Bad Idea: Stonewall Investigations - Miami

by Walker, Max

  I walked out of our apartment and down the narrow hallway toward the elevators. I rode the shaky elevator down three floors and walked out into an outdated but still-homey lobby. I glanced at the wall of mirrors as I walked by, making sure I wasn’t wearing my pants inside out or even wearing pants at all. With how scattered my brain was, I wouldn’t put “walking out in underwear and unaware of it” past me.

  It was only when I was sitting in my car and buckling my seat belt that I realized she hadn’t said anything to me as I left. No “good luck, I love you” or “let me know how it goes.” Nothing.

  Had she even said goodbye when I shouted it by the door?

  Maybe our relationship isn’t even salvageable…

  3 Gabriel “Fox” Morrison

  The hot summer heat was thick, even at eight in the morning. Like an extra layer of clothing, it stuck onto the skin and made walking outside a nearly impossible task without a cool bottle of water in hand.

  Thankfully, the only walking outside I had to do today was from my car to a brand new-and very well-air-conditioned Stonewall Investigations.

  Our new offices were located only a few blocks away from the global phenomenon that was South Beach. Being a walk away from Ocean Avenue was convenient, seeing as the food was great and there was always something going on, the streets constantly packed with bikini-clad women and shirtless men working on their tans. Tall, thick palm trees lined the street and swayed in the gentle sea breeze, seemingly unbothered by the intense heat slamming down on the city.

  Stonewall wasn’t located on the main street, but we still got a ton of foot traffic. Especially since parking by the beach was reserved for people who were masochists and enjoyed visiting a circle of hell. Everyone else parked a little farther out and walked, passing by our quiet little street on the way to their sandy destination.

  Currently, a troupe of sorority girls, all wearing white crop tops with their sorority letters emblazoned across the front in big pink letters, were making their way downtown, walking fast, faces pass, beach-bound.

  It is a good beach day.

  In front of me was Stonewall Investigations. The waiting area resembled a quaint guest house, and flanking either side of the guest house was a couple of two-story buildings that held the different offices for the detectives. It wasn’t imposing by any means, but it also felt special.

  The entire structure used to serve as a set of beach houses for a family from Australia, but they had decided to sell, and Zane Holden, founder of Stonewall Investigations, jumped on the offer. He gutted the entire thing and turned the structure into one of the nicest office spaces I’d ever seen. Not that I’d seen many, but still, I imagined it had to be one of the nicest.

  The entrance from the street was a small cobblestone walkway that was lined with vibrant green bushes and colorful tropical plants, adding pops of oranges and reds and blues. There were two wooden benches on either side of the path, with a bubbling fountain next to one of the benches. A gray kingbird was perched on the branch of a growing orange tree, calling into the air with a melodic trill.

  I could still hear the sorority girls laughing about something as I walked down the path and toward the bright red door. There was a small rainbow flag waving gently in the air, a small symbol that said we welcomed all. No matter your stripe or your color, you came through those doors and you were guaranteed help.

  Next to the flag, above the entrance, was a sign that read Stonewall Investigations. Hand painted on a polished wooden sign, it never failed to give me a good feeling whenever I spotted it.

  I walked in through the doors and was greeted by a smiling Holly Barrios, her short ponytail done high and tight today, making her big brown eyes pop even more so than usual.

  “Morning, Mr. Morrison!”

  “Call me Fox, Holly.”

  “Right, got it.” And then as if she were trying on a new sweater: “Fooox.”

  “Exactly,” I said, cracking a smile. “Good morning, Holly.”

  The waiting room was painted a calming white, with exposed brick throughout which was supposed to be a subtle callback to the New York headquarters. There were a few flourishing plants in pots wrapped in gold paper. A couple of them hung from the tall ceiling, absorbing light from not only the windows but also the skylight that let in the morning sunlight. It made the space feel even more open and airy, a peaceful respite for anyone who needed one.

