𝕻𝖆𝖑𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝕲𝖆𝖙𝖊

Written: Ciaran Clay

The 1999 Crown Vitoria sedan dominated the driveway turning with a slow crawl. The mob of media fixed their attention on the Palmer residence gate. When there is a narrative as complex as the one Detective Cordero was summoned to investigate. There was a liability for anyone in proximity between the reporter and their bleeding lead. The overactive imagination of reporters was something Detective Cordero had no patience for, he could not stand the immature hysteria of the need to report other people’s tragedies.

They were no different than dope fiends. A secondhand account is enough to send an addict into tunnel vision of any substance they can use for a high. The high may not be as good, but it will last. The few of the good fiends just smeared across the passenger side window. Cordero might even dare to call this New York fiend, an actual reporter. Cordero unlocked the door, the car still rolled causing Marty to use what little coordination he had. The door could only open halfway due to the number of reporters. Marty skipped, tripped, hopped, squeezed and fell sideway onto the passenger seat.

“Cordero, you dick! You can’t stop?” Marty shut the door from behind him.

Unapologetically, “Marty! How have you been.”

Marty knew Cordero was laughing in his head, “You the lead detective for the investigation? We got deep pockets and my network is ready to line my pockets, to grease your palms. This is story has a lot of potential, you know you could use my magic. Who else would’ve helped you translate Yiddish during those diamond district homicides.”

Detective Cordero looked up to the cars roof rolling his eyes, “Your Magic? The only magic you have is what appears in those manilla envelopes. Just like the one I should find in the same spot as last time.”

“You got it Cor…”, a big smile on his face and still talking about his graciousness in respectful mannerisms. He was the dope fiend, surrounded by all the other dope fiends, about to get chauffeured to ‘Carlos Lehders of national media dope’.

Detective Cordero long thick hands smacked so fast the crack of his hands clapping found an echo somewhere deep inside Marty’s mind.

“Hey! Settle down. The same spot! Tonight! Make it double too, this type of wealth never talks to the press.”

“Do you think the kid and his girlfriend did it?”

“Marty… What do I always tell you?”

“Everybody is always guilty of something.”

The Gothic style wrought iron gate for the Palmer estate began to pull open.

“Look at that, maybe you do have some magic.”

The press swarmed the edges for any breakdowns of the police barrier. One of the corporals walked up to Detective Cordero driver side window.

“Detective Cordero?”, The officer asked.

Cordero flashed his badge too the young East Hampton police officer.

“A bit odd for NYPD to be leading the investigation.”, The officer looked from Cordero to Marty and raised his eyebrow, “Your Partner?”

The two slender athletic officers both stared at the awkward overweight hunched posture of the journalist. Marty was still adjusting the seatbelt buckle.

“Hey there, Officer Rane. I don’t have my credentials, you know how it is, undercover work. Cordero will vouch for me.”, Marty buckled his seatbelt and sat up straight.

Cordero grinned, eyed the officers name tag. “Officer McCallister, you have a good night!”

Officer McCallister rolled his eyes and let the lead detective through.

The window rolled up.

“Wow! This place is …”, Marty was speechless.

The dusk of the day was beginning to set. The freckles on Marty’s fat cheeks made him look fatter than he was, He had to of been the only redheaded Irish guy living in Flatbush. His Puerto Rican wife was church friends with Cordero’s wife. She was way out of Marty’s league; Cordero stopped trying to solve that mystery. He would have better luck deciphering the Rosetta Stone. For as much as Cordero bullied Marty, Cordero admired how Marty wore his thick skin.

In the manner, a real New Yorker learns the meaning of ‘thick skinned’. You can get a new layer on any corner of the borough, any time you want. Well maybe not East hampton.

“Ok, Officer Raine. Remember my hands are taped, this is my fight. You are my cut guy. What do cut guys do?”

“They don’t talk.”, Marty said looking like a college football player beating his own chest looking down the tunnel at the packed field on game day.

“Exactly! cut guys don’t talk.”

The cars transmission was thrown in park. Turning the key back, the ignition shut off and Detective Cordero removed the keys, hoped out the car, pocketed the key and shut the car door. Marty, hunched over the center consul, hurried to Cordero pace. He unbuckled the seatbelt and pulled the passenger door handle. With too much force on a locked handle, it sprung back to the door. Embarrassed of his obvious over excitement. He released a frustrated growl to himself and the door. Unlocking the door, he came out of the Crown Vic still breathing out his teeth like a mad man.

