Page 131 of Chokehold
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I rip it out so fast, I almost drop it. Tiago again. Disappointment weighs heavily on my chest as I swipe the screen and press the phone to my ear.
“Miss me already?”
“Har. Har. Have you heard anything yet?”
“No. The cops are fucking useless,” I say as I cross the room to a set of drawers. “I don’t know what the fuck to do…” My voice bleeds with frustration.
Tiago is silent for a moment. I pull open a drawer and root through its contents.
“Just…don’t do anything stupid, alright?”
I scoff, inspecting a sepia photograph of an elderly man in suspenders on a sun lounger with a cigar in his mouth. I drop it back down, then pull open the next drawer. “I can’t make promises.”
“Where are you?”
“At home, debating if I should binge-watchFriendsorGossip Girl.”
“Fucking liar,” he chuckles. “I went by your house, and your dad said you left.”
“I couldn’t sit around.”
“You’re up to something, aren’t you?”
“Whatever gives you that idea?” I ask, pulling open the third drawer and rooting through paperwork. There’s no system to any of it. Someone rammed it all in here.
I pull out the contents, phone balanced between my ear and shoulder as I flip through the unpaid bills and letters. They sail through the air and flutter to the floor.
“You have that tone in your voice.”
“I don’t have a tone in my voice.”
“Stop lying to yourself. Just…” He hesitates. “You could hinder the investigation.”
“I don’t give a fuck about the investigation right now,” I reply. “Cole is injured…” I drift off when I spot a yellowed cutout news clipping amongst the letters.
‘Police officers win bravery award.’
I feel a frown on my forehead as I let my eyes roam over the photograph of two young, proud officers. One of them is definitely a much younger version of Cole’s dad.
I scan the news article to find the date. Quick math tells me this was published years before Cole was born. His dad was in his early twenties, fresh out of the police academy?—
“Blaise?” Tiago asks.
“I have to go.”
“Fuck that. What did I say about doing anything stupid?”
I hang up on him, then pocket my phone while reading the article. Cole’s dad and a colleague won a bravery award for neutralizing a shooter who entered a local warehouse and opened fire on the workers.
How come no one talks about this? And what the hell has happened to Malcolm? He could never replicate that moment and, according to my diligent research, he got into trouble at work for turning up drunk. It spiraled from there.
I look over at the medal on the wall, then back down at the article. A grainy photograph shows the warehouse nestled amongst fir trees.
Fishing my phone out of my pocket, I google the address. Call it a hunch or a sixth sense, but something tells me it’s important.
The paper clip trembles in my hand. It’s probably a long shot, but I have to check it out to see if there’s even the slightest chance that he took them there, back to a place of immense pride and nostalgia, back to a time when he felt like he could go somewhere in the world—back to the beginning.
The news article flutters to the floor, and I stride back out with a renewed sense of urgency.