  There were a couple of comfortable gray couches and a few stacks of magazines, along with a communal iPad for anyone who wanted to use it, and down the hall straight ahead were two wide doors that led out to a beautiful courtyard, which had plenty of shaded spots to sit.

  Holly’s desk was set next to a large glass door that opened to a hallway. I stood by the door, ready to head into my office, when I heard movement from the other end of the building.

  “Hey, Fox!”

  It was Andrew Barker, a cheery guy who was quickly becoming one of my closest friends. He had a way about him that just drew you in, made you feel like family from the jump. It was nice, especially since I was starting to forget what “family” even felt like.

  “Andrew, morning.” I walked over to him, shaking his hand and taking him into a hug.

  “You’re looking sharp today.”

  Andrew stepped back, looking me over. He wasn’t wrong, that was for sure. I was wearing a blue, white, and mustard yellow striped shirt tucked into a pair of gray pants that fit me like a glove. I had gotten a haircut a few days ago and was wearing the new silver chain I had bought myself last month, as a sort of congratulations for my new job.

  “Do I look dull on other days?”

  He looked at me and cocked his head, a playful grin on his face. “Sorry. You’re looking extra sharp today.”

  I laughed, always impressed at how quick Andrew was on his feet. He was a thinker, a problem-solver, and that was one of the reasons Zane had chosen him to run the Miami branch of his detective agency. I had a hunch he was looking into becoming a detective, but he also seemed more than happy with steering the Stonewall ship.

  “Oh, you’ve got that interview today! Duh.” He was shaking his head, realization dawning on him. “The last detective to fill up our offices. How exccciitting!”

  “If he does well in his interview,” I amended.

  “He was good on the phone interview I had with him, but yeah, we’ll see what happens when the two of you go into a room together. It’s all about chemistry here. Even though you all work individual cases, I can’t have rivalries or fights breaking out. This is a family, and we’ll treat it like one.”

  I nodded, wholeheartedly agreeing with him. It felt good to hear, too.

  A family.

  God, it had been so long since I heard that word. Since I really felt a part of one. It used to be that my squadmates were my family, the guys I’d see day in and day out under conditions that none of us wanted to repeat. Those guys were my family, but even then, we all drifted once our deployment was over.

  My blood family? Hah, those were gone years ago.

  “Oh! Come with me, Fox. Let me show you the new plants I got for my office before your interview gets here.”

  Andrew led me through a door and into a bright hallway with a couple of closed doors down its length, each with a frosted window set on the center and the name of the detective scrawled in a gold font across the glass. No one was working any cases except for me, so all the doors remained closed until we reached a door at the end of the hall, after a short turn to the right.

  Andrew let me walk in first, into a spacious and comfortable-looking corner office. There was a sleek, modern filing cabinet with a row of potted hanging ivies sitting on the top, their dark green leaves falling down over the top cabinet. There were two open windows allowing the soft scent of salt to float in from the nearby ocean.

  “Here, look at this little gem.” Andrew walked over to his sturdy desk and grabbed the dark gray stone pot. “This is an azalea bonsai. It’s suppos
ed to be getting more pink flowers over time. I was thinking of getting a few for all the different offices, but I’m not sure if there are any magenta thumbs around here.”

  “Magenta thumbs?” I grabbed the bonsai tree, admiring the twisting branches and trunk.

  “Yeah, magenta’s the opposite of green on the color wheel. So if you’re a soul-sucking monster who can’t take care of a living being, then you’ve got a magenta thumb.” He cracked a smirk. “Plus, it sounds pretty gross, too. Like you got it caught in a door and now it’s all bulbous and purple. Figure it’s appropriate.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh and handed back the bonsai tree. “Here, I don’t want to kill it with my magenta thumbs.”

  “Oh, honey, no, you’ve got no thumbs. I’ve seen that poor little fern by your desk. We’ve only been here, what, two weeks? That thing looks like you took it to the desert and brought it back.”