“You got it Marty?”

“I can never tell if your asking a question or being imperative when you say that. What is it?”

Marty looked back at the cobblestone driveway. He had no idea grass could be so green.

“I read that Mansions in East Hamptons, chose not to spend a lot of money on the landscaping of the front yard. It is said to take away attention from the Mansion.”.

This much wealth was a hard truth that Detective Cordero, knew would be a deficient in his life he could never make up.

The two hopped up a few series of concrete stairs toward the front door.

“The square footage of this stoop is bigger than Rosaline and I’s apartment. Can you even call this a stoop?”

Soli smiled back at the blue-collar humor.

Detective Cordero reached for the doorbell. The doors lock reversed as he reached across his body. The deadbolt was heard being unlocked.

The petite heiress of the inheritance of her deceased husband. Ms. Palmer had been one of the wealthiest women in the world, since 1981.

At first sight to Cordero, Alice Palmer was a step above cleopatra, not the Elizabeth Taylor fraud. The authentic cleopatra had been reborn.

“Good Evening Detectives, please come in.”

The Estate was a museum inside. Gothic and Orient, black and white marble blends. Pillar columns for cosmetic effect. The high ceilings of the foyer stretched up three stories. A three-tier crystal chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling.

Cordero turned to find Marty. Marty found no interest in the random details of real estate. He was locked in on Cleopatra.

There was not much natural light. The foyer had a holy feeling of sanctuary. The heaven-sent white light beamed from the chandelier onto the three. Detective Cordero was a chivalrous man and remained locked on Ms. Palmers perfect facial construction, as well gauging her emotional state.

It took one second of her inattention for Cordero, to morph to his Puerto Rican hypersexual self.

The bottom of her ass was falling out of her cut off and fraying denim shorts. Her exposed cheeks shook as she shut and locked the tall arching heavy black stained wood door. She turned and smiled and holding her heart, she walked toward Marty first and gave him a hug.

“I am so sorry for the loss of your law enforcement partner.”

Marty hugged her tighter and was a brilliant cut man. He was in heaven with her large breast and wet hair stuck just above his heart.

She took a deep breath. Then with her hands covering her mouth, then to the air again. She engulfed the tall Latino Detective. His immediate shift from his old self was large and growing. Cordero gritted his teeth, rubbed her back, grabbed her shoulders and thanked her for her sympathy. He had to evade temptation from all angles. Infidelity was the most reoccurring issue in the Cordero household. His wife Mary meant the world to Cordero. Deep down Cordero knew he was on this earth to be a lover. He just could never settle down, even after having a faithful wife.

Ms. Palmer was a real issue of temptation. As fast as he retreated from her touch. He had no remorse for the scheming and lies already setting in his mind. Retrieving his notepad from his coat liner pocket. He set his boundaries with Ms. Palmer, at this particular moment.

“My deepest sympathies, whatever my family can do for the Montauk Police department and the officer missing… his family… oh dear! I hope they are not offended by our request of an experienced NYPD investigator. I just feel like this whole circumstance calls for the finest” Her engagement with resolution was a relief. Her motivation was cute. She felt like she was part of the team.

“The charity is a blessing, but it is not necessary Ms. Palmer. This is a shocking moment and with my experience Ms. Palmer, each second that passes can be critical. We shouldn’t even jump to monetary reparations just yet. We don’t even know if your son has committed any crime. To be honest Ms. Palmer I just want to help find your son and his girlfriend before anyone wearing a badge does.”

“Why? What will they do to him?”, her aloof bewilderment was a good foundation of her estrangement from the reality of how the majority of us live.

“Nothing, nothing at all. I just don’t want him to get tricked by the forked tongues of any arresting officers looking for glory among the workplace. They might get him on record saying something that will hurt him in court.”

The mere mention of the word court made Ms. Palmer drop her shoulders and brought on tears being fought back. She wiped a pool of her tears about to drip down her left cheek.

“I am sorry to interrupt, lets finish this in the study”, Ms. Palmer concluded.

‘Let’s all digress, there are not many variables to the crime scene. Unfortunately, your son and his girlfriend’s car were the last one on the patrol cars dash cam.”

There was a brief pause as the three turned toward the study. Cordero who stood at the base of the stairs facing the door stepped forward. A painting had caught his eye.

