Sorry if I gave anybody a nervous tummy with this story. You had been forewarned lol. Thanks for hanging in there. I hope you enjoyed it.
Quietly humming away on the Led Zepplin song stuck in his head for the past few hours and enjoying a hot cup of coffee thanks to a caring gas station employee; Steve opened the West Californian Intrepid to page 8, where he was promised a full cover story on the latest Chupacabra updates.
"Plans Derailed: Chupacabra likely fleeing the State", it read above a sketch drawing of the mythical creature with long claws and blood running from its dog-like mouth. Chuckling, he slowed down his pace and pulled the paper closer to his face to read the small print.
Between the new code words describing them as experienced zoologists who came to the rescue of the battered and terror-stricken residents of Lucerne, risking life and limb to chase off the Chupacabra, Steve shook his head and smiled. Grateful that he was wrong about his initial assessment of both Andy and Roy, he had to admit that things could have turned out a lot worse had it not been for the courageous and selfless acts of the two newspaper reporters.
Flipping the page to read the rest of the story, Steve became choked up and his eyes welled up with tears when he saw the near perfect black and white sketch drawing of both, Mike and him, leaning against the hood of the Galaxy, arms crossed and smiling.
Below it, the text read: "We will not release the names of our heroes from San Francisco, for their job requires ultimate privacy. But rest assured that this state is a safer place because these two men came to Mendocino willing to chase shadows, willing to look beyond the cloak of doubt; and in doing so, they faced unspeakable violence, death and destruction, all for the greater good, to defy evil in its most heinous form. We will forever be in their debt."
Taking a shuddered breath at the eeriness of their last case, Steve rolled up the paper and stuffed it back into the large inside pocket of his beige overcoat, before buttoning it up against the cold wind coming off the mountains of Eldorado National Forest.
Feeling somewhat relieved that he'd made it all the way to the east side of Placerville before the Porsche broke down once again, he subconsciously fidgeted with the spark plug cable in his right coat pocket, hearing the famous Mike Stone monologue in the back of his head.
"You've been having nothing but trouble with this car. Why won't you skip buying a new suit every month and instead buy a newer and safer car? You don't know what will break next. Or when. What if you get stuck in some mountain range with inclement weather moving in? You can't always rely on tow trucks to help you out…"
Well, he could check that scenario off the list now.
At least only another couple of miles separated him from fixing the Porsche back up and continuing his travel up to Tahoe to spend New Year's with like-minded folks and some friends from Berkeley. Hoping that the three days off would allow him to both, lick his wounds, and get some of the haunting images from their latest case off his mind; Steve couldn't help but wonder how things were at the Stone household at this point.
As promised, he'd given the keys to his apartment to Jeanie, offering it up as a safe haven and refuge from her father's relentless nit-picking at Eric and his qualification as a suiting boyfriend. The latest piece of news had been that Eric would return to Arizona by the end of the week, while Jeanie would stay back until Mid-January to take care of her father. With the strong possibility of needing another surgery on the severely torn muscle tissue of his left arm, Mike would be on sick leave until at least the middle of next week, and limited activity for a couple months after the fact.
In other words, his return from Tahoe would be filled with the dread of dealing with an overly grouchy and cabin-fevered partner who would compensate for his daughter's overbearing doting by being ill-tempered and impatient to everyone in the bullpen, most of all Steve. But it was a reality he could most certainly deal with after a few days of some well-deserved R&R. And yet, one thing had become pretty apparent throughout the whole ordeal; Eric could be the heir of the throne of England and Mike still wouldn't approve.
Chuckling faintly, he somewhat regretted leaving his skis at home but knew that he was only one tumble away from ripping the large assortment of stitches in his side wide open again. Alternatively, he'd have to resort to testing out the new Jacuzzi and massage spa Heather had added in the basement of the Gozinky Motel, his favorite hangout just a couple miles away from the ski lifts. With its large bar, the motel was overlooking many of the slopes along the scenic mountain side and offered competitive prices for long time patrons such as himself and the other four guys from his group.
Mike would never know the treasured culture they'd created in that tiny motel each New Year's Eve. For those three precious days, he was allowed to leave all the death and destruction behind, listen to lawyer talk from Johnnie, catching up with Harold on his art projects and discussing politics with Adrian and Moses.
In other words, not be a Homicide Inspector for once.
With that in mind, he regretfully recalled the news about the Lucerne Sheriff's office he received yesterday. After an intense IA investigation, and with enough evidence to link Watson directly to what happened at the old farm house up north, the evidence purposefully withheld, as well as phone calls that had been made between him and the tow truck drivers to warn them of the arrival of the two detectives, on top of money received from an encrypted overseas account…he was troubled to learn that all three, Luther Watson, Coroner Wilkinson and Wesley Hill Jr. were found dead just a few hours part from each other.
The fact that all three died of an apparent suicide due to a gunshot wound to the head made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
Steve knew well enough neither one of them died of suicide. The implications thereof meant that their Korean doctor may have not left the state quite yet…
He was pulled out of his deep brooding when he heard brakes squeak right next to him, nearly sending him jumping across the guardrail. Looking up from the shoulder of the road, Steve was surprised when a large tow truck slowed down next to him, its driver leaning over to open the passenger door.
"You need a ride, Sir? I am heading east."
Temporarily startled, he was about to jump in when the reality of their latest case hit him lightning fast. Sure, this wasn't an Angel towing truck driven by some questionable individual. And no, there was no manic Korean doctor swinging a scalpel in sight either. But yet again, here he was, travelling alone, with nobody knowing exactly where he was at this moment, and worse yet, he was unarmed.
…Just like every single one of their victims.
…Way too many people who were murdered because they trusted a helping hand in need.
Biting his lip and cringing when he saw rain clouds moving in quickly, Steve shook his head, before pointing his chin at a crossroad ahead.
"I am almost to my car. Thanks a lot though."
The bearded man in his mid-fifties seemed surprised, and then shrugged.
"Suit yourself. Just be careful on this road. People fly down it like it's a highway."
Nodding cordially as he closed the truck door and watched it drive off, Steve felt an involuntary shudder run down his back when he heard the rattling of the chains slowly disappear off in the distance.
With his heart pounding and the palms of his hands feeling sticky, the young Inspector took a deep breath, before resuming his travel back to the waiting Porsche.
Knowing that at least seventeen others were denied that chance of continuing on with their lives, he closed his eyes for a moment, his mind recounting the names and faces the forensic labs were able to put onto the bodies found in the mass grave Danny had dug just south of the farm house.
As he shed a silent tear for their horrendous suffering, Steve looked up at the sky, relishing the raindrops that grew larger and more plentiful by the minute, soaking his hair and clothes along the way. Releasing a long-held breath, he brought that Led Zepplin song back into his mind and began to dance his way to the broken-down Porsche; feeling utterly and thoroughly alive.