2.15.2020 by Ak Weller

Author:Ak Weller [Weller, Ak]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Suspense, American Suspense, Police Procedural, Crime Thriller, Murder Investigation, FBI, Prequel, Novella
Amazon: B0BPMJBD8Q
Goodreads: 124936500
Publisher: Independently Published
Published: 2022-02-14T05:00:00+00:00

* * *

With the once-strong bond of trust between Tommy and me irrevocably broken, I found myself descending repeatedly into sheer panic while we made our way via taxi to a Motel 6 on the southeast side of Houston two days later. The address had been texted to Tommy less than an hour ago, and just like that we were on our way to the first real-world test we would face as partners. It was bad enough knowing any number of mistakes could get me hurt or killed; knowing my least favorite person in the world was the only one who’d have my back in there was downright terrifying. Toss in a few errant thoughts about Philip possibly being in league with the cartel, and I was a mess.

I could see Tommy was drastically more nervous than I was. This became increasingly apparent the closer we got to the motel. Thinking about what I’d say to him between the taxi and the motel room occupied my mind enough to stave off all but the most powerful waves of dread.

As the taxi drove away and we walked around the motel to find room 221, I took the last opportunity we’d have to speak openly. It was a short walk, so I cut right to the chase.

“Would it help if I made you mad?” I asked.

To his credit, he spared me the rigmarole of explaining what I meant and muttered, “It might.”

“Then I guess it’s a good time to point out that you shouldn’t have shaved this morning. You look like my son instead of my husband.”

“Bitch.”

“Ouch. That’s original.”

“That’s enough, just shut up,” he snapped, quickening his pace so I had to power walk to keep up. Though I’d succeeded in pissing him off, it was at the cost of my own already fragile mood. I felt a surge of the same anger that had resulted in a broken hair dryer that fateful morning, somewhat dulled by the passage of a few weeks but still extremely powerful.

Thinking this day was now almost certain to end in disaster, I reached the door to room 221 right behind Tommy and reached around him to knock on the door first. For several minutes nothing happened but some shuffling and bumps from inside the room, interspersed with hushed voices; when I was considering knocking again, the door cracked open. A two-inch-wide section of face stared out at us, dark brown eyes narrowed expectantly. We had already agreed Tommy would do the talking, so I held my breath and waited for someone to say something.

Finally the man at the door asked gruffly, “Well, what do you want?”

“We’re here to see Lira,” Tommy answered.

The man’s one visible eyebrow raised, and he turned away from the crack in the door to announce over his shoulder, in Spanish, “They look like crackhead teenagers, where did you find these people?”

An unintelligible answer from within the room caused a bark of laughter to erupt from the man.

He turned back to us. “No Lira is here.

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