I woke up with the loaded smell of the deep frier. And an intense headache. The scenery didn't make any sense right away, because it wasn't place in the correct angle. My neck was hurting me also, a strange, but familiar soreness. All in all, it took me maybe ten or twelve seconds to realize that I was passed out, tied up to a chair. A little more than that to realize where I was: Reggie's Deli. It's the blue rubber handles on the deep friers and the pans that tipped me off. I had been in this kitchen a few times in the past and that's a detail that I had remarked, everything over there had a blue rubber handle. Some would say it was for security purpose. I knew better. When a restaurent is paid up for with dirty money, the owner tend to shop as in little places as he can, because the place has to open fast. Reggie bought the same kitchenware collection for everything, at the same place. And this had been his ktichenware for the last ten years.
I was in a place owned by Tony Cullen, bound to a chair, something wasn't right. I was extracted from my trail of thoughts by a bucket of water that met my face over the course of its ejection. Cold, icy...and probably dirty water if I rely on the smell that immediatly invaded my nostrils like it was Poland. Yeah, mop water to be more precise. Lemon flavored detergent and the distinctive smell of shoe-bottom didn't leave any doubt. In front of me were two hooded strangers. One I could tell being Ralph. He had removed his police shirt, but I could recognize the pants and even more the shoes he was wearing. Every cop in the city had these. Plus, with a characteristic raspy voice like his, it's foolish to think a hood will conceal your identity.
¨Wake up punk¨ he said.
I resisted an urge to call him by his name. I didn't know yet if my life was in danger, and worse, I didn't know who was the other guy standing next to him. Obviously caucasian, rather strong build, but not as built as Ralph. He seemed a lot more serious and less tempted to talk this than his counterpart. He looked at me in the eyes, not saying anything. I had seen this look a thousand time when I was over at the Academy. Mr. Serious-Stranger was evaluating me. Could he be a cop? That would make all the sense in the world. I stopped looking at him, scared that he'd think I'd recognize him. Ralphie and his big paws helped me doing this anyway.
¨Look at me punk! How d'you feel?¨
¨Will vomiting on your shoes be enough explanation?¨
¨Huh?¨he grunted loudly.
I let go what I had on my stomach, which was not much since I hadn't eaten since the morning. Too stressed out for that. The grease stench and the mop smell I had violating me for the last two minutes were sufficient to give me a state of the art nausea that I happily let go on Ralph's shoes. I do not take kindly to traitors. Even more so if I didn't like the guy that much in the first place.
¨Ah shit man, my shoes!¨ Ralph complained.
The room started to stink even more, but strangely, I felt free from the whatever was weighting down my stomach. Under his hood, the unidentified caucasian man gave me a smile with all the beauty his thin lips could. He appreciated the retaliation.
¨You had it coming man, next time you wake up a prisonner you keep in a grease joint, try clean water, maybe it'll save your shoes.¨
¨Aaaw man, fuck you, I should shoot you right here.¨
Ralph was not making any efforts to hide his voice anymore, he was upset.
¨Shut up¨ said the unidentified man. It was quick and nervous. The man interrogated before. A cop, or maybe a militarty.
¨Wait for me in the front¨.
The mysterious man walked towards my chair and sat in fron of me, looking straight into my eyes. Blue steel stare, if he had a slavic accent I would have been swimming in a bad cinema cliché. I couldn't get past the impression of familiarity, but his voice didn't tell me anything, but his eyes, his manners, everything else was.
¨I heard through the grapevine that you're investigating the Greenwell family.¨
¨You have a very good grapevine sir¨ I answered.
¨I'll be brief, what do you know?¨
Since he served me a perfect fastball right on the plate, I took his lead and lied to him as hard as I could.
¨Not much, except for the fact that they have been veiling in secrecy for a few generations now.¨
¨Exactly, and you know why is this?¨
¨No sir, but I can fell you will share this fact with me soon¨.
¨They need secrecy Parker. They are a very well known and respected family, the spotlight in constantly on them, wherever they go. Do you have kids?¨
¨Not yet sir¨
¨When you're in the spotlight and you have kids, you will need secrecy, for them. You don't want your children to suffer from whatever decision you take.¨
I could've sworn this guy was referring to himself as much as he referred to the Greenwells. He liked the sound of his own voice. Suddenly, two things appeared very clearly to me. First, he bored me to tears and second, this guy was protecting the Greenwells out of personnal gain. He needed the Greenwell family for something. His type wasn't prone to highly violent activities. This guys was an attention seeker. I probably seen him on television or something.
¨You want me off the Winchester case, don't you?¨
His eyes widened. He stared at me like he just saw the Loch Ness monster or something. My heart started pounding as he reached for his inner pocket, but a loud rumble in the dining room had him leaving the place sooner than it took to say ¨Winchester¨ three times. Another proof that the man wasn't a mobster or a dangerous criminal of any kind. He couldn't afford being caught in that sort of situation.
I could hear Ralph yell ¨Back off, back off motherfucker or I shoot you¨.
Then gunfire, then nothing for a little while. Without a single word being said, Tony Cullen of all people walked into the kitchen with a severe look on his face.
¨Hey Tony¨ I articulated through the aggravating headache that was getting worse from the lemony smell.
He gave me his fatherly smile and said:
¨Hey kid.¨
As one of his unknown henchman cut up the zip cuffs I was bound with, Tony briefed me on the situation.
¨I don't know how the fuck you do this kid, but you get yourself in all kinds of fucked up situations. Thank heavens your brother had a gut feeling and asked me to go check out for you.¨
¨Tony, how d'you know I was going to be at Reggie's?¨
¨It was only logical.¨
¨Tony?¨ I said, suddenly scared of what he'd tell me.
¨Kid, I bought this place so the police and I could have some middle grounds to discuss in open public. Some kind of safe haven if you will. That includes sacrificing privacy. Reggie's is one of the rare spots where everybody can do whatever they like. Everyone does interrogation, beat ups and wackings here because nobody will ask questions. It's the kind of place I wanted it to be.¨
I nodded. It made sense. I thought I knew everything of Seattle, but there seemed to be a level of underground activities I didn't even suspected.
¨Thanks Tony. D'you know who was it?¨
¨I have my doubts, what did they tell you exactly?¨
¨The dude that just fled told me about the Greenwells and their taste for secrecy.¨
¨There was another dude? He fled? Man, that must've been someone who didn't want to be caught red handed.¨
¨You got that right¨
¨What did he look like?¨
¨Hooded, blue steel eyes.¨
¨Shea Thornburg?¨
Tony had hit the nail on the head. It all came back to me. The man with the hood was none other than the favorite candidate to the position of chief of police. Was he the mole that got the Greenwells to Winchester's head? If so, what would that make Trevor? Why would he be sacrificed by his family in order to get another man in place? The more I know about this case, the more it seemed to me like Trevor Greenwell had been a scapegoat. Everyone was on it, Karen, his old man, Shea Thornburg....was Tony on it? I trusted the man with my own life, but I had to make sure of it.
¨Tony, who do you think killed Glen Winchester¨?
He looked at me with total surprise and they started cracking up:
¨Not sure kid, not sure. It's a very good question. What I can tell you though is that it makes shit very complex for me. Winchester and I had this non-written rule of non-agression. It made life good for me, but it made me lazy. I have to be back on the grind and find this guy know. What do you know kid?¨
That was his polite way of doing the same thing than Shea Thornburg. The only difference was that this time, I was ready to answer.