Marty followed Ms. Palmer while still soaking up the extravagant spiraling black and white marble staircase. Marty let out another astonished sigh. “I did not even see that there is a water marked pattern in black on the black wallpaper, brilliant. Did you decorate the home? Not a lot of gothic tones or styles in East Hampton.”

Ms. Palmer pushed the right door further back. Marty grabbed the Arching center of the same door. Appreciating the craftsmanship and ensuring a safe and controlled stop.

Detective Cordero heard Ms. Palmer discussing comfortable pleasantries of her home. His eyes still locked on the painting.

Just behind the door Marty had just removed his hand, as the door came to a resting position. There was a light switch housing two switches and two turn dials. There was one open circuit that she flicked up to close. A large bright French Tole Chandelier was wrapped in metal twining vines. Metal leaves, purple metal lilies, red metal poppy buds. Marty had a look in his eye that he would dedicate his life to own an identical light fixture.

“Detective?”, Ms. Palmer called from the Study walking toward Cordero.

She ran her hand from the middle of his back up to his left shoulder.

Cordero jumped from his hypnotic trap.

“Sorry, Such a beautiful painting. There is something so terrifying about it too.”

“That’s what art is? No? One of my most pleasurable to own. Henry Fuseli, The Shepherds Dream. It is a replica that was done by Cole.”

They looked at each other and she smiled, “Mother’s Day gift. Come to the War Room as you men call it … Right?”.

Marty was still looking up as he took a seat on one of the sofas in the center of the room. Cordero and Alice walked in through the right side of the wide-open double doors. She walked toward the front of the room. She began to open the blackout celling to floor curtains. Cordero helped, Marty finally looked away and attempted to explore the finer things of the East Hampton lifestyle. His blindness was only temporary, he attempted to blink away the overexposed cornea.

The tall dark red velvet curtains ruffled back and let whatever natural light remained of the dusk, seep through. Marty began to make out some images again. Similar orient wallpaper from the stairs. Rather black on black, The hues of gold shimmering contorted objects, reds, and greens. This was a comfortable room full of life, Marty felt as if he could sit here all day.

Her fitted shirt only accented her petite curves more. So much so, Detective Soliz began playing with his wedding ring with an unconscious mind.

“Please, both of you sit. Let me get you all something to snack on! Woosh! I am quite hungry myself.”

“Ms. Palmer, I really would like to start as soon as possible.”

A door opened from the kitchen, which was just outside the study. Only it was caddy cornered form the foyer entrance. Ms. Palmer stepped through the doorless path into the kitchen. “Honey!?”

Detective Cordero didn’t notice a ring on Ms. Palmers hand.

“The concubine, A tryst with the pool guy, had to be a physical trainer.”, Marty whispered getting comfortable on the leather sofa next to Cordero.

She walked out of their view. Detective Cordero heard the formal greetings of a kiss. As they approached the conversation and entered the study. Their body language was immediate one of lovers.

“New York’s Finest!” Ms. Palmer said as she raised her hands chest level and spread them apart, as if me Marty were a showcase on The Price is Right.

“Gentlemen! Mike Tonelli. Call me Mike. Mike is just fine.”, He shook both their hands and offered a glass of whiskey. Cordero and Marty have not even fully introduced themselves.

Ms. Palmer walked back into the study with a clear bowl of fruits, a transparent spoon, and four small clear plates. She peeled off the saran wrap, crumpled of the thin plastic and stuffed her back pocket. She placed the bowl and plates on top of the pink marble coffee table. The separated groups of eclectic personalities brought together through unlawful behaviors.

“Corporal Rane? Annn…. Yea… Detective Cordero.” Her right hand pointed with a twitch down.

They all took their seats with an awkward silence. The situation again set upon them. The current circumstance tended to always have tragic endings.

Detective Cordero looked at Marty, whom was smiling at Ms. Palmer as she leaned over the fruit bowl exposing her cleavage as the fruit poured from the spoon onto her plate in a sporadic placement.

Mike was heard, by way of a lamp rope being pulled. The bright white light of the stained-glass tiffany lamp exposed Mike clinking crystal decanter and a whiskey glass. The wallpaper shined with reflective contours of ink. Marty looked away from Ms. Palmer as she sat back up. She spotted Marty still smiling. Realizing why he was smiling. She smiled back and popped a strawberry in her mouth. Marty looked at Cordero who was staring at him with a straight face.