  I laughed, a loud, deep belly laugh. “Sorry, plants were never my thing.”

  “That’s okay, they were never really my thing either until a few months ago. I was helping Deck with the landscaping at his new equine therapy facility. I literally didn’t go to sleep for about three days because I had fallen down a deep internet wormhole on all kinds of plants and flowers and how to take care of them.” He moved around to his desk and picked up a glass of water, bringing it over to a potted fern and dropping some water onto its parched dirt. “Example, did you know that you can put a thin layer of mayonnaise on plant leaves to make them look shiny? That’s how all those magazines and TV shows do it. Crazy, huh?”

  I was legitimately a little mind-blown by that. “Mayonnaise?”

  “Yup. Just a little mayo and bam, you’ve got the Naomi Campbell of ferns. Works best with plants that have big leaves, like a bird of paradise or a monstera.” Andrew laughed at my bewildered look. If he were rattling off bird species, then I would definitely be able to relate, but plants were a no-go for me. “I’ll see if I can bring the one in your office back to life, and then we can put a cute little plastic one in its place.”

  “That sounds like a plan,” I said, matching his smile. “How are you liking Miami so far? I’m guessing there’s a lot more green than New York?” I asked as Andrew put the glass of water back down on the corkscrew coaster. He looked out the window, his big eyes bright, his happiness genuine.

  “You’d be surprised on how much green New York has, but I really do love Miami. Love it. I could probably live without all the rain, but it’s fine for now. I just pretend Declan and I are in The Notebook whenever there’s a downpour.” He put up a hand. “The good part of The Notebook, not the end where they die holding hands after you find out Allie has Alzheimer’s.”

  “Spoilers?”

  “Oh please, you’ve had what?” He glanced at his wristwatch. “About fifteen years to catch up.”

  I laughed, the happiness from Andrew spreading. I was normally a happy guy, but I had to admit, Andrew just seemed to light up the room with his positivity. It was infectious, and it was making me glad that he was the one steering this ship. I was the lead detective, but Andrew was the one running the entire Miami branch, managing us and making sure our quaint little crew sailed through the sometimes choppy Miami waters.

  At first, part of me bristled when I’d found out I wouldn’t be the top dog. Before my position at Stonewall, I was working as an independent contractor of sorts as a bounty hunter and had no one to report to or anyone to look after me. When Zane came to me and offered the position of lead detective, I was initially hesitant. The idea of a structured job, working so much with other people, was something that intimidated me at first, but at the same time, there was a thrill there that I couldn’t deny. It was a thrill I’d been missing for a long time in my life, and so I knew that the right answer was yes. But I knew that also meant working in a team, and that was something I hadn’t done since my time in the army. There would be a hierarchy and other people to think about, and for a few days, I thought I wouldn’t want that. Part of me thought I’d try it out and realize it just wasn’t for me, that I left that shit back in the army. That I was more of the lone-fox type of guy, working on my own and responsible for no one else for the remainder of my time on this crusty rock.

  But after a couple of days, my apprehensions were unfounded. I still had plenty of independence, and I was in a position to help people that needed it the most. Especially with the case I was currently working on. The stakes were huge, and I had been feeling the pressure.

  It was a good feeling, made better by the fact that I was surrounded by good people, Andrew being one of them.

  He perked up, as if remembering something. “I think Zane and Enzo are coming to visit sometime in the next few weeks! He texted me this morning on my way here. They just need to hammer something out on their end.”

  Well, that was exciting news. I had talked to Zane the day before, but he hadn’t mentioned anything. “Perfect. Let me know when the details are set; I want to catch up with those two in person.”

  “For sure,” Andrew said. “How did you and Zane meet again?”

  I smiled, recalling the fond memory. “Zane rear-ended my car. Almost drove me off a bridge. We ended up getting drunk afterward at the bar around the corner and became good friends ever since.”

  “No freakin’ way. How has Zane never told this story?”

