Gene was excited, understandably. It was the first real lead he’d had for this, or any other case, in weeks. For the first time in even longer, he felt himself care about his job. His revitalization had everything to do with Marco, who had brought new life and spirit into his own life and fueled his motivation. But what excited Gene almost more than the break they had just received, although nothing was for certain yet, was seeing the childish joy seize Marco’s faculties. It made him remember the first time he felt that way, on his very first case, and it made him especially nostalgic. It took him back to a time that was simpler. Before his baby girl was born, when he and his wife were still alive together. They were newlyweds, tackling the world together, full of hope and ambition. And somehow, this new lead flushed these memories all at once into the front of Gene’s mind, and brought him pure, although brief, nirvana.
Feeling tears build up behind his eyes and not wanting to expose them, he quickly typed in the address that Terry had just texted him, and sent Marco on their way.
---
The bar was halfway across town, in the northern section of downtown Dallas. It wasn’t anything that would be highly rated in Google’s reviews, and it wasn’t anywhere near where Zoey lived, so without the tip from Terry, they likely never would have found it on their own good police work.
Although it wasn’t the most attractive little bar, it did seem to be very clean and well taken care of. Downtown Dallas wasn’t exactly cheap in terms of real estate leases, so the appearances had to keep up with the rest of the competition.
Walking into the bar was a totally different atmosphere than standing outside of it. The interior was well-kept and beautifully decorated. It was a lowly-lit room, with no overhead lighting. The only lights in the room came from dim chandelier bulbs mounted in sconces on the walls all the way around the room. It had a mostly open floor in the center of the room, minus a few tall tables with bar stools scattered around, and a large bar stretched in a horseshoe on the left side of the room, directly adjacent to a line of booths on the right.
The bar smelled like steak and smoked ribs. It didn’t smell like pure alcohol or vomit, like some notable trashy bars in the less classy part of town. There was no host to greet them as they were free to pick their own seats. Instead, they walked to the first of two bartenders and began asking their typical questions.
However, before even getting the opportunity to show the two ladies the photo of Zoey, they had already determined that neither of them were working that night. The redheaded bartender, though, did know who was there, and even when they were coming back. It seemed almost like they were on a roll of good fortune.
She told them that she was supposed to work that night, but had her shift picked up instead because she wanted to go out. Anthony covered her shift that night, and was scheduled to work again this night.
Marco and Gene walked out of the bar, feeling triumphant for the first time in two long days of interviews that led nowhere.
“Looks like we’re workin’ late, kid,” Gene spouted. “This’ll be your first time, won’t it? It’ll come more often than you’ll like, believe me.” Gene patted Marco on the shoulder as he stepped off of the curb to round the corner of the car.
Marco was excited to work late, though. He had no family to go home to - not even a home to go home to, so working late was no problem. At least his night would be consumed by something a little more interesting than the usual reruns on cable TV.
Ducking into the car, Gene continued, “Hey since we do have to work late, we can go home a little bit early and take a long intermission before we rendezvous tonight. You’re free to do what you want, but take me back to my car. I’m gonna get a nap in at home.”
Marco thought to himself that this would be a great opportunity to do a little apartment hunting for himself. Every night in that hotel was another two hundred dollars out of his pocket.
---
They pulled up into the station, and Marco’s previous spot had long since been taken. He let Gene out to his car, and then was surprised how fast an old man could move when properly motivated with a nap. Marco smiled in reverence of his only friend, then switched to reverse and left for his hotel.
In the few moments he had alone, he took time to appreciate his car. The new car effect still had not worn off, and he had already forgotten what it was like to drive the old beat up Volkswagen. But from now on, his standard was set extraordinarily high, and he realized he would probably never buy anything but a Mercedes-Benz again. Lord willing he didn’t go broke, of course.
The brief moment of solitude passed quickly as he lost himself to his thoughts. He thought about his new car, and then his family, and then his personal life and if he would ever find a woman. He lost himself in his thoughts to the extent that he wasn’t even paying attention to the drive, yet he still made it back to the hotel without incident.
This was nothing unusual for Marco. Sometimes he would become so focused inside of his own mind that he would go on autopilot.
After parking, down the elevator, across the street, into the lobby, up the elevator, down the hall, and into his room he went. The entire journey takes three to five minutes, depending on if he has to wait at a light to cross the street, or if there was a long delay getting an elevator.
He sat at the desk that was provided to him, and used his computer to search the internet for reasonably-priced and livable apartments. It turns out, though, that reasonably-priced wasn’t something that existed in Dallas.
He scanned and bookmarked a few that he liked particularly, that were in the upper end of what he preliminarily considered his price range to be. After settling on three of his favorites, he designed a new monthly budget for himself. He made sure to account for everything he could think of, factoring in the average costs of groceries, a more expensive electric bill due to the larger space, plenty of money to save, and a little to spend. After allowing his spreadsheet to crunch the numbers for him, he was pleasantly surprised by the amount he could comfortably afford to spend on rent, and each of his three favorites were less than what the budget allows for, giving him even extra room for error, along with the overestimates he calculated.
