GrowingOlderHopeWiser

A red-tailed hawk circled overhead, searching for its morning prey. As the tide shifted, the exposed mudflats and wet rocks released a rich, organic smell of earth and decaying river vegetation. Cold moving water, morning dew, damp wood pilings, creosote, and distant diesel exhaust hung in the heavy air.

He remembered the night before. Nothing before that. His head ached, and his throat was dry. The illustrated man rose and walked to a nearby food truck serving coffee and donuts. Something about it felt familiar.
“One tall black coffee and a jelly donut,” he said.

Someone had left a newspaper on a table. He sat down, took a sip of coffee, and read the headline.

Body Found in Alley on 7th and Main.

Not far from Sweeney’s. There has to be a connection.

The article identified the victim as Dan Haines, a known mob goon connected to the O’Reillys. Detectives Zoe Bailey and Brian North were leading the case.

Again, a hint of familiarity stirred in him.
Self-doubt crept in.
Am I a victim, or am I the killer?
His stomach turned at the thought.

Why would I kill him? Or did someone else kill him and frame me?

He checked his pockets again. He had cash, but no wallet and no cell phone. It was as if someone had taken his identity but still wanted him alive.

He made his way back to the center of town and bought a prepaid phone. Then he took a selfie, called the police station, and asked for Detective Zoe Bailey.

When she answered, he said, “Give me your cell number. I need to send you a private text.”

There was a pause.

“Gabe?” she said.

“Do you recognize my voice?”

“What do you mean, do I recognize your voice?”

“Give me your cell number.”

She gave it to him, and he sent the selfie.

“Dammit, Gabe,” she said a moment later. “What are you playing at?”

Her no-nonsense attitude came through even over the phone.

“Do you know me?” he asked.

“Yes. Are you okay?”

“I have a bump on my head, and I can’t remember who I am. I’m worried I may have done something. Can we meet in private?”

“Come to the station.”

“No. Private, please.”

Gabe.

The name settled somewhere inside him.

I’m Gabe.

“Can I count on you?” he asked.

“Yes,” Zoe said. “Meet me at the bookstore café at ten.”

Gabe looked up and saw the two thugs from Sweeney’s heading his way.

Round two, he thought.

Come on, boys.

He grabbed the chair beside him and swung it hard into the first man. Then he pulled a gun from his coat and aimed it at the second.

“I’m going to walk away now,” Gabe said. “You be nice.”

The man froze.

Gabe walked away.

They did not follow.

At the bookstore café, he recognized Zoe right away. She sat at a small table by the window, reading a Stephen King novel. Her short auburn hair and striking blue eyes stood out against her burnt-orange coat.

“Zoe?” he said.

She looked up.

“Jesus, Gabe. You look like shit.”

“I feel like shit.”

He sat across from her and told her everything: waking in the alley beside a dead body, not knowing how he got there, not knowing who he was, and being dragged into the back room at Sweeney’s by men who claimed the Boss was his father.

“I need your help,” he said.

Zoe studied him carefully.

“Well, first of all, I’m sure you didn’t kill Dan Haines. He was your CI.”

“My CI?”

“You’re a private investigator,” she said. “You were looking for a missing girl named Anna Taylor. You came to me last week for leads. That’s how I know what you were working on.”

Gabe sat back, pensive.

“I still can’t put it together,” he said.

“Then we start with your head injury.” Zoe stood, put on her coat, and said, “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

Gabe looked at her, trying to place the feeling her presence stirred in him.

“How well do you know me?” he asked.

Zoe paused.

“Well enough,” she said.

To be continued…