Yes, I realize that it's been a year and a half since I updated last. It's been a busy year and a half, (my wife and I had our first baby) and life and stuff. Besides, I'm quite prone to writer's block. Anyway, enough excuses...I intend to be much more punctual with my writing. Thank you for hanging in there and please leave feedback. Without further ado, Chapter 3...
Daryl pulled up in front of Eugene's house, putting the car in 'park' and turning off the engine, he surveyed the scene. The house was a nondescript off-white one-story, looking much like every other house on the block, but in a minor state of disrepair. The picket fence, which showed more wood than white, and the withered remains of a flower garden were the only things that differentiated it from its neighbors. There were several police cars parked on the street and an unmarked Plymouth sitting just on the outside of the perimeter. The police had, of course, cordoned off the area while they conducted their investigation. Judging by the number of squad cars present, Daryl suspected something very bad went down here. He just had to find Rick before his partner found Daryl...
"Dixon," said an accusing voice with a slight drawl, "what the hell are you doing here?"
Dammit, thought Daryl as he turned around. "Afternoon, Detective Walsh. You're lookin'..."
"Cut the crap, Dixon! I asked you a question," Snapped Shane. "This is a police investigation, we don't need low-life, gutter dwellers, like you, looking for trouble."
Daryl took one step forward so he was almost face-to-face with Shane. "You kiss your momma with that mouth...or just your partner's wife?" He growled.
"You sonofabitch!" Shane's eyes widened with rage as he reached in his coat for his revolver. He was stopped by the sound of his partner's voice calling from the house.
"Daryl, is that you?" Rick called. "C'mon in, you need to see this."
"Sure thing, Rick," Daryl replied, flashing Shane a smug smile as he took a few steps backwards before turning and walking towards Eugene's house.
Daryl stepped into the house and was immediately taken aback by the scene before him. The living room was a complete mess. Everything looked like it had been torn through. Everything. On the far side of the room was a chair, covered in blood, with ropes still hanging limply over the arms and back. Daryl also noticed a trail of blood leading from the chair into an adjacent room. There was more blood than a body could afford to lose and still be called alive. Rick was standing just inside the doorway waiting for Daryl to take everything in. As soon as Daryl turned to him, Rick held out his hand.
"Thanks for coming so quickly," Rick said, as Daryl accepted his handshake. "This is ugly, really ugly. The blood leads out through the kitchen into the back and stops right at the driveway. We got tire tracks, but the victim doesn't seem to have a car."
"No, he doesn't, "replied Daryl, "I assume this isn't a social call, Grimes. Why did you call me on this?"
Rick held up Daryl's business card...the same one he had given Eugene. "We found this in the victim's coat pocket over by the door." He could see Daryl tense slightly. "Relax, you aren't a suspect. I just hoped you might be able to offer some insight into what happened here."
"I bet your partner would love nothing more than to pin this on me." Daryl grunted.
Rick waved his hand dismissively at the notion, "Forget Shane, you're here at my request."
Rick was just about the only cop in town that Daryl trusted. Sure, everyone had skeletons in their closets, but Rick was a decent and honest cop, even if he wasn't exactly husband of the year. "Is it true about you and that new singer down at Bob's?" Daryl asked nonchalantly, as he began searching around the room for clues.
Rick stared at Daryl for a moment, then looked away. I don't know what you heard and I don't want to know. Michonne is just a friend."
"Uh huh," Daryl replied, unconvinced. He stopped at a small stand on a table in the corner. It held two Japanese swords, a small one and a medium one, with an empty space for a larger one. The ornate red and black handles on the two swords looked an awful lot like the description of the samurai sword that Eugene had appraised. He suddenly wondered just how many people knew about the jewel. Sure, Rosita was following him, presumably to get her hands on it...but she didn't exactly seem like the type to tie a guy to a chair, torture him, then drag his body away. He doubted that she could physically pull this off...maybe her boyfriend, the mechanic. Daryl made a mental note to pay a little visit to Abraham.
Daryl pointed out the missing sword to Rick, but omitted the part about the gem. He told Rick about being hired by two people who seemed to be following each other, but left out Rosita's name, claiming confidentiality. After he finished picking through the ruins of Eugene's house, Rick led him outside to search the end of the blood trail. As they were comparing notes on the crime scene, Daryl noticed a spark of sunlight glinting off of something small in the middle of the gravel driveway. He bent down to pick it up, turning it over in his hand as he examined the lapel pin. It had an engraving of train tracks leading up to an eye surrounded by squiggly lines. He glanced over at Rick to see if the other man had noticed his discovery. Rick appeared to be watching him out of the corner of his eye, then suddenly turned his back as Daryl pocketed the pin.
"Well, thanks for coming down and taking a look around, Daryl," Rick said, finally turning around. "I trust you'll let me know if you think of anything else you can share." Daryl nodded.
Returning to his car, Daryl noticed a parking ticket on his windshield wiper. "Dammit, Walsh." He muttered as he crumpled up the ticket and threw it in the backseat.
That evening, after jotting down some notes for the day and running the details by Anthony, Daryl was absently staring at the pin. His door opened and Beth walked in.
"You goin' home anytime soon, Mr. Dixon?" She asked coyly. "It's past business hours."
"Hm? This business ain't really got hours, darlin'," he replied. "'sides, I'm still trying to figure this out."
"If there aren't really hours, then you're grossly underpaying me," she said with a bat of her lashes as she sat on the corner of his desk, crossing her legs in front of him. "And whatever that is that you've been staring at for the last hour isn't likely to start talking now. What is it?" she asked taking the pin from his hand.
He looked up, as if finally noticing she was there. His eyes traced up the length of her legs, around the curve of her hips, and over the swell of her bosom, to rest on her face. Most of this journey was lit by the light of his desk lamp, but her face was partly concealed in shadow. She looked back from the pin to him.
"I've never seen this design before, but I have some friends at the Library and the Museum who might be able to help." She tossed the pin back to Daryl and gave him a mischievous smile. "Tomorrow."
Daryl dropped the pin in his desk drawer and stood up next to Beth, letting his hands follow the path his eyes has trailed before. Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her passionately. As he broke away, she looked up at him with those beautiful blue eyes...the fathomless depths in which he often lost himself. "So, uh, dinner?" he asked, trying to sound as confident as he did when he spoke to anyone else. She simply nodded. He walked her to the door, grabbing his coat and hat on the way. Suddenly remembering his desk lamp, he ran over to turn it off and looked back to see her silhouetted in the doorway. He could feel his heart thump in his chest, "...and maybe a few drinks at my place?" he continued emboldened.
"Yes, Mr. Dixon," she added coquettishly, walking out of the office. He followed her out.
God, he loved when she called him that.
