Clouded Rainbow (21 page)

The Pleasant Place Bridge came into Carol’s view. Its tall, ominous structure reached for the night sky as clouds consumed the top of its pointed suspension posts. As Carol took in the sight, she flinched as rain pounded her car’s windshield. She was now entering a place that housed an isolated man with only a few allies.

The detective’s voice commanded her attention. “Lois is on the fifth floor. Ask for Nurse Ann. She will take you to your sister.”

Carol pressed the pedal farther and dodged the cars sprinkled on the early morning bridge. Her mind no longer pondered the location of Lois, and her journey to the hospital was the only obstacle that stood in the way of reuniting. As Carol passed the marred surface on the bridge from the accident, she realized the detective had failed to mention one crucial element of the situation, half of the situation, in fact.

“What about Roger? Is he okay?”

“Well, I’m working on that. He, well…he is on his way to see her,” Det. Cleveland tactfully replied.

“Is he injured? Is he checked into Southern General?”

Carol’s questions incited the detective even more. He suffered the same emotional charge that had energized Carol after hearing her sister’s name. He dug his groomed nails into the leather-wrapped steering wheel and saw “Sixth Street” enter his view. Up ahead, the red light mocked him, but he didn’t slow down. He kept his right foot pressed on the accelerator and hovered his left foot on the brake pedal. He darted his eyes left, and then right as he approached the intersection. Headlights emerged from the right.

The left foot or the right foot?
he asked himself.

Then, almost without thinking, he firmly pressed a foot to the floor—the foot that sent his body back into the seat.

The encroaching car blasted its horn. Its tires locked. Det. Cleveland jerked the wheel to the left. Somehow, he cleared the car.

“Are you still there? Is Roger injured?” Carol repeated.

Det. Cleveland took a breath as he passed the “Sixth Street” hurdle.

“It’s a long story. I will give you the details at the hospital. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just ask for Nurse Ann and only her. And be careful!”

“Okay, okay. Thank you,” Carol replied as she passed the bridge.

She heard the click from the phone as she regained control of the wheel. Carol adjusted her wipers to the highest setting. Her view was cloudy, but at least her eyes were wide open.

21

Rain covered the city. The cars inched through nearly impassable streets. The drainage system at the corner of “Fourth” and “Broad” overflowed with water. Two valet drivers hid under the canopy of The Hideaway. They both stood silently, tired of chitchatting all night, and simply listened to the rain. It spoke in a rhythmic tone, but each object it hit resonated at a different frequency. It was like a game to discern the various noises, which occupied the young men’s time when it had needed occupying. The two college-aged drivers had plenty of time on their hands as they eagerly waited until their shift ended at six o’clock. The taller of the two glanced at his watch, “4:12.” This was the slowest time of the morning for the twenty-four hour establishment. Guests of the hotel were sound asleep and the restaurant crowd didn’t know how to classify a meal. In addition, the rain had put an even bigger damper on potential patrons, but regardless of these variables, valet service was still a requirement.

Suddenly, the men heard the sound of a roaring engine. They watched as a sedan sped through the fierce rain. It neared the front of the entryway, and then its tires locked as the vehicle screeched to a halt. Both valet drivers looked at each other, thunderstruck. The car parked haphazardly with its tail end still hanging in the street. The door flew open as Det. Cleveland hopped out. He took a moment to take in the lights of the structure as the rain finally gave him its greeting. Water saturated Det. Cleveland’s posh, water-resistant trench coat like a freshly squeezed sponge. He felt the energy of the establishment bathe him. The rainwater was salty. It was bizarrely refreshing, like a fully clothed jump into a pool. At the sight of the entryway, the detective hoped more answers than questions were inside.

He walked toward the front door. Both valet drivers were speechless.

“Don’t park it! I’ll be two minutes. Two minutes!” Det. Cleveland instructed.

He barged through the doors and stopped as his body adjusted. The cool, dry air aroused his senses. The doors shut behind him and the sound of the downpour vanished. As his pupils dilated, he looked toward the uninhabited hotel lobby, and then looked at the wall where Munch’s
The Scream
glared at him.

What a disturbing painting
, he thought.

Det. Cleveland shifted his focus to the restaurant entrance. He saw two figures dressed in black talking to one another near a podium. It was the familiar hostess and manager killing time just like their coworkers outside hiding under the canopy. These two, however, were not mute as their opposite sex chromosome sparked a primitive flirtation.

Det. Cleveland shook off his coat like a wet dog and grabbed his police badge. He slid toward the duo and overheard mumbled sounds that he was unable to formulate into English words; however, he did hear the word “breast” said by the man before both turned to the approaching figure in a trench coat. The badge did its trick as the polished silver glistened in the subtle light.

 “Excuse me. I know you reported a disturbance earlier,” the detective added to his badge’s unspoken announcement.

“Yeah, I did. They said they were after one guy. He’s in a lot of trouble,” the manager said.

