Timing is everything and mine was perfect. I worked long hours and had almost no social life. In truth I was still in mourning and work was my therapy. On the Street, I could do no wrong. I made a name for myself along with a lot of connections. In five years I amassed a fortune for many, including myself, and called it quits. I was burned out, rich, alone and except for Billy, I had no nearby friends. I needed to be around friends and people I knew and so I took Billy and went back to the only place that felt safe and familiar—home. Looking out the Fleet limo window on a beautiful fall day, it seemed like a lifetime ago. Actually it was only ten years.
“You getting out or do I have to throw you out?” Roy asked. He was standing outside the car with my door open. Thank God he was smiling.
“Sorry. Lost in thought.”
Roy got back behind the wheel and the driver’s side window went down.
“I’ll need pictures,” I said. “Lots of them and as soon as possible.”
Roy nodded without question. I think he understood what I was looking for. I sensed a lot of intelligence behind those steel gray eyes.
“I’ll call,” he said.
Billy was still in the office.
“Hey, Chief. Gym time,” I said.
Today was a gym day and I needed to work out and think about the case I had just received and didn’t really want. So what did I expect? I couldn’t be an investigator if I didn’t want to investigate!
Mr. Moto’s Fitness Solutions was an expanding and well-equipped fitness center in the heart of Mountain Center. Every time I went in it seemed Moto had added something new. Billy and I had worked out at least three times a week for years and it showed. I was slightly over six feet one inches tall, one hundred ninety-five pounds and in excellent shape if I do say so myself, except in comparison to Billy, who was a solid rock. I wasn’t sure what Billy weighed because he would never get on any scale. I, on the other hand, was obsessed with weighing every day. Billy found that amusing. In fact, Billy found a lot of things I did amusing. Blood, you are strange, he always said.
“Donnie!” Moto semi-shouted as I walked through the door, always the same greeting. He half-smiled at Billy and nodded and Billy grunted back. They never exchanged pleasantries. Billy and Moto carried on a fake feud that each found amusing and each perpetuated. Occasionally they argued for the sport of it. All the regulars in the gym understood what was going on between them and added fuel to the fake fire whenever possible. Truth be known, they liked each other a lot as evidenced a few years back when Billy came to Moto’s aid on Spring Street. Moto was being hassled by a group of bikers, maybe four or five. Billy happened on the scene and before Moto could protest, Billy had put two of them on the ground. Moto is a black belt and really didn’t need any help. Billy knew this but the scene made him angry. It was definitely motivated by racism and Billy had been there before. He couldn’t help but get involved. Mind your own business, Moto had said. I can handle this.
Then handle it, Billy had replied and left the scene, but not before the bikers had gone.
Moto told the story to me later that week out of earshot of Billy. He would not admit it but he was really very proud and very moved by Billy’s intervention. “Dumb Indian!” he said at the time. That was his pet name for Billy and always brought a smile to Billy’s face. Billy in return called Moto a “dumb Chinaman,” which infuriated Moto, which amused Billy. Moto, as Billy well knew, was Japanese.
There were days I had to drag myself into the gym, but Billy never complained about going in. Once I started my routine, I was fine and glad to be there.
“What did Joseph Fleet want with you, Blood?”
“To find his daughter,” I panted from the exercise bike beside Billy. I told Billy what I knew.
“What can I do?” he asked.
“Check the obvious—planes, trains, buses, rental cars. Cover all the smaller airports within a hundred-mile radius for planes, commercial and private. Also check Roanoke, Nashville, and Atlanta. I’m almost positive they drove out of here to a major airport but you might as well cover everything. We are being well-paid.”
“How much?”
“Twenty thousand,” I lied. Billy whistled. I always lied about how much we were being paid. Cherokee Investigations was the major source of income for Billy and I certainly didn’t need the money. Billy loved our business. It made him feel important and gave him a sense of purpose. As the pedals turned, I could see Billy was already thinking about the case.
“If it was me, I’d drive to Atlanta and fly out,” Billy said.
“Good place to start,” I agreed.
We worked out hard for an hour and a half, each in our own way. We started on the exercise bikes for about twenty minutes to get a sweat going and then worked on abs. From there I went to chest and arms, then to back and shoulders, and finished with legs. Sometimes I went back to the bike for about ten minutes at maximum effort or into the side room to work on the speed bag or heavy bag with Billy. I always finished rubbery-legged and feeling justified that despite some of the unhealthy food I continued to eat, I was taking care of my body.
That day we went to the side room to finish our workout. I worked on the speed bag and Billy thumped the heavy bag. Dust flew every time he made contact. After ten minutes on the speed bag and sweating heavily, I took a break. Billy finished his heavy bag workout and reached into his gym bag and took out three knives. They were all large type hunting knives with different blades and handle designs. Billy walked back to the far wall and turned and threw the first knife into a life-sized wooden cutout of a man that was attached to the opposite wall. Billy had made the target himself and Moto, with feigned reluctance, had let Billy mount it in the side room. The knife lodged into the target in the approximate area of the heart. The second knife zipped through the air seconds later and thudded in beside the first. The third knife followed with similar results. Billy repeated this practice in silence while I watched. Sometimes he aimed at an arm or a leg, but mostly the heart. About once a month he had to replace the wood in the chest area. I guess that is why he originally made the target in three pieces, although I never asked.
Billy ended every workout with knife-throwing.
Billy and I left the gym at 7 pm and parted company. I drove back to my condo at the Mountain View condo complex. I walked up two flights of stairs to unit 5300, a penthouse corner unit on the top floor. The five was for building five. The three was for the third floor. The double zero meant corner unit, left side of building. Upon entering I was mauled by Jake, my big black standard poodle, who couldn’t contain himself to a proper greeting. He had to jump, spin, nuzzle, and perform an assortment of other acrobatic wonders. Did he really like me that much or did he have to pee? I never felt like putting Jake to the test, so I grabbed the leash and we went for a walk. I ignored the beeping answering machine. I knew it didn’t have to pee.
Jake and I stayed in town during the week and at the lake house on most weekends. Occasionally we had company of the opposite sex, mostly my company. The lake house is a good hour’s drive and belonged to my parents before they were killed. The house and property was and still is immaculate and sprawls over ten acres, a lot