Gone at Zero Hundred 00:00, page 7
There wasn’t anyone who cared.
Soon, he’d be long forgotten.
Now, he belonged to The Privileged Ones.
TWENTY
RIGHT ON cue, David Klein pulled into the alley behind The Devil’s Door, the minute he got off of work. The guys from the Hummer were still inside, and the amount of visitors to the club doubled within a couple hours. That was interesting enough. But, I couldn’t help but be curious, when a silver-colored Camaro with dark-tinted windows pulled into the alley; then a few seconds later, a Sutter Beach police car pulled up behind it. Was something significant going on at the club other than a social gathering?
I could tell the Camaro was an undercover cop car, just not from Sutter Beach. I knew all of their cars. The uniformed officer stepped out of the police car and met up with the driver from the Camaro. They had their backs to me so I couldn’t see their faces, but I could see enough of them in the light from the street lamps, to make a mental description in case I needed to identify them later.
The driver from the Camaro was buff with brown hair and streaked highlights. He wore it spiked and gelled. I would call him ‘Skater’. His attire reminded me of the dudes who hung out at the skateboard parks.
The cop from the police car was Asian, with an anchor tattooed on his upper-left arm - former Navy maybe. I got a tiny glimpse of it under the short sleeve uniformed shirt. I would call him ‘Anchor’.
They had a lengthy conversation. I could tell from their body language that the subject was private. When they were finished they bumped fists, like me and Cody do, then Skater walked into the back door of the club and Anchor jumped back into his car. And that was when I got a good look at his face. I don’t know why, but his cold-dark eyes sent a shiver up my spine. Could have been my imagination running away with me. What were they doing at the club? I added the plate number of the Camaro to my list. Maybe I could at least find out which department Skater belonged to.
Okay, so I was sitting in the truck, watching the comings and goings of The Devil’s Door - hey, I warned you surveillance could take hours. But, what I really wanted to do was take a peek inside. The place sure attracted some interesting characters. I had been sitting there for a while, so I knew the receptionist and bouncers weren’t situated at the door, just yet. Could I slip inside? I looked around at all the paparazzi, and came up with an idea.
When there wasn’t anyone around, I stepped out of the pickup and opened the retractable cover on the truck bed. My mom’s backpack was stuffed into the shelf, I snagged it; then returned to my seat behind the wheel. I unlatched the front flap, and pulled out some supplies. I retrieved my mom’s Nikon digital camera and hung the strap around my neck. Then, I piled my hair on top of my head and stuck a pencil through the bun to hold it in place. I donned a pair of Harry Potter glasses, and clipped a fake press-pass on the front pocket of my shirt.
I blended in with the crew of paparazzi who were hiding behind bushes and palm trees near The Toscana. When I noticed another round of sports cars pull up and head into The Devil’s Door; I hurried over and slipped in behind them. All I needed was a minute to look around. But, as luck would have it, the receptionist still wasn’t at her post, so I had some time.
I was immediately surprised when I walked through the door. They took the lobby of the old movie theatre, and turned it into a hip lounge area. A retro desk sat in the corner, just inside, but the rest was an area for couples. It was decorated in all black leather, except for a large vase of fresh flowers that sat on a round-glass table in the center of a sectional sofa.
There were several couples lounging on the sofas, and hanging out in the halls, but they were enamored with each other, and not the least bit interested in me. That, by itself, was odd.
I strolled passed the kissing couples acting as if I was looking for the bathroom. If anyone stopped me, I was just planning on telling them I was a freelance tabloid photographer. I passed a couple doors that were locked; then I came to one where I could hear a mixture of noises from inside. I turned the knob, and opened it a few inches. A huge bodyguard had his back to the door, but it looked like he was blocking people from leaving, not getting in. I took a moment to peek around.