The manager took a deep breath at the sight of Det. Cleveland. It wasn’t the type of breath inhaled due to fright, but it was the breath of anger, the breath the body required as it fired up. The manager recently spoke with two patrolmen dispatched about thirty minutes earlier. They were two different individuals than the two officers who were still stuck on stake-out duty at the hospital. It wasn’t that the two men outside Lois’ hospital room were the only officers available; in actuality, the captain had engaged a much larger force to handle the Belkin case. Officers were told throughout the city to be aware of the suspected felon.

The manager thought about his conversation thirty minutes ago. He explained the ruckus the apparent bum and his sidekick had made. Then he complained about how he had an unusual increase in vagrant activity over the past few days. The two dispatched police officers didn’t seem to provide any insight into ways to curb the problem, as the patrolmen seemed solely interested in the details of one of the two drifters. It was the taller one with high-water pants as he referred to him, but little did the manager know, the man’s name was Roger Belkin and he was currently the most sought after individual in the city. His suspicions would increase as Det. Cleveland unloaded even more questions on the strange man’s whereabouts.

“Well, can you explain what exactly happened here?” Det. Cleveland asked.

“Yeah, the one guy came in demanding to speak to one of our waiters.”

“Which man came in?”

The images of the uninvited visitors flashed back into the manager’s mind. He remembered looking first at the hostess. She had a small but noticeable quiver to her lip and the crease between her eyebrows signaled duress. He remembered wondering what or who could have caused the normally bubbly girl to squirm, but then his eyes shifted to the man standing across from her. He had a peculiar look to him as his torn clothes, chaotic hair, and roughed face suggested weeks or even months of a hard life on the streets. Unbeknownst to the manager, the man was a prominent patron just the previous night. Regardless of Roger’s true colors, the manager forcefully intervened and when his obtrusive counterpart, the weasel, burst through the doors, it was time to send in the infantry.

“It was the taller one, dark hair, wearing sloppy clothes. His pants were too short,” the manager explained for the second time to the detective.

“And he was with someone else?” Det. Cleveland asked.

“Don’t you police guys talk? Like I told the officers before, he had a friend, a short guy. Looked like a weasel, messy appearance, and yeah, he had a high-pitched voice,” the manager continued.

Unaware to the manager, the police did communicate, but they didn’t necessarily agree with one another’s procedures. Just as a food server could choose to prioritize five tables in order of an anticipated tip, a police detective could make his own judgment in running an investigation. The chain of command in law enforcement usually settled disputes, but in this case, the detective was acting on his own intuition. He was the only savior that Roger, the misunderstood carjacker, misrepresented thief, and misclassified peddling bum, had in the city. The interesting tidbit to the detective was Roger’s counterpart, a mystery man who seemed to be some form of a circus animal based on the descriptions given to him.

“Yeah, I remember the short one’s voice. You can’t miss him,” the hostess added.

“What happened next?”

“The two wouldn’t leave. They were very disruptive and were creating a scene in front of our customers. I’m trying to run a business here, you know,” explained the manager.

“Do you know which way they headed?”

“Like I’m supposed to keep tabs on bums. They’re probably playing in a dumpster for all I know,” the manager said.

Det. Cleveland didn’t appreciate the manager’s quickness, but he didn’t reveal his hand; he never did. The detective had skills to handle all sorts of individuals, ranging from gun-wielding criminals to obnoxious informants to even a deaf and mute robbery victim. Above all, he could read people as a doctor diagnosed an ailment, and he could see why this quick-tempered manager would call the police as a first response to a man who didn’t walk in with a suit and tie.

The manager glanced at one of the muscular servers doubling as a bouncer to Miles and Roger’s ejection. He was holding a plate of steaming Chicken Alfredo with Fettuccini Noodles high above his shoulder as the group caught his eye. The husky server was a man who liked his job as a waiter because of the interaction with guests, but the physical contact he had performed that early morning was not his favorite part of his unwritten duties. In fact, he had never worked in the security field, but his being pressed into service as a bouncer made him wonder whether that was a possible career path.

“Hey, come here a second,” the manager said as he gestured to the busy man. “Do you know which way those two went?”

The server didn’t lower his tray of Chicken Alfredo. Its heat was burning his palms and there wasn’t any place to set the tray down.

“Yeah, they headed in the south direction. That way,” he said, nodding.

He noticed the tall, prominent detective towering over his manager and knew he was a cop. This man, he figured, had to be on a different level than the men who had arrived about thirty minutes earlier. Their bold uniforms had proudly displayed the shield of the law, whereas this man seemed to blend into the night—a quality that he had surely planned.

“Thank you very much,” Det. Cleveland responded as the server resumed his work.

The detective had the tidbit of information that he needed to continue. The south was not just a simple direction to move toward, like a meaningless coordinate in a treasure hunt; it meant something much more powerful. It was the direction of Southern General Hospital. Det. Cleveland was both delighted and nervous that Roger had found a sign that pointed him toward his wife. He was delighted that Roger seemed to be on his way to reuniting with his wife, but nervous that he was also nearing the trolls who guarded her.

Det. Cleveland turned with excitement, but he felt that his investigation in The Hideaway was not yet finished.

“Oh. One more thing. Do you still have the records for yesterday’s reservations?” he asked the manager and hostess.