Clouded Rainbow (17 page)

“Oh, hi, sir. We’re on our way upstairs. The captain wants a stake-out on the Jane Doe,” the burly patrolman said.

Det. Cleveland’s expression remained emotionless, but his blood was boiling. He knew the captain had the wrong idea of Roger; thinking the man was a threat to anyone was outrageous. Det. Cleveland was on top of the situation, but as he was a man who separated himself from the mainstream, so did his superiors. He was outraged that the captain had required a stake-out for Lois’ room, and it was even more appalling that he sent two fools, no less, to perform the task.

“Her name is Lois Belkin,” Det. Cleveland responded.

“Sorry, yes. Well, we’re here just in case hubby Belkin shows up. He’s been upgraded on our priority list,” the hefty patrolman replied.

“Grand Theft Auto. Retail Theft. Evading Arrest,” his skinny counterpart listed.

Det. Cleveland couldn’t believe what he heard. These nitwits were actually serious with thinking this man, this victim, this husband, was actually an evil outlaw preying in the city. While on paper these crimes were indeed flagrant, a simple glance at the complete details of the situation would prove the series of events as circumstantial and unfortunate. Det. Cleveland was surprised at his own compassion for the case; in the past, he would have sided with the by-the-book captain, but this case was different. He was somehow given the privilege to see into the lives of Roger and Lois Belkin, to understand them, to empathize with them. It was ironic, however, that he had never actually met either of them, but that didn’t hamper the conviction he had for doing the right thing.

Both patrolmen snickered from the laundry list of Roger’s offenses, which only added to Det. Cleveland’s disgust.

“So, we’ll be upstairs baby-sitting,” the burly patrolman chuckled. He turned to his comrade. “Why do we always get the shit jobs?”

“No. Why do
you
always get the shit jobs?” the scrawny man replied.

Both men resembled schoolboys clowning around when they should have been focusing on work. The main difference between schoolboys and patrolmen was that the latter carried a weapon, which made clowning around a deadly game.

Det. Cleveland had enough. “Hey, well just don’t go jerking around up there! And keep me up to date if you see any sign of Mr. Belkin.”

Both patrolmen jolted from Det. Cleveland’s burst of energy. Both felt intimidated by his commands, the scrawny one in particular, but the burly patrolman thought of his conversation with the captain. It was actually more like a lecture by the potent man and, while Det. Cleveland and the captain were both above him in rank, the higher positioned always trumped when orders barked. The captain’s boisterous voice still rattled inside his head, “I want this Belkin now!”

“Well, we have specific orders to only go through the captain’s office,” the husky patrolman responded.

“I don’t believe this! Just don’t go playing Robocop!” Det. Cleveland yelled as he stared at the door. He knew he was up against the wall on this one; he was now a lion isolated from the pack, a position that required killer instinct and determination to survive.

Det. Cleveland charged past the two patrolmen toward the door. At this point, the whole lobby focused their attention on the detective. The interns behind the information desk were wide awake from their normally dismal night, and the janitor stopped his work to watch the striking man march with conviction. He thought to himself,
Now that looks like a man on a mission.

17

The late night streets bustled with the cocktail crowd. It was nearing “last call” at the city’s bars and restaurants, but that didn’t stop the night dwellers from overindulging. One of the hopping places under the cloudy sky was The Hideaway. The cool breeze picked up to a chilly wind, but none of the extravagant patrons leaving the restaurant seemed to care. They simply tightened their overcoats and buttoned their animal furs as the valet drivers scurried to retrieve their vehicles.

Roger and Miles stood across the street peering at the building like two wannabe robbers casing a jewelry store. They had walked over two miles through the dark streets, but finally made it. Roger watched as a gray-haired man in a trench coat handed a young valet driver his ticket, which prompted the youth to hustle toward the side garage. For a brief moment, Roger pictured himself as that man. While it was several hours later than a date for him and Lois, an eerie feeling of déjà vu tingled his subconscious senses. As his thoughts swirled, the valet driver returned with a white SUV. Roger widened his eyes as the valet driver commanded a bizarrely similar make and model. At first, Roger doubted the vehicle as an exact replica, save for the pure color, but the large silver-finished rims shined in such a way that confirmed the vehicle’s exactness. Roger could not talk. He could only watch as the valet driver opened the door for the elegant woman accompanying the man. Roger could not see her face. He tried to reposition his neck, but the pain in his muscles nagged him.

Is that Lois?

Somehow, he couldn’t be sure unless he saw her face. The woman entered as the tinted glass consumed her identity. Then, the man in the trench coat walked around the side and handed the valet driver some money. The young worker opened the driver’s side door and the gap gave Roger a moment of direct view of the woman. She was much younger than the man, about thirty, and she had a softness to her feminine features. The woman glanced up and, for a brief moment lasting less than a second, her eyes connected with Roger’s. It was as if she knew he were there watching from across the street. Roger wondered whether she was placed in front of him for a reason, a subtle signal to confirm his presence just over twenty-four hours ago. The SUV’s engine roared down the road into the night. Suddenly, Miles’ nasally voice filled Roger’s ears as he jarred from his own universe back into reality.

“Hey, is that the place or what?”

“Yeah, that’s the place. I was there last night,” Roger said.

“Ha-ha, I bet you were. I myself was having broiled lobster with the Queen,” Miles boasted.