Marco’s father made sure that he was responsible with money, and able to form his own budget, before allowing him to move. In the months prior to his move, his father spent hours every week, showing him the proper ways to handle and budget his finances, and how to be responsible with it. Although he would surely be disappointed in his son for impulse-purchasing a car that was out of his price range, he would certainly be proud in seeing how expertly and quickly he crafted a personal budget for himself.
It was still plenty early in the day, and all the offices were open, so he called each one. All were available to look at immediately, so he planned a route to follow. All three of them were in northern Dallas, so they weren’t very far apart, and he could look at all three of them to make a decision.
---
He wasn’t impressed with the first one. The entire complex looked much less appealing than it did in the photos. Trashy, even. Along with the overall trashiness of the apartments and the surrounding yards, the lobby was uneventful. The staff was rude. There was no gym in the main building either, which is something that both of the others had at roughly the same price.
The second one he visited was quainter. It was further away from downtown, which was both a good and bad thing. It was a slightly longer commute to work, or to any major attraction in the city, but it was much quieter. It was a gorgeous complex, complete with seven different buildings, all three stories high. The buildings were each built around a courtyard, which was flanked by two basketball courts on the northern and southern sides. Inside the main building, there was a business center that had several desktop computers, free to use and with free Wi-Fi; and just beyond the reception desk, there was an archway that led into a hallway, which led into the gym. The gym was small, but it was about as expected for a free gym. It had two trea
dmills, one leg press machine, three bench stations that could be used for bench press or squatting, and a row of dumbbells of all sizes sat in the far corner. The room was pleasantly air conditioned, but apparently always occupied by residents. Marco thought that it may be difficult to use the equipment he needed at times, because they would probably be occupied by someone else. The gym seemed far too small for the complex which, at this point, seemed to be the only con.
But then Marco fell in love with apartment. It put his old apartment to shame. It made him embarrassed that he ever paid money for the old meth palace that he used to call home. The rooms were all empty, but he could see the possibilities. It seemed like a place he cared to decorate, because it seemed like a place worth calling home. The one bedroom was massive in comparison to his old one, dwarfing it, and the bathroom seemed fit for kings. The floorplan actually made sense, and everything was more open compared to the old one. A kitchen ran right off the living room, rather than all the way down the hall at the end of the apartment, which he always thought seemed awkward.
At this point, Marco was already sold, and he decided to not see the third apartment. Plus, this one was cheaper anyway, and he doubted that the third apartment could be any better than this one, and be worth the extra dough.
So, after talking to the office manager that handled leases and sign-ups, Marco committed to a one-year lease, plus a security deposit and first month upfront. The lady then continued to inform them of the standard policies, and even handed him a brochure that recaps everything they discussed. It covered the gym, the basketball courts and courtyard, the mail, lobby hours and rules, and routine bug sprays
Marco was happy to have this past him, and even more ready to move the few things he was keeping out of that apartment. The rest of it would either be left behind, or thrown on the curb. All the furniture, excluding the mattress, would be left behind or thrown out, and replaced with temporary cheap furniture.
Marco completely furnished and paid cash for the things he needed, like a sofa and a coffee table (which he would temporarily use as a stand for the TV, until he could get a replacement), and scheduled delivery for the next day after work. In the meantime, he decided, he would be productive and move what he was keeping over to the new place.
So he did. And after a few trips back and forth from South to North Dallas, carrying a few small loads of what the Mercedes could carry, lo and behold, it was time to get back to work. After dropping off another load, of what was certainly not the last, he headed back to the station. On the car ride there, he adequately primed himself for what may be the biggest, and only, break of this case. If Terry’s intuition was right, and she did in fact go to this bar, and this bartender did in fact recognize her, then they may very well be that much closer to finding Zoey.
Gene pulled into the parking lot at almost exactly the same time as Marco, one Mercedes after the other, and they parked right next to one another. After deciding it was Gene’s turn to drive, Marco killed his engine and took the passenger’s seat in Gene’s car.
As Marco opened the door, Gene shouted, “All aboard!”
It was that goofy, old, non-humor that made Marco laugh; certainly, it wasn’t because it was funny. However, Gene, jovial as always, said it with a grin, seemingly happy to see Marco again, as if he didn’t get tired of him earlier in the day. Marco was the Italian son that Gene never had. The one that he never got to embarrass as a child, or teach how to swing a baseball bat; the one that never got sick of his dad’s jokes at the dinner table. A part of Gene subconsciously saw Marco as his own son, even though he didn’t cognitively recognize it.
“Get a good nap in, there pal?” Marco smiled at Gene, because he already knew the answer. He wouldn’t be so energetic if he hadn’t.
“You know I did. There’s nothing a good nap can’t fix. When you had a long day at work, sleep is the cure. If you get some bad news, nap it off and it’ll help you cope when you wake up. That’s the secret to life, kid. Take more naps,” Gene laughed some more as he left the police station in the rearview mirror.
