Four of Coronado’s Finest Perish in Cuba
Amy lets out a labored breath. If Ray had heard the story right her search should’ve brought up an alternate link in the news category, but there is nothing. She closes her screen and sets her tablet on the counter before disrobing and climbing into the shower. It’s there, under the loudness of water where her voice can be muffled, that she lets out a body-shaking scream and vows to make Ray forget about what he heard.
Six Months Later
THE WHIZ OF CARS accelerating as they merge onto the interstate can be heard through the paper-thin walls. When I first arrived at the run down building I thought for sure I had the address wrong. There is no way someone as distinguished as Carole Clarke, the future mother-in-law to my best friend, Evan Archer, would know or visit a place in the run down part of Seattle. Yet, Carole has raved about her friend, Marley Johnson, being the best private investigator in the business, which is why I’m here. I need the best. I never thought about hiring a woman until Carole made a comment that women think alike and insinuated that a woman looking for a woman might be better. At this point, I have nothing to lose.
Marley’s office is different from the others. Hers is cheery with brightly painted walls, flowers, and has a homey feel. The other offices I’ve been to felt more like a bad Colombo movie, and at any moment I expected the overhanging lights to start moving back and forth, but not here. Here it feels like Marley is going to give a shit about my plight and help me find my family.
I find myself sitting up straighter when the door opens and Marley walks in. She’s of average height and slightly slender, reminding me of Penny. I do that often; pick out features of woman I’m staring at who pass me on the street, in parks, and the grocery store, looking for any hint that they might be my wife. Each time I see a woman with brown eyes it makes me wonder if she’s Penny with a wig, or had plastic surgery. Deep down I know Penny would try Botox or color her hair, but not her eyes. She’d never change those. They’re the only part of our daughter, Claire, that she shares with her. The most important part as far as I’m concerned.
Marley sits down and smiles at me. It’s not one of those, “I feel sorry for you”, but a genuine “I’m happy you’re here” type smiles. I try to return the gesture, but its been so long since I’ve smiled that the muscles in my face are permanently frowning. My life, for the past six years, has been spent in the confines of hell, hunting men who I’ve always vowed to protect my daughter from. When I came home all I wanted to do was crawl into my king size bed and have the loves of my life hold me and never let go.
Instead, I came home to a house that was no longer mine. When I opened the door and walked in, like I did all those times before, I stood there wondering why Penny hadn’t told me that she bought new furniture. After I set my bag down on the coffee table, I went to the wall to look at the pictures Penny had hung up, only to find that I didn’t remember any of the people in the photos. The familiar sound of a gun being cocked caught my attention. I slowly turned around with my hands up in the air to stare down the barrel of a shotgun. It was that moment when everything changed for me. The six years I had been gone didn’t matter anymore.
“Hello, Tucker,” Marley says in a sweet and calm voice. I find it comforting, much like when Ryley, Evan’s fiancée, promises that everything is going to be okay and reminds me that I have to have faith.
“Ma’am,” I say, clearing my voice. For the past six months, I have been living where I can. Being dead for six years and suddenly coming back to life—or returning from your unclassified mission—makes it hard to acclimatize yourself back into the community. With no driver’s license, birth certificate, or any proof of who I am, it’s hard to find a place to live. One would think that the United States Navy would provide me with a place to stay on base, but that hasn’t been the case. In fact, as far as they’re concerned, I don’t exist. Unfortunately for the USN, I refuse to accept the fact that I’m not a SEAL. I’ve worked too hard to obtain that title and I’m not about to let it go because Admiral Jonah Ingram is a corrupt bastard.
“A little about me,” Marley starts. “My specialty is finding the parents who have kidnapped their child.”
“Penny didn’t kidnap Claire,” I interject.
Marley holds her hand up, asking to continue. I nod, and slink back in the chair as if my teacher has reprimanded me for talking out of turn.