  “Because if he admits fault, his insurance goes up.”

  Andrew cracked up at that.

  “We’ve been good friends ever since, but him living in New York meant we had that chill kinda friendship. We’d catch up every year, and it’d be like no time had passed.”

  “Those are good types of friends.”

  “They definitely are.” I was grateful for my friendship with Zane and was glad he thought of me when it came time to opening up his Miami branch of Stonewall. “And we’ve got our Stonewall party in a couple of weeks, too, right?”

  He nodded, smile still on his face. His hair had been trimmed, cleaned up on the sides, and styled with some matte paste on the top. He was wearing an eye-catching light-blue and yellow shirt, open at the collar, with a pair of white pants that screamed Miami Beach. I’d come to learn quickly that Andrew had a flair for fashion, and I could only hope it would rub off on me over time.

  “It should be a good party. All the detectives have RSVPed already, so it’ll be a great bonding exercise. And wait until you see what me and Holly are doing with the courtyard—you’re gonna love it.” He quirked his head to the side and brought his forefinger over his mouth. “What do you think of mini-magnifying glasses as party favors?”

  A snort escaped me. “Seriously?”

  “Okay, okay. Fine, no magnifying glasses… but do you think I have to return the long trench coats and dark sunglasses I bought everyone?”

  That had me cracking up. “Imagine wearing that getup down South Beach.”

  “You’d end up with a detective tailing your sketchy ass,” Andrew quipped, and soon the room filled with the sound of us chatting and joking. It was so easy to spend time with Andrew and have it disappear in an instant because of how much fun you were having.

  That’s how it felt when fifteen minutes later, Holly buzzed into Andrew’s office, her voice cutting through a conversation we were having about the brand-new Cuban bodega that opened up a few blocks down. I was mid-orgasm over the memory of the guayaba pastelito when Holly said, “Mr. Fox, your interview is here.”

  I buzzed over to her and thanked her, letting her know that I’d be right there. I got up and told Andrew we needed to stop by La Cocina for lunch now.

  Leaving his office, I closed the door and glanced over at the mirror on the wall and gave myself a quick once-over, making sure I had nothing in my teeth or on my face.

  Normally I didn’t dress up all that much. I was good with a pair of board shorts and a tank top, which was what I tried to get away with most of the time. For my office days, I found a pair of khakis and a light polo shirt usuall
y did the trick. Today, though, I made sure to put in the extra effort, just like I had for all the last interviews I had done.

  Seeing that my face was clear and my teeth clean, I started down the hall. I had looked over Jonah Brightly’s resume the night before. It was an interesting one, to say the least. He had a master’s degree in criminal justice from the University of Florida and had worked three years on the police force, rising up to a senior patrol position in impressive time. He also listed his insanely accurate shooting record when it came to the gun range, apparently beating out the previous record holder for hitting the most bullseyes in the entire state of Florida. He stopped working for the Miami PD a year ago, then one month ago he started working as security for a nearby mall. It was a far cry from senior patrol officer for the Miami-Dade Police Department.

  Something had happened to cause that, and I was interested to find out.

  Turning the corner, I entered into the reception space, my eyes going to Holly first, her smile wide but her gaze locked onto something across the room from her. Holly’s jaw was slightly droopy, her thin brows raised and her eyes a little glossed over, as though she’d made eye contact with Brad Pitt himself.

  I followed her glossy gaze, landing on the object of her much-focused attention.

  And rightly so.

  Holy sh—

  “Hi, Mr. Morrison?”

  I reached a hand out. “Jonah?”

  “Hi,” he said with a smile that hit me like a thousand-watt generator blowing up. He rose from the couch and put out his hand. I took it and shook.

  I was shook. This guy was… wow. He was really fucking attractive.

  But I had to click into work mode. This was an interview for Christ’s sake, not a Grindr hookup. I couldn’t focus on Jonah’s steely blue eyes, or his lickable jawline, or that obviously left-leaning package of his.