It looked like they crammed a Vegas Casino and ski-resort into one room. There was a bar on one wall, and that’s where I saw David Klein. He was bartending and drinking a few shots of his own. A fire pit was built in the center of the room, with leather chairs circled around it. Big-money poker games, crap tables and roulette wheels were situated around the room, and filled to capacity. A guy in a monkey suit walked the room, collecting bets for the ESPN sporting events and horse races, that played on the flat screen TV’s.
In another section, a DJ belted out tunes, while young women and men, who were probably my age, danced in cages. The place looked like one of those underground clubs, but a huge money maker and all illegal. The guests reminded me of spoiled, rich kids who were looking for some action. The guys dropped wads of cash down on the tables like it was nothing, and the girls sat around looking like eye candy, encouraging them to spend more.
The guys from the Hummer, and the cop from the Camaro were nowhere in the room, so I quietly shut the door. Okay, so where were they? Then, I heard voices coming from the back of the club. I walked in that direction and wound up in a kitchen. I also noticed the back door exit to the alley.
Odd, there was no one around, but I could still hear the voices. There had to be a basement. But, where was the door? A floor to ceiling wine cooler was built into a wall with a door just to its right. I opened it. Inside, there was a large pantry, fully stocked with food. With the pantry door open, the voices were stronger, but I still couldn’t find a basement entrance. I crouched down low, and put my ear to the ground. Yep, there were definitely voices down below.
I stood up, and started to search. That’s when I noticed a panel built into the wall behind the shelves of food. There was a button for a basement door. I was just about to walk toward it.
“Excuse me,” a female voice said. “What are you doing?”
I spun around, making sure the fake press pass was showing. An attractive dark-haired girl, who I assumed was Tracy, stood with her hands on her hips and glared at me.
“Sorry luv,” I said, attempting to speak in a British accent, because that’s what it said on the press pass. “I was searching for the loo.”
Tracy gave me a skeptical look, and attempted to flag down somebody to assist her. “You can’t be here. This is a private party.”
I squirmed. “I understand. It’s just that dogging those celebrities at The Toscana, and drinking water non-stop, I just had to go…” I attempted to backtrack toward the door.
“We don’t allow paparazzi to photograph our guests,” she said.
Apparently, I wasn’t moving fast enough. A big, burly guy showed up, and ushered me toward the back door. “You heard the lady,” he announced in a thick accent. “No paparazzi.” He shoved me outside; then slammed the door behind me. I ran down the alley toward the paparazzi just in case they were watching. When I knew the coast was clear, I cut back toward my truck. Once I was inside, I breathed a sigh of relief and removed the disguise; then I cranked the engine and headed over to see Cody.
TWENTY-ONE
JADEN WHITE lived with his mom in a three-bedroom Spanish Tudor just north of the Harbor. Cody rented out their basement. It wasn’t like he didn’t get along with his parents. He did, as long as he didn’t mention his desire to be a filmmaker, or the fact that he dabbled as a sleuth. His father believed those were careers reserved for people who couldn’t get a decent job. In other words, I wasn’t good enough for his son.
As a graduate of Yale and the CEO of a major financial firm, he expected Cody to follow in his footsteps. When junior year rolled around and Cody tossed the college applications in the trash, his father gave him an ultimatum. His mom, who spent most of her time at the country club, refused to speak against her husband. So, Cody packed his things, hopped on his Honda motorcycle and sped off down the road. It was Jaden who said: no problem dude, you’ll stay with me. He has been there ever since.
When I pulled up out front, Jaden was in the driveway, working on some of his hockey moves. He had a makeshift net attached between two trees. A dozen rubber pucks were lined up across from the net; and he was practicing his slap-shot technique with his stick. Like a pro, he slapped at the ground and connected with a puck, it went flying into the net at a high-rate of speed.
“Whoa, that’s awesome!” I said stunned by how fast the puck flew into the net. “Have you ever clocked the speed?”
He shook his head. “No. Some of the pros clock speeds from ninety to a hundred miles per hour, but I’m not anywhere near that.”