Marty dropped his smile and became a cut man. His Thousand-mile stare drifted into the gold contours of the cherry blossom trees of the wallpaper, the orient agriculture and textile sustainable village. Framed by a diagonal floral arrangement of golden leaves and branches of a detailed macro depiction of the Cherry Blossoms.

Detective Cordero looked at Ms. Palmer with a glance. This house harbored more distractions than Pee Wees fun house. Cordero remained vigilant to his self-improvement of self-discipline. ‘Persistent to evade and Precise as Mary on a hot Puerto Rican summer day.’

‘The world of the rich’, Cordero described just under his corny rhyming techniques of ignoring temptations. Corporal Raine remained a fantastic cut man.

“Ms. Palmer, do you recall Nalia Khan Haani the last person you remember your son going to meet or was she here on the day of September the Ninth, Two thousand and one... Before you answer…”.

Marty watched Cordero pull out his digital recorder that was already flashing a red light. Marty grinned to Cordero’s sneaky tactics, “…I Imagine the two of you know the continuation of my partner and Ide’s time here, will be recorded.”

“Are you Two Okay with that?”

Tonelli and Palmer both nodded yes. Mike double verified with a, “Definitely!”.

Ms. Palmer pulled at both lapels of her unbuttoned petite pearl white oxford button down. Her wet hair that was scrunched up. Continued to drip atop her fitted button down.

From the time of their arrival; To now, Ms. Palmers unique ageless body was the definition of temptation. She defined power in every angle and posture of her body. She sucked every absolute energy, temporal to whatever environment she inhabited.

He watched another chain of drops, splash! The transparency of her button down was enough to say something. Her black bikini top cupped natural 34DD.

Cordero started jotting a note to not stare. As well realized, Alice had forgot to answer the question. He checked on Marty from his peripheral. He appeared to be texting on his mobile.

‘Diamond Choker’, Detective Cordero finished his note.

Cordero continued to not be lured by her, so he focused on his notes and the questions he had wanted to ask.

His memory filled with clusters of blues, reds, pinks, and greens reflected of her glowing tan skin. The crafted light particles created a pendulum to his eyes. Tonelli was heard pouring another glass. Cordero again looked up toward Mike grabbing a clean whiskey glass. Marty with no worries of real disciplinary action, dropped his mobile phone in his lap and scooted forward. Both the Men’s hands granting and accepting Cordero’s holy water. There must have been some hand gestures and nonverbal facial communication between the two in the brief seconds he looked back to his notebook.

He was about to call the dumbass out. Just another distraction.

Cordero cleared his throat and completed his pause of directive thought.

“Ok! So, Ms. Palmer, was she?” Detective Cordero made the first deep and honest eye contact with Ms. Palmer.

Without reminder she placed a hand over her mouth. She finished chewing and placed the scatted fruit onto the table.

“She was! I remember the morning like it was two days ago.”

Ms. Palmers eyes locked back to Cordero and she moved her hand back on to her lap. She seemed patient and In control. She was the Queen of Money and she looked as one would think, The Queen of Money should look.

“From previous co-workers and family members of Khan Haani family. To me it seems to be that she is a well-liked coworker and friends. All characterize her to be a quiet, smart, punctual. Her closest work friends say that she as a bit of an obsessive-compulsive disorder. Some say she could be arrogant sometimes. But as far as I am concerned….” Detective Scott felt a sneeze and took an informal pause.

Covering his mouth and raising his chest with an autonomous politeness.

Nothing came up from his naval cavities. His puffed chest retreated, his lungs fell back to their normal function, and she shook his head.

“My apologies, the allergies are insane right now.”

“How about you Ms. Palmer, did Nalia ever show signs of social dysfunctional traits, manic behaviors, or did Cole? Did they both ever engage in any high-risk lifestyles?”

Marty sucked in air onto his tongue from the sting of the whiskey.

“Detective, may I?”, Mike scooted forward on the edge of the sofa, full of some sort of information to help build a better frame of Cole personality.

“Please. Anything in the past month that stands out?”