Roger thought about responding with the pieces of the puzzle he knew in his mind, waking up in a hospital, journeying from his house to the city, or how the SUV he just watched drive away resembled his black SUV demolished in the crash on the bridge. He needed to transfer the vivid images traversing his mind to Miles like uploading information over a computer network. Roger, however, could not do that; he could only use words to communicate. Since talk was cheap, in fact it was free, he had no way and no desire to explain the events gusting through his mind. Roger decided to use his energy to move forward, instead of to dwell in the past. Besides, the runt following him was getting on his already stressed nerves.

“The Queen? What? Were you in London?” Roger lashed back, trying to defuse Miles.

“The Queen, I like to refer to our mayor as the Queen,” Miles responded.

“But our mayor is a man,” Roger replied shaking his head.

He realized it was useless to provide any clarity to the weasel’s illogical logic. What was logical, however, was another clue to his riddle just across the street. An image flashed into his mind. It was of a burly fellow holding two wine glasses. Then, a bell rang. It was his waiter from last night.

“I need to talk to our waiter. John, I think. He might be able to fill in the gap after dinner,” Roger continued.

“Okay, I got ya. So we need to talk to John. What if he’s not working?” Miles said.

“I don’t know. I have to at least check. It’s my only clue.”

Roger checked for an opening in traffic. He knew his fatigued muscles required extra time to function. A car passed as Roger saw headlights several blocks away. A window of opportunity presented itself. Roger took it and scuttled across the street. Miles followed, mimicking the moves of his mate. Roger saw the door to the restaurant a half block in front of him. Valet drivers swarmed the front like the Queen’s Guard defending Buckingham Palace. He paused to contemplate the best line of attack, but then Miles walked into his back.

I have to get rid of this guy
, he thought.

It was one thing to take advice from a man with an intimate connection with the streets, but a drifter was someone Roger had no interest in befriending. He wondered if Miles’ persistence was due to a genuine interest in his mission or if it were just for his own personal amusement. Either way, Roger was putting his foot down, even if his foot had pained him.

“I’m going to go in alone. I don’t want them to think we’re staying,” Roger said with conviction.

“You sure? I could distract them while you—”

“We’re not robbing the place! Just give me a few minutes.”

He pushed Miles away, trying to get his response embedded into the stubborn man’s brain. In his thirty-five years, Roger couldn’t remember actually resorting to violence to seal a deal. His urge surprised him, but then again, so did every other action he had performed this day. He was a fish out of water, but he would fight his way through an army on the streets to find the woman who made his heart beat.

Miles became quiet. His eyes stared at the ground. Roger’s jolt seemed to add the right punch to where his words faltered, which made him proud. He hoped Miles would listen to his commands, as he wanted to focus his energy on solving his conundrum, not on managing a mutt.

Roger slithered toward the entrance. He knew his outward appearance would certainly create a ruckus with the gatekeepers, so he slowed in anticipation of a diversion. The door came closer, but a distraction failed to surface. No one walked from the front of the restaurant, which would spring the awaiting dogs to fetch a bone. As Roger panicked, a high-class couple exited the building prompting the two valet drivers to butt heads to assist the patrons. The opportunity presented itself. Roger picked up his steps, but the pain in his leg intensified. Now was not the time to waver. Roger scrunched his brow in an attempt to manage the pain.

“Thank you, sir. It’ll be one moment,” the valet driver responded to his customer.

The glass door was a few more steps away. Roger eyed the glass, which reflected the image of his potential captors. Suddenly in the reflection, Roger saw a hefty valet driver reaching toward him. He prepared to be seized and tossed down, but quickly realized the distorted perspective made the valet driver appear closer than he actually was. The valet driver, in fact, was reaching toward the well-dressed man waiting for his vehicle. He was a tax accountant and offered the valet driver his business card, a typical action he performed to promote his private company. Roger reached for the door handle and felt the cool metal on his sweating palm. He pulled it and scurried inside, but then realized the small hurdle to enter the building was only the beginning as he found himself inside a lion’s den.

The shadowy interior engulfed Roger’s senses as his eyes took in the wide angle. He smelled an intoxicating perfume, and his ears focused on the sound of laughing. The concoction of his new environment caused him to stop cold, trying to process the location. One side led toward the deserted hotel lobby, while the other opened up to the unique restaurant. Roger forgot the intention of his arrival into the building, but then he realized it was the search for a server named John. His eyes fully adjusted, as he looked to his left. Abruptly, he jumped back as he saw a horrifying image, an image of pain, an image of darkness. Little did Roger know, the image was not from this world, but created with brushstrokes of paint on canvas. The face of the shrieking man in Munch’s
The Scream
glared at Roger. He finally realized it was just a painting on the wall.

The laughing continued, which turned Roger’s focus. Off in the distance, he saw a woman across from a smiling man at a table in the restaurant. The placid place settings added a certain finesse to the dinner tables with other classy couples sprinkling the area. Roger raised his head, flaring his nostrils to find the feminine perfume. He finally saw its owner. It was the cute hostess behind the nearby podium.

Roger shuffled toward the young woman. She was the same bubbly hostess from his previous encounter working a double shift tonight, but Roger couldn’t place her. As he neared the young woman, however, he realized her bizarre familiarity. It wasn’t her face; it was her cleavage. Roger stared at her chest as a flash of his encounter with her flowed through his mind. He remembered the bubbly girl seating him and Lois last night. While the environment mimicked his experience from the night before, one crucial detail was missing. Roger looked to his left, but a void filled the space once occupied by his love. Finally, he returned to reality as he shifted his eyes to the face of the hostess, but the expression she had was no longer warm and vivacious. She darted her eyes around the room, as if in search of something. She had no smile, and she nervously flicked her ear as she squirmed in place.