I grimaced. “Thank God for helmets. That could do some serious damage.”
“It has. How are you, Syd?”
“I’m okay. How about you? Still have scouts observing your every move?” I grabbed his stand-by hockey stick and joined in. I slapped at a puck. The shot went wide. It banked off the tree and hit the side of my pickup. When Jaden laughed, I put the stick back where it was.
“Pretty much.”
“Does that mean you’re still training heavy?” When he led the hockey team to two championships and went All-State, he was a target of agents and scouts for NHL teams for the future. Now he played AA hockey and practiced non-stop to make it a reality. Some said he looked like a young Bobby Orr. He could play defenseman and skate into an offensive position with ease.
He nodded. “It’s expensive though. I had to cough up dough for all the gear, then pay for the rink time. Skates alone cost me six-hundred bucks.”
“Six-hundred-dollars?” I said, surprised. “Wow, doesn’t help that you wear a size twelve, I bet. Not like you could wear anybody’s hand-me-downs.”
“Yeah. I had to be good in the most expensive sport, didn’t I? There’s the helmet, pads, mouth guard, gloves, a jock protector. The list goes on and on. And now that dad is out of the picture, mom needs help with the finances. I have to get a part-time job.”
“But, you won’t give up hockey, your dream?”
“No way I’m giving up hockey,” he said. “I’ll just have to find something that won’t interfere with my time on the ice.”
“Maybe the NHL will scoop you up, and you won’t have to worry about it.”
He laughed. “That won’t happen right away. They already told me I need to work a little more on my developmental skills. I put the word out at the fitness club for a job. Something will turn up.”
“Cody told me about your parent’s divorce. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
“C’mon Syd, you had your own stuff to deal with. Even now, you’re still dealing with it.”
“That’s not an excuse.” Jaden and Cody were both there for me when my mother was killed. I should have returned the favor and been there for Jaden. Divorce may not be as severe as death, but it could be just as traumatizing.
I helped him retrieve all of the rubber pucks, and he lined them up across from the net, again. Then, he practiced shot after shot.
Snap shot. Wrist Shot.
Snap Shot. Wrist shot.
TWENTY-TWO
“THAT IS friggin’ amazing, bro!” Cody said. He walked outside and was filming the moves with his camera. “What up, Syd?”
I stepped out of the view of the camera. “Cody, how about I buy you one of your favorite iced coffees?”
He laughed. “You must need something.”
“Why do I have to need something?”
Cody stopped filming and walked up next to me. His shit-eating grin was plastered on his face. “Are you saying you don’t?”
We bumped fists; then I handed him the list of plate numbers I collected at The Devil’s Door. “Fine, you got me.”
He smirked. “I suppose you want me to run these through my connection at the DMV?”
“She succumbs to your flirting, not mine.”
“Touche. This’ll cost you more than an iced coffee.”
“I can spring for some whip cream.”
He laughed. “What is this anyway? Somebody ding your precious pickup and you’re trying to narrow down the suspects?”
“Nah. Just some cute guys,” I joked. “I thought I’d look them up. You know maybe drop in and introduce myself. Not up for that whole Hookup.com scene.”
At first he frowned, and I thought I detected a tinge of jealousy; then he shook his head when he realized I was joking. “Aren’t you glad I have a sense of humor?”
“Dude…” Jaden said while he gathered up his pucks, again. “It’s those of us who are friends with you that need the sense of humor. You’re the king of all things pranks.”
Cody said, “Muah. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t,” I said, and I playfully smacked him on the arm. “I can recall a few that landed all three of us in hot water just because we were friends with you.”
Jaden turned to me. “Remember the time he lined the driveway in front of the firehouse with bubble-wrap.”
Cody chuckled. “Oh yeah, that was one for the books.”
“When your mom pulled the SUV out of the garage… POP – POP – POP – POP. She thought every one of her tires burst.”