“Cole is a standup guy; He has his own companies. The most risk he takes are probably listed on paper in his desk upstairs, There’s probably even percentages of risk and success next to each individual risk. I’ve known him for 10 years. He doesn’t say much, and we don’t have a lot in common. One thing Cole is not, is not someone to kidnap a cop. Every second of his life is measured by the hours of the day. I’ll take you upstairs to see his planner. I didn’t know his father, anymore than he can remember any time he had with him. I guess we have that in common. We also love his mother to the deepest depths of love. His Mother. Alice! She made up double in any discipline Cole would have missed out on. That boy has never been hell for his mother, Nor me. This is all to hard to digest, there must be something we are missing. Nalia and Cole wouldn’t shoot and kidnap a Montauk officer. Look at this world they live. No way those two are your Bonnie and Clyde. His mom has even offered financial support for him to start his business. He would never accept it if she deposited the monies straight into his checking account. Those two are the future backbone of American industry. They are anything but what they are suspected. Nalia and Cole have been together for a year now, from my most recent observation, I would say this is the happiest past year of his life.”

“Well said Mike, I agree there is something that does not add up. It is what alarms me most. I promise to both of you, we are going to figure all of this out.”.

Cordero slapped Marty about to finish of the two fingers remaining from his generous pour. Again, a good cut man. Marty handed the glass to Soli and watched him shoot the rest of whiskey.

A gulp and a nod to Mikes taste in a quality barrel batch. The empty glass was placed gently just ahead of the detective. He looked up and saw a penetrating smirk from Ms. Palmer. Again, her magnetic glances were impossible to avoid her gaze.

“I appreciate honesty when I see it, so thank you, both of you.”

Detective Cordero erected his posture and took a deep breath. Pressed his hair back, with a insecure tick from high school he never broke.

“Ms. Palmer has Cutis has never been arrested, I could not find any record in his database.”

“No previous arrest. No, none.”

“Have you ever noticed him casually break the law, and have no remorse? Any falling out with a former friends or acquaintances. Perhaps, another girlfriend? Has he come across some new financial woes he may be embarrassed to speak on?”

Detective Cordero rubbed his eyes and stretched his arms forward. He looked down at his notebook.”

‘One year?’, Cordero wrote down the anniversary of their relationship. He thumbed a few pages back and circled previous information sourced.

Marty had been watching her rub her legs back and forth. Rolling her posture from left to right. How could she be so conspicuous.

He listened to Ms. Palmer say a similar description of her son. Even denying any of the possible unknown connections leading to Cole’ current social legal status.

“Very Well. One thing that just came to mind. A year he has been with Nalia.”

The two nodded, “One year a month ago. I remember because I had bought him tiramisu and her a mango mouse. Both their favorite pastries.” Alice said.

“It’s not out of the ordinary, maybe because of her family’s culture. But, Nalias family had no idea she even had a boyfriend. I can understand why her social life is a bit guarded. Her family is traditional 2nd Generation Pakistani immigrants from Ba-loch-istan province”

Detective Cordero shrugged and shoulders and raised his hands, “I’m sure I butchered that, out of curiosity, I sourced the Ba-loch-istan province in the encyclopedia. Yeesh!”, fanned himself and wiped pretend sweat from his forehead.

“That countries location and civil conflicts with other tribes, provinces, countries. It is more confusing than when I first started learning English as a boy. My parents are 2nd generation immigrants so I sympathize with her. Between all of us, her father was harder than a coffin nail.”

“Oh? So how many languages can you speak?”, Ms. Palmer asked preceding to bite into her lower lip.

Again, Cordero avoided her advances and looked up in response. He began counting them off with his fingers, “English, Spanish, some French, and body.”. The room got a kick out of the last one.

Marty watched Alice rubbing faster back and forth. Building anxiety in her eyes, heavier breathes running the continual repetitive friction, stimulating her motivation for the detective’s lust.

“Mike. Did Cole never say anything about Nalia home life?”, She said with a quick transformation from smiles to urgent concern.

Mike shook his head, looking around the room, verifying his best of knowledge.

“Like i said, I have some empathy for Nalia. I mean she is a Registered Nurse at Sinai West in Manhattan. I know she is a smart girl and again based on coworkers and family testimonies. Coupled to what little I know of Cole right now. My intuition tells me that Nalia and Cole may have just been at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Excuse me detective…” Detective Soliz had to fall victim to the no man’s land of distractions.

“…What was on the dash cam? What could you figure out from that evidence?” Mike leaned into to start to whisper something to Ms. Palmer. He was meet with a swipe and a stern, ‘Let the detective speak’

“I believe my Superior was forwarding all that information to your consiglieri whom scheduled this appointment possibly even to your own email.”

