See Them Die Part 2

A slow trail of smoke rose from an ashtray on Mike Faraday's desk while he sat in front of his computer scrolling through information. Mike was the only person there that early in the morning. As he focused on the screen, he examined all the calls involving Dr. Sylvia Rodriguez. He was looking for violent offenders connected to Dr. Rodriguez.

As Mike Faraday checked the police files, looking for connections to the doctor and not finding any clues, Chief Rogers walked into the investigator's office. Bill Rogers waited for Mike to look up. When Mike Faraday noticed he wasn't alone, he saw Bill motion for him to come to the chief's office.

Seeing the chief in at an early hour came as a surprise. Bill Rogers tended to get in after eight in the morning. It was the first time Mike had seen the chief so early since coming to Coast City. Mike, recently returning from an assignment, didn't know if the chief was there to talk about that or the doctor's murder.

Signing out of his computer, Mike went to the chief's office. Walking into the office, Mike found Bill Rogers at the corner window. From the chief's office, there was a view of the coastal region. Mike remembered the chief explaining how he did his best thinking, staring out that window. He knocked on the door before going in.

"Mike," said Bill Rogers, pointing at a chair. "Welcome back."

"Thank you, sir."

"I hear you caught your first case a little early."

"Yes sir," admitted Mike.

"I know it's a bit soon, but do you have any ideas on this one?"

Mike shook his head. He was still trying to figure out if there was a connection to anyone violent, much less process the brutality at the scene. He knew Dr. Rodriguez was one of them. She'd worked with the department many times. Mike had used her for a few things since being in Coast City. She was good at her job and understood how things worked.

"No sir, not yet," admitted Mike.

Bill Rogers understood but didn't seem professional about how displeased he was. Since coming to Coast City as an investigator, Mike knew Bill Rogers well enough that the man seemed very cold and calculated about the job. He wasn't over the top about managing the department or reactionary like some chiefs.

Sitting there, Bill seemed angry. Everybody was close-knit for an area the size of Coast City. But Bill seemed more emotional about Sylvia's murder than just a chief of police getting involved in the murder of a local E.R. Doctor.

"I want this animal found," Bill demanded.

"Yes sir," sighed Mike.

"Anything you need, you call me, and you keep me looped in," ordered the chief.

"Of course," answered Mike.

"Good," Bill said more calmly. "And Mike, if this animal doesn't make it to court, none of us will be heartbroken."

"Understood," replied Mike.

Bill asked him about the assignment he was returning from. Mike didn't want to think anymore about it. He told his boss as much.

"Well, our friends are pleased with the results."

"I'm glad. It needed to be done," admitted Mike. "I'm going to get back to work."

Mike walked back to the investigator's office and grabbed his gun. There wasn't any connection between the doctor and anyone recently released from prison or active cases. Sitting in the office wasn't going to get him anywhere. While it was still early, there were some trees he could shake.

Half an hour later, Mike Faraday walked into the Player's Club. The Player's Club was a dark and seedy nightmare, even after daybreak. It was one of the first places the investigator checked out upon moving to Coast City. Half the savages could be at the club at any given time. If you wanted to find a thug, run a warrant sweep, or shake a few trees, Player's Club was where to go.

Walking past a line of pool tables, Mike watched two leather-clad girls dancing intimately toward the back of the bar. Some club members from the local chapter of Savage Soldiers sat and watched. Mike wasn't surprised to see them partying so early. The club was known for dabbling in the meth trade, among their other revenue streams.

He hadn't yet had an encounter with the savages, but if there was anyone who might have heard anything about the doctor's murder, they all had their finger on the pulse of the local underworld. Their leader was well-known to the local police.

The President of the Savage Warriors MC was known as Russell. His real name was Eugene Russell Crowe. Mike Faraday always wondered why he wouldn't insist on being called Crowe. It would have been a much cooler name as the chapter president of a motorcycle club.

Mike walked up to the bar and ordered a beer. The bartender was a cute Hispanic wearing a name tag that read Tamara. Judging by how she dressed, Mike believed she was a savage girl.

Tamara brought him a beer. As he tried to pay her, she refused his money. Tamara stood her ground when he insisted on paying.

"Sorry, but club rules. Cop money isn't any good here," she told Mike. "We don't charge you guys."

Mike snickered. He realized now why half the uniformed staff and a third of the special teams members were often at the Player's Club. There were free drinks and all the eye candy they could want. Plus, the owners attracting cops kept the problems to a minimum. He wondered if the chief knew.

"I appreciate it," said Mike. "Can I ask, is Crowe around?"

"Why you asking?"

"It's just a friendly chat," explained Mike. "I'm not here for anyone."

Tamara picked up the phone behind the bar and made a call. After telling the person on the other end someone was there to see the boss, she hung up and told Mike he could go on up.

"Upstairs," she said as she pointed. "First door on the right."

"Thanks," replied Mike before he finished his beer and put the bottle down with a five-dollar bill.

As he walked off, he told her, "Don't worry, I'm sure tipping is still normal."

The staircase next to the dancefloor leads up one story. Mike got to the top of the stairs, and a large, long-haired, tattooed man stood guard. The member of the Savage Warriors wore a cut with a name patch. It read Sandoval. Another patch, the one on his right, read Sgt. At Arms. When Sandoval ordered Mike to put his hands up, Mike complied.

