still parked at the apartment, so she probably took a ride from a cab, or one of those cab service apps. Any m
ore ideas?”

  “Well, she was new to living in Dallas, right? It’s possible she didn’t want to go to just any bar nearby to celebrate the New Year. Maybe she Googled what the best rated bars in town were, and went there instead. If we Google them, we’ll get the same results.” Marco’s eyes lit up halfway through this idea, realizing it was potentially a pretty good one.

  “Okay. Do that then. Google it, and we’ll go visit them all.”

  Gene sat back at scratched his head, wondering how people got so dependent on technology, that they didn’t enjoy the experience of adventure anymore. People don’t just drive around and pick a restaurant or bar just by looking at it anymore. Now everyone gets on Google and has to read reviews, and has to look at the menu prior to going. People are too safe, he thought. He got lost on this subject while Marco searched through his phone for the highest-reviewed bars in Dallas.

  Marco got the addresses of a few top-rated bars, and drove to the highest rated first.

  They pulled up to the most impressive one they had seen yet, by far. It was a two-story structure, both levels were part of the same bar. The entire front of the building was mostly glass on both levels, making it easy to see inside. Before they entered the building, they could tell that the lower level was the quieter dining section of the building, and a spiral glass staircase in the center of the restaurant led up to the bar. A stage in the corner could be seen from the street; any passerby would be enticed by it.

  Walking into the bar was another experience of its own, because the street didn’t do it justice. The lower floor restaurant was elegant and quiet. The restaurant was filling up quickly with people ready for lunch, but that did not detract from its cleanliness. All of the glass, even the layer of glass higher up that would be difficult to reach, was perfectly transparent, as if it wasn’t there; the floor was free of any dropped food, and each of the employees’ uniforms were immaculate - no stains from spilled ranch dressing or mustard. Marco could attest to the difficulty of keeping a uniform clean in a restaurant, and was further impressed by how professional everyone seemed.