She popped up from her seat to go check her emails, Cordero suspected.

“Please Ms. Palmer lets continue this while we are on the record; The faster we finish the faster me and my partner can bring your son home too safety. As far as the dash cam. It is quite disturbing. Officer Gant was called to the scene after the suspected vehicle illegally parked near the Montauk lighthouse. Just as officer Gant approached Nalias Vehicle. Two masked people in all black exited the vehicle. The driver had fired two shots into the lower torso of Officer Gant before the citation book he was holding could hit the floor. Just as he hit the cement. Officer Gant then rolls back on to the service lane from the road, only to be meet by the passenger whom restrained Officer Gant. By this time, the driver opens the trunk and helps the second culprit toss Officer Gant into the trunk of Nalias vehicle.”

Detective Cordero picked up the empty glass of whiskey from the table, “I’m sorry but may I have another?”.

Lifting the Waterford crystal toward Mike’s outstretched hand. He thumbed to his notes to continue describing the dash camera footage.

“After Officer Gant was restrained and locked in the trunk of Nalias vehicle. The driver jumped back into Nalias vehicle and drove off. The passenger moved on to the theft of Officer Gants duty vehicle. The Montauk patrol vehicle was found two hours later by the Mastic Beach Police. So far, no fingerprints, no bodies, no ransom, only a pool of blood in the trunk.”

Ms. Palmers seductive tactics had come to a halt. Her mouth covered by her left hand and shimmering diamonds. Her continued heavy breath and squinting eyes attempting to hold back tears.

“Detective I must contact my lawyer. I cannot believe this.”

She was past the point of toughing the rest of the testimony. She was visibly in shock and on her way out of the study toward the foyer, she even mentioned medicating her anxiety with Xanax.

Detective Cordero grabbed the whiskey glass from Mike who leaned over the table between the two sofas where Cordero was also ceasing the audio recording.

“Excuse me gentlemen, I have to step outside for a minute. Feel free to roam wherever if you would like. The bathroom is in the hallway below the staircase. Cole’ Room is actually the whole first floor just above us.”

Mike pulled out a mobile phone from his jacket pocket he had placed on the back of the sofa prior to taking his seat.

“If she asks, tell her I am just outside by the pool.”

“Very Well, Mr. Tonelli. Thank you again for the Whiskey. Irish?” Soli asked as he raised the glass of whiskey.

Mike stopped in his stride as the phone could be heard ringing, “Japanese!”.

Mike smirked, “I only hope the shock on my face was as priceless as the one on your face detective.”

With a raised eyebrow and estranged disbelief, he swirled the three fingers in a spiral.

“Very good.”

“I’ll grab you a bottle before you leave.” Mikes phone pressed to his ear. Before Cole could refuse he was already inside the kitchen.

“What do you ….” Marty began to ask.

Meet with an immediate raised finger level to Marty’s lips, “Cut man Corporal Rane, think to yourself.”

Another swig of the Japanese fine craft.

‘So particular’ talking to himself through mental cues he continued to write on his notepad.

Detective Cordero stood up and finished the rest of his glass of whiskey. He folded back down to place his empty glass on the pink marble table.

The electricity flickered, both Detective Cordero and Marty looked up. The current of power remained through the light fixture and the rest of the house.

“Flash Outage?”, Cordero suspected.

“Oh Dear! This happened last night as well.” Ms. Palmer stated across the foyer.

“Mr. Martinez, Noe Martinez our lawyer said that he had received an email with the dash cam recording. But the power surge just made my computer reboot. My apologies, Detectives I had to take my prescriptions and change into some more appropriate clothes. Please turn on the recorder lets continue…”. It was visible she had just been crying.

She was back in the foyer before Detective Cordero could pull out his recorder. Not even looking at her new outfit, He continued the audio recording.

“Before we start, I want to say Ms. Palmer has contacted the family legal counsel, specifically about the possession of dashcam footage. Also, Mike Tonelli; Ms. Palmers concubine … significant other… has stepped out for a phone call. Mr. Tonelli promised to return.”

“Ms. Palmer I want to just get down some history of Cole when he was younger. Forgive me if I step on your toes. I know that some of these questions do not seem linear to the current circumstance, but it’s for my own evaluating purpose. Your late Husband, Cole Palmer Sr.; he was a Private consultant for the world bank? In fact, I understand that he had actually passed on a work-related incident. During this time how old was Cole Jr.? I am only asking because I have no information at all about when Cole Sr. had passed and How long Cole Jr. had known him.”

