Reading more of the conversation log between himself and Detective Holloway brought a sense of interest;

  JH: “This is Detective James Holloway. Today is Thursday, the 2nd of November, 2079. We are commencing our interview with Mister Max Carver. Now, Max, is it true that during the years between 2075 and early 2079, you were associated with the Almano crime family?”

  MC: “No.”

  JH: “Take a look at this photo...”

  Detective Holloway slid evidence number 27 (photograph of Max Carver standing alongside Luca Almano and Henry Thompson — dressed in designer suits.)

  JH: “That’s you right there in the middle, looking sharp. Look at that fancy suit! You were practically best friends with Luca and Henry, weren’t you?”

  MC: “So what if that’s me? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  JH: “That’s the thing, though. You’ve done countless things wrong, but you had Tony's protection. And now that he’s out of the picture, you’re no longer under that shield. I can put you behind bars for a long, long time, but you’re a clever kid. I’m sure you realize we could reach an agreement.”

  MC: “An agreement? Really? (Expletive) you and your agreement.”

  JH: “Watch your language, kid! All I’m asking is for you to help me with one thing; that’s all. No one else needs to know. It can be our little secret.”

  The interview concluded abruptly due to the suspect’s unwillingness to cooperate.

  I chuckled quietly to myself; that was the Max I remembered — a cocky kid fiercely loyal to his friends. After finishing up with Max’s file, I shifted my focus to the documents related to the Monterio case.

  The initial files told a grim but familiar story: the young wife of successful businessman Rodrigo Monterio was last seen alive at a lavish yacht party near the borders of Panama in 2076. Each document echoed the same conclusions, albeit in slightly varying phrases. However, one specific note piqued my interest — scrawled on a crumpled piece of paper was the line:

  “Carver was seen at the party.”

  I knew that Max had some involvement given the fact that he asked me to look into this case in the first place. Yet, the documents offered little more than redundant information; they were circular, repeating what I already knew.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Frustration gnawed at me as I realized I was going in circles, my head spinning from the repetitive evidence presented.

  It was time to call it a night and revisit this puzzle in the morning. I rose from the warm couch, extinguishing the flickering candlelight that danced against the walls and switched off the record player.

  Entering the bathroom, I cranked the shower knob, relishing the anticipation of a warm cascade of water. As I waited for the steam to rise, I began removing my makeup, the ritual almost meditative.

  The shower felt heavenly; warm water streamed over my skin like a gentle embrace, washing away the tension of the day. While in the shower I began thinking about Max and how little I know about him. Throughout all the gigs we’ve done together, all that he told me was his name and that when he was younger, he wanted to be a racing driver, but fate dealt him a different hand.

  But after reading through what the badges had on him, it made me wonder if that was all a lie. All these thoughts and questions that I had were going to be answered once he had returned from Pacifica.

  After rinsing off, I wrapped myself in a plush dressing gown and slipped into cozy clothes, ready to surrender to sleep.

  As I dimmed the lights, my phone buzzed to life, the screen illuminating with an unknown number.

  “Talk! You don’t have a lot of time,” I answered briskly, my heart quickening with curiosity.

  “My name is Rodrigo Monterio. I was given your number by someone who said you could help me find my wife. Please, I’ll pay you whatever you want; just name a price.” His voice wavered with desperation.

  “There’s a coffee shop in Heywood. Be there at noon,” I replied, cutting the connection.

  If this man was indeed who he claimed to be, I sensed that things were about to get significantly more complicated and intriguing.

  The Next Morning.

  After a nice sleep, which was helped by the rain. I took off my eye mask and readied myself for the day. Going to the bathroom to wash my face and put my makeup on, I got dressed walked over to the kitchen and grabbed a fruit box for breakfast.

  Once finished with breakfast, I made sure to grab all the files that were related to the Monterio case, as I had to meet with Holloway in an hour to give the files back.

  Hopping on my motorcycle, I drove to where we agreed to meet, the underground metro station in Heywood.

  The metro was full of people, which wasn't surprising given the fact that it was early in the morning. Within the sheer number of people, Holloway stood out among the rest; he was in his white suit jacket and pants while puffing away at a cigarette.

  “Here...”

  I handed over the files.

  Holloway quickly flicked through, checking to see if any pages were missing.

  “Don’t you trust me?” I said playfully.

  Holloway looked at me. His eyes were serious. “It’s nine o’clock in the fucking morning. I’m not in the mood for wisecracks, especially from someone like you...”

  Once everything was in check, Holloway dropped his cigarette on the floor and stomped on it, putting it out.

  “Let’s get one thing clear. We're even now; I don’t owe you any favors, and you don’t owe me any. Now get out here; knowing you, you’ve probably got somewhere you need to be right now.”

  A smirk appeared on my face before I walked back up the stairs and out of the metro station. Next stop, Rodrigo.