I was somber for a minute - the sound effects taking me back to the day my mom was killed. But when I saw Jaden and Cody busting up and laughing, I joined in. It was probably good to remember little things like that, things that could keep memories of her at the forefront.
“Gotta admit, Syd, your mom was pretty cool. Any other parent would have pounced on me, for sure, like my own parents who barred me from the country club.”
I nodded. “Who else would have put up with all of my antics?” She did the best she could, working non-stop to keep food on the table and make sure I had a good life. I just never got a chance to tell her how much I appreciated it.
Jaden resumed his practice, and Cody followed him around with the camera getting all the gritty shots.
It was times like that, when I was hanging with the two of them, that I was able to talk about her without getting all emotional. I couldn’t help but wonder how things would go down if my best friends were girls. I would probably be crying all the time.
TWENTY-THREE
I ARRIVED near the location where Tamara wanted to meet and parked two blocks away from the coffee shop. It was on the east side of the street. The alley ran north and south behind it. I stepped out of the car and scanned the area. There was a restaurant further north that was closing for the night. I could hear the trail of voices from employees leaving and heading to their cars. They were oblivious to anything else, probably just in a rush to get home. Traffic was still heavy on the street, even at the late hour bringing the crazies out for the night this close to the harbor. The Toscana and The Devil’s Door were two blocks south of the location.
I walked towards the shop, paying attention to my surroundings as I did. It wasn’t that I was paranoid, just cautious. It was something my mom drilled into me and taught in a high school safety class. She said, whether you’re an investigator, or just a gal doing her thing, always pay attention. It drove her crazy when girls would walk to their cars at the mall parking lot, but their keys would still be tucked away in their handbags, and they would have no idea who was around.
I got to the corner and cut over toward the alley behind the shop; then stopped. It was pitch black. There were overhead street lights, but the bulbs were out. I glanced to the north, then to the south. Both areas were well lit. This was the only section in the dark.
Something wasn’t right.
I held my cell phone at my side. Why didn’t I bring some kind of weapon? I must be nuts. My pulse started racing, jumpstarting the adrenaline. I cautiously crept into the alley.
Okay, where was Tamara?
I thought of calling out her name, but my instincts were saying to keep quiet. It took my eyes a couple seconds to adjust to the darkness. In the meantime, I had to rely on my senses and they were working overtime. The noise from the cars on the streets drowned out the sounds, but I could feel the presence of someone nearby. If it was Tamara, she wasn’t letting me know. I took two more steps.
POP – POP
Gunshots! What the hell! I froze in my tracks and dropped to the ground. I had an instant feeling of déjà-vu - the same thing happened the day my mother was killed.
POP - POP
More gunshots! Someone was shooting at me!
Was it Tamara Marquez? Why would Tamara be shooting at me? If it wasn’t Tamara, then who was it? Who knew we were meeting in the alley? I tried to listen to gage where the shots were coming from. Time seemed to move in slow motion as I waited. Then, just as soon as the shots began, everything was quiet. I heard four shots, then nothing.
A moment later, I heard footsteps pounding the pavement. Someone was running away from the scene. It was dark, so I couldn’t see anyone. Then, I heard the sound of squealing tires. A car was speeding away from the scene.
Then, everything was eerily quiet.
My body was planted flat on the ground. I was beside myself, not knowing or understanding what just happened. And I couldn’t see anything. I wanted to call Carter, but it was too dark to dial his direct number. So, I punched in #1 on my Blackberry which automatically dialed Sutter Beach P.D. I identified myself and told them it was an emergency. I asked them to patch me through to Carter’s cell phone.
“Carter!” He yelled into the phone. My call woke him up.
“H - hey, it’s me, Syd,” I stuttered. “I – I’m in the alley behind Danny’s Coffee Shop. Someone is shooting at me.”
“What the hell!” He yelled. I could hear him jump out of bed, knocking things down along the way. He was the detective on the scene when my mom was killed. Being a friend, this was emotional for him. “Are you hurt?”
