Page 20 of Tortured Eyes
I leave before Benson has a chance to change his mind. He’s been my lieutenant ever since I joined violent crimes, as well as a mentor of sorts. It makes me think about whom I could take the evidence to when the time's right. There’s no way of knowing for sure if Cane still has the reach inside the department they did when my father was a cop. Or if people are still on the inside, paid to look the other way.
There will be time for that later. Right now, the clock is ticking. Seventy-two hours to find Logan and do whatever it takes to get him to talk.
* * *
The bar across the street from Logan’s club will be closing soon. I’ve sat in the window with a clear view of the door since it opened two hours ago—no sign of him. The adrenalin and earlier high from finally setting myself to this investigation disappeared just as my second beer did, nearly half an hour ago. I need to pee. Rain soaks the sidewalk and forces me to look closer at the line of revellers who keep coming to have as much fun as they can afford.
Showing my face in there again will raise suspicions if Logan isn’t there. Hell, it will even if he is. By now, he’ll know I came to visit him at the family office. There’s no way his uncle would keep that from him.
“Time to find another bar, sweetheart.” The older bartender does his sweep of the bar, where I'm the only patron left.
“Sure.” My time's up, and so my hand is forced. I grab my jacket, set to wait for Logan over there instead of here, or even ask for him in person if little Mindy, or whatever her name is, happens to be working.
Through the rain-streaked window, a figure who looks out of place pushes the door open from the club. It's someone I recognise.
Nathaniel Cane stops as he exits the bar and puts his phone to his ear. Looking around, he scouts the area before heading to a parked Mercedes. I rush out the bar and jump on my bike, not caring that I’m soaked the minute I set foot outside. There’s no way Nathaniel Cane just happened to be visiting Logan Cane’s bar the day after I made my own little appearance.
Bullshit.
Something isn’t right here. Or maybe he’s looking for Logan as well? All I know is that it’s the closest I’ve come all night to a lead.
My bike bursts to life and I wrestle with it against the weather to follow in the direction the Mercedes took off in. The cold bites through my jacket, the rain drenching me to the skin, but I’m more awake now than I was two hours ago. Excitement and suspicion run through my veins, but I refuse to get carried away. It might be that I’m following Nathaniel home. He’s been to track down Logan himself after my visit. But I didn’t see him enter the club. I've never pulled the schematics, so another point of ingress might have been possible.
We head out of downtown towards a much seedier part of town. Squalor and crime are rife here. I should know as over half of our cases cross paths with this neighbourhood. A sprawling deserted city. Not where I expect someone like Nathaniel Cane to be visiting.
With the lack of traffic to hide my tail, I hang back, losing the car for a few moments. When I do catch up with it again, it’s stationery. I kill the bike’s engine but keep the helmet on. With my hand resting on the grip of my SIG, I approach the vehicle.
Only a handful of the streetlights work, but there’s enough light to see that Nathaniel isn’t in the car. I let out a slight breath and take my hand off my gun.
A square block of wasteland overlooked by two high-rises is Nathaniel’s chosen parking lot. Behind the car is an old office complex. Deserted again, but at least the building isn’t falling down. This time I leave my helmet. I quickly tie my hair back to help my visibility and stalk toward the building. Before I reach the front door, I draw my gun, reassured by its weight resting against my palm.
I pull at the glazed door, assuming it will be locked. It isn’t. The squeal it makes is drowned out by the torrential rain, and silence surrounds me as it shuts me in. The steady drips of water from my jacket and clothes are the only noise.
A slight glow from the outside light illuminates the lobby area enough for me to gain some bearings. With my gun raised and the safety now off, I head towards the wide corridor in front of me.
Step by step, I make it to the first window and peer in. Empty. Again, I creep down, one foot in front of the other, gun aimed. My eyes sweep left and right, making sure my exit is always clear. The next window reveals another empty room. And another.
When I reach the end, I start to wonder if Nathaniel is in this place at all. He could have vanished into the maze of run-down buildings. But just as I find myself reaching that conclusion, I hear a laugh. A deep, big-bellied laugh.
I pick up the hunt once again, following the sound. The corridor splits, and I turn right. A grand circular staircase is in front of me, leading me to the next floor and the sound of whoever else is here with me.
More laughing.
My feet creep up the steps until my eyes are level with the next floor. I drop to my knees and crawl the remaining stairs, keeping out of sight. A large storeroom of sorts reveals itself in front of me. Probably not the original intent of the spacious room. Now, brown boxes are stacked floor to ceiling on one wall and a bank of windows to the other. And in the centre, a set of leather couches either side of an old glass table. A stack of white powder bags on one end.
The belly-laughing man is a large, overweight guy wearing an ill-fitting suit. Opposite him, Logan stands by a laptop. He chuckles quietly, but his stance tells me he’s serious about whatever is going down here. I study him for longer than I should before I take in the rest of the threats that are visible to me in the room. Behind Logan’s guest is another man of similar age and build to laughing guy. His gun is visible on his hip. Scanning the room, there’s no sign of Nathaniel.
The staircase leads right into the room. No cover and I’ve got no back up either. There’s no fucking way I’ll call Derek in, regardless of the stack of coke right under my nose. Fuck him.
Interrupting the merriment, Nathaniel storms through the door at the other end of the room. He looks fucking pissed. I want to hear what’s said, so I slither back down a few steps, keeping myself out of view.
One thing is for sure: I don’t want to get in the middle of a Cane versus Cane fight. I need to wait, listen and then find a way to call for back-up.
