Read The Law Of Three: A Rowan Gant Investigation for Free Online Page B

it
works.”
    He shook his head vigorously and held up a
hand. “Just friggin’ tell me if you can get somethin’ off this
scene or not.”
    “Maybe.” My voice took on a defensive tone.
“I won’t know until I try.”
    Ben rubbed his eyes then sent his hand back
to massage his neck and muttered, “Shit.”
    “What’s going on, Ben?” I asked again.
    After a moment, he began shaking his head as
a decision visibly fell upon him and his shoulders drooped.
    “Not here,” he said, then shifted his gaze
over to Felicity. “You better get in the back unless you’re
drivin’.”
     
    * * * * *
     
    “Okay, I give up. What’s going on?” I asked.
My frustration had finally festered to a point of eruption.
    “Settle down,” Ben ordered with a hushed
voice and a stern glance.
    The drive had been short but conspicuously
wordless. In complete silence, we had traversed slightly more than
a mile of block-long jaunts and eleventh-hour ninety-degree turns.
Fortunately, less than five minutes passed before we arrived at our
final destination, which turned out to be a small diner at the
intersection of Seventh and Chouteau. Still, even five minutes can
seem like forever when you are sitting next to a taciturn cop who
outwardly appears to be pissed off at the world, you included.
    I was no stranger to “Charlie’s Eats,” and
neither was Ben. In fact, this is where he had first shown me the
case file that proved Eldon Porter’s identity. But, that wasn’t its
only distinction. With its proximity to police headquarters,
officers frequented it at all hours. There was even a pair of
parking spaces on the lot designated specifically for patrol cars.
The standing joke was that, other than the food itself, “Chuck’s”
was probably the safest place in the entire city to have a
meal.
    Joking aside, the truth was that while the
fare was far from four-star gourmet, it was good, with sizeable
portions, and reasonably priced. Anything from a doughnut to a
cheeseburger, or even the house specialty—appropriately dubbed “The
Kitchen Sink Omelet”—was available 24/7. On top of that, everything
on the menu came complete with a bottomless cup of coffee.
    “Look, Row,” my friend continued after I
reluctantly followed his instruction and sat back in the booth with
deliberate heaviness. “I know where you’re at, really I do, but you
gotta listen to me for a minute.”
    “I’d like to, but you haven’t been saying
anything,” I fired back.
    “Jeez, Felicity, could you kick ‘im or
somethin’?” He aimed his glance at my wife as he made the
rhetorical statement.
    “Aye, I doubt it would do any good,” she
answered anyway.
    “Heya, Storm,” a bear-like man with a wild
bush of a red beard called to Ben from the other side of the
counter then nodded in my direction. “Rowan.”
    I dipped my head in acknowledgement and did
my best to replace the frown I knew I was wearing with at least
some semblance of a smile.
    “You ever go home, Chuck,” Ben asked the
man.
    “What for?” The man chuckled as he re-tied
the string on his stained apron. “This your wife, Rowan?”
    “Felicity, meet Chuck.” I made the
introduction. “Chuck, Felicity.”
    “Nice to meet you,” my wife said with a lilt,
following the words with one of her winning smiles.
    “Same here,” Chuck agreed.
    “Little slow this morning?” Ben asked.
    Chuck cast an eye at the clock and shook his
head. “Nah, shift change comin’ up. Just the calm before the storm.
Heh-heh,” he chuckled. “But I guess the ‘storm’s’ already here,
huh?”
    “Yeah, Chuck.” Ben shook his head. “Friggin’
hilarious.”
    “Gimme a break, it’s early. So, can I get
youse guys anything?”
    “Just coffee,” my friend told him.
    “Make that two,” I said.
    Felicity added, “Three.”
    Chuck reached under the Formica-sheathed
counter, and when he withdrew his large hand, a trio of ceramic
coffee mugs were hooked on a single index finger. He set them