It hadn’t yet occurred to Marco how important this bit of advice would be to him.
The boys pulled up into the bar parking lot, and then walked in. A waitress who had been there earlier recognized them, and came up to talk again.
“Hey, he’s not here yet. You guys wanna sit and get something to drink while you wait on him?”
“Sure,” Gene smiled back, and she led them to a table in the middle of the floor. “I’ll just have a sweet tea. Thanks.” The waitress looked to Marco, who waved her off, declining her invitation for a drink. As the waitress began to walk off, Gene asked, “Hey, why are you still here? You were here just after lunch time.”
“It’s a double for me today. I came in at eleven and I’ll be here till after midnight probably.”
“Wow, long day. You do that often?” Gene was surprised, but Marco had been there and done that.
“Well yeah. I’ve got an eight-month-old to feed, and I think she eats more than I do.” With optimism in her step, she bounced off, promising that she would be right back with the sweet tea.
The two waited. They waited, and they waited, and they talked. Half of this job seemed to be waiting and talking, but at least Marco had good company.
At this point, Marco knew everything there was to know about Gene’s late wife. So much so, that he felt like he knew her, and then he thought how much he probably would have liked her. Gene made her appear as a saint with no fault, but that might be a biased memory he had of her. Either way, it comforted Marco to know that there was such thing as a real true love out there - someone that seems like a saint with no fault, despite their flaws.
After waiting and waiting some more, Anthony finally showed up to the bar. It seemed he was a bit late for his shift, but it didn’t look like anyone really cared.
Anthony came directly over to them after being sent over by the lady with the eight-month-old. “What can I do for you guys? Jessie said you wanted to talk to me?”
“Yes, sir,” Gene started, “My name is Gene Maxwell and this is my associate Marco Moretti. We are detectives with Dallas Homicide, and we are investigating the disappearance of Miss Zoey Edmund.”
Anthony’s intrigue sparked, but he didn’t say anything. He just nodded and waited for Gene to go on, looking back and forth between Marco and Gene.
“Well, Anthony, she went missing on New Year’s Eve, and we think she came to this bar. Apparently, her and her husband frequented this bar when they came to Dallas, and she came here to celebrate the New Year alone, we’re assuming. And Jessie over there told us that you were here that night and might recognize her.” This was the cue for Marco to show him the photo of her.
As Marco handed him the closeup of her face, which had been cropped and zoomed in from a photo her and Terry had professionally taken, Gene continued, “I want you to look really carefully and think really hard. Do you remember her being here that night?”
Anthony didn’t have to study the photo for long before it clicked in his mind.
“Yeah, of course I know her,” he said, “I’ve waited on her probably a dozen times, including New Year’s Eve. I didn’t recognize the name, but now that I’m seeing her face. Yeah, for sure. She went missing?” Intrigue turned into worry.
“Yessir. You said you served her that night?”
“Yes, I did. Well we all kinda did. We were swamped so we took turns bringing drinks and food and whatnot. Her husband wasn’t with her, which I thought was kinda weird.”
“Well, she had just been through a divorce a couple weeks prior. So she probably was alone. That’s why we’re here,” Gene paused and locked gazes with Anthony. “We really need you to focus and tell us if you saw anything at all out of the ordinary. Was there one person in particular she talked to that night? Did you see her leave with someone? Was she acting strange, or sick, or tired? Anything.”
There was a sparkle in Anthony’s deep, green eyes. He
was handsome, but dim-looking.
“Well, there was a guy. They didn’t come in together, but he came right in and sat by her. And then they talked the rest of the night and left together,” Anthony stopped talking and looked down, then laughed. “It’s funny, ‘cause it didn’t cross my mind for a second that she might cheat on her husband. This guy was real tall, handsome. Looked like he could get any girl he wants, and I’m sorry to speak ill of her, but she wasn’t exactly the most attractive lady I’d ever seen.”
Gene glanced over at Marco, then looked back to Anthony.
“What more can you tell me about this guy?”
He paused and contemplated it for a second before answering. “Well, he was darker skinned, but I think he was still white. Might be part black or something, but don’t take my word for it; there’s hardly any light in this place. He had a really deep voice and buzz cut. Tattoos down his left forearm. He was super jacked, too. Like he played football or was a marine or something. I think he was probably six-two or six-three.” After another few seconds of quiet reflection, he affirmed that’s all he knew. “I didn’t get his name, either, and he paid cash as he went so there was no tab or credit card or anything.”
“Well, normally I’d call that a dead end, but Anthony you just gave us the first bit of important information that we’ve had in two weeks. Thank you.”
“Anything else I can do for y’all?” Anthony took a step back from the table, ready to start his work duties.
“Yeah. Please tell me those security cameras work,” Marco said, pointing up to the two cameras that hung behind the bar, and the one that hung directly above the door.
Decay Page 10