"Tucked in behind me," he told Sandoval.

Mike was referring to his gun. He knew seeing Russell wouldn't be easy, but it was necessary. When Sandoval finished searching him, Mike looked at the much bigger man and told him he'd "be needing that back."

Mike went to the office, where Russell yelled enter. Stepping into the office, Mike looked at the man behind his desk. Russell motioned for him to have a seat.

"What can I do for you, detective?"

"Thanks for agreeing to see me," answered Mike. "I'm here, hoping you can give me some information. I'm understanding that nothing goes on around here without you knowing about it."

"is that a fact?"

"It is," answered Mike. "And there was a murder last night that struck too close to home. I'm hoping you can point me in the right direction."

"It wasn't us," answered Russell.

Mike rubbed the bridge of his nose. His head was starting to pound. Fatigue was setting in.

"Whoever did this, they tore the person apart. It was excessively brutal and borderline bizarre. Anyone of your crew fit the description of excessive and bizarre?"

Russell sat back in his chair. He contemplated throwing Mike out of the office. To come down to his club alone meant that the investigator had balls. Russell liked guys with balls. He leaned forward and insisted that none of his crew were that grizzly.

"I don't suppose you'd tell me if they were," answered Mike.

"Are you going to share with me?"

"What do you want to know," laughed Mike.

"Well, who died?"

Mike showed him a photo from the crime scene and tossed it on the biker's desk. As Russell looked at the image, he turned away from it. A look of genuine shock grew on his face.

"Jesus, not the doctor."

"So, you knew her?"

Russell took a deep breath before he answered. The image made him sick to see. He explained that Sylvia was always a good doctor and worked on him and his guys without complaining or judging them. As Russell put it, she was "good people" and off-limits.

"There's no chance any of your guys could have had a beef with the doctor and gone rogue?"

Russell thought about it for a moment. After considering the question, he said no. Doctor Rodriguez was a friend of the club.

"Alright," Mike told him. "That's all I need for now. I'd love to think you'd call me if you hear anything."

Mike stood and handed Russell a card with his number. He promised it was his private cell, and nobody had to know if Russell called him. The two men stared at each other for a moment before Russell nodded.

"If I hear of anyone claiming responsibility, I'll call you."

"Before you take things into your own hands?"

"I'm too old to go to prison for something I can have one of our guys on the inside take care of," admitted Russell.

Mike thanked him for his time and left. When he got back outside, he encountered the same security as before. He looked at the man and put out his right hand. Mike retrieved his weapon and ammo from the doorman. He breathed a sigh of relief. The idea of grappling with the giant wasn't appealing. At least not then.

Moments after leaving the office at the Player's Club, Mike stepped into his vehicle and sped away. He was going to Sylvia's to retrace her steps to the park. An avid runner was a creature of habit. She'd likely use the same route from home to the park, and that might be where her assailant started stalking her.

Driving up State Street from the club, Mike turned toward the coast. He pulled onto Route Four and noticed the same car that left the downtown area when he left the club was still behind him. Whoever it was, they were keeping their distance. Mike picked up speed and headed toward the north end of town. He could tell they were pursuing his car as the chase car kept pace with Mike.

Mike waited in the center lane until the off-ramp was close. They were still with him.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked aloud.

Suddenly, with no warning, Mike swerved sharply. He nearly crashed as he crossed lanes, getting to the off-ramp. As Mike sped down the off-ramp, the other car stopped, screeching to a halt, as Mike ditched the Tale car. It was a Taurus, and the man who got out of the car and watched Mike driving away was wearing the same dark, hooded jacket as the man he chased near McArthur Park.

He could have kept going, but Mike stopped his car beneath the overpass, got out, and took off on foot. He ran up the side of the hill, through the wet grass and mud, getting to the top in time to see the car speeding away. Mike pulled a pad and pen from his pocket and quickly wrote the plate number down.

"Gotcha, whoever you are," he said aloud.

A bolt of lightning struck in the distance. It broke the focus on the escaping subject as Mike realized there was about to be another downpour. Working his way down the hill, Mike knew he could call in the plate, and dispatch would run it for him. He wanted this to be for his eyes only.

When he got back to his vehicle, Mike made a call.

"It's me," he said. "I need a favor."

He gave the plate to a friend to run. Mike would get the answers back sooner rather than later. Something about the guy in the car gave Mike an odd feeling. The doctor's death was weird, and then the mystery man who was stalking him. Mike's tension level was high.

Mike pulled up outside of Sylvia Rodriguez. He pulled her cellphone records from the computer in his car. They indicated four pings before ending in McArthur Park. He pulled a map of the towers and overlayed it with the city map.

In the distance, the leaves of bushes rustled in front of heavy breathing. The view from behind the bushes was blurred. Nothing seemed normal. It was not like anything Mike would imagine. Mike didn't know it, but what he was looking for was keeping a very close eye on him. As the target of Mike's investigation grew nearer to Mike's car, the bright red lights spooked the savage that killed Dr. Rodriguez. He lunged back behind the bushes, keeping out of sight.