“Oh, Cole’ father and him were actually quite close. Cole is Twenty-Seven now, born in Nineteen Seventy-Four, making him Seven at the time of his dads passing. Cole Sr. loved him with all his heart.”

The change of Ms. Palmers attention and presence was day and night. She was still patient, more aloof, simple and plain, she was distant.

The kitchen door that led out to the pool, could be heard creaking open. Mr. Tonelli stood from the study entrance from the kitchen.

“Alice!”, Ms. Palmer looked back at Mike.

“The curator called?”, Mike shook his head, nonverbal with an affirmative.

“Hold up, before you go!”, She turned back toward both Investigators.

“Do you need anything Further from Mike? Or must he stay? I do not know the formalities of procedures in circumstance like the one my family has found themselves.

“If Mike wishes to leave than…”, Detective Cordero raised his arm in motion up toward the expected path of Mr. Tonelli.

Mike’s salutations where coupled with a whimper and a hand wave.

The Door crashed behind him, as if a gust of wind from a tropical storm had just pushed through Ms. Palmers Kitchen.

“Ms. Palmer you do not have any help around the house. You contract your employees around this Marvelous estate?”

“Oh! There are skeleton crews for the landscaping. But other than that, Mike will contract freelance cleaning services from, Ah what’s the name of that hotel in Manhattan?”

Cordero and Marty, both looked at each other simulations, their reaction gained a cracking smile from the depressed Ms. Palmer.

“I know how stupid of me to say, forget it. I am not too sure; he cycles new and previous employees and hardly never keeps the same people for more than two weeks. The only ones I know that are the same are the Landscaping crew and the pool cleaners.”

“Of course! Just after I just sent him home early.” Cole said making a note.

“I will go see if he hasn’t left yet. He should be back shortly.”

“No! Not worth it. Who and how close are Cole friends to him? You said Cole is persistent on being financially independent from you. What does he do for a living? Did he finish his University studies? Graduate High School?”

“He definitely did the last two. As for what he does for a living. Cole, is just Cole.”, She smiled with a bland single head nod but reciprocated eye contact with Cordero.

“His friends help him out with being himself, what I mean by that, is that Cole just like to screen print. I would say he is a freelance artist. But! Cole says Screen Printing trumps any fine art. His words, not mine. John, Graham, and Ben are always with him, they help him collect the corporate recycled paper every Saturday morning. Between the three of them they work for Bank of America, JP, and Citi. I Think?”

Alice Palmer loosened her ties clasping the lapels of a black cardigan with the white colored Burberry houndstooth pattern. She crossed her silk pants from right to left and continued from her memory bank.

Currently being accessed by throwing her hands to her side, looking down and squinting her eyes shut in the inconvenience of not remembering specifics.

“It’s okay, just short facts are fine. Things like their behavior together. Do they get threating or bully anyone? Do they drink or drugs in copious amounts? Do they run a business recycling or is this some sort of charity that Cole preforms?”

“Cole as productive as my little ‘Snorkel’ can be. He can be very depressing to be around. Cole says charity is just the result of politician’s inability to create solutions. Rather, enslave us with more laws and restrain the American civilians with Federal Prison establishments.”

“Wow, was that word for word. Oh wow, I should speak more strategic. Cole has no feud with the government himself. For heaven sake, He is the product of the structure of this Nations Wealth structure. He just tells me things like this since eight grade. He reads as much as he works on his art exhibits. His personal adaption to his times zeitgeist is beyond my eras. We lost our war! LSD and the draft made us to paranoid to function. When we gathered our pens and swords to subsurface to the dungeons. We should have ascended with the transformation of our flower pedals, into the Dragons of this chambered age. I suppose we found comfort in the decayed roots that laid dormant with amnesia, embarrassed on behalf of our own dis-organization.”

She paused and reached into her Cardigan for a teal National Spirit pack. She refused to offer and with a lighter from the pack she lit the cigarette.

“The Flower Power, hippie movement?” Corporal Raine asked.

“You can call it that.” She smiled and pointed with her smoking left hand after taking a drag.

“The recycling business is a means of capital for his screen-printing company. He is very resourceful, with all the paper they gather, he makes his own paper. All of his art has a do-it-yourself approach, his very own craft. From the paper, to the designs, who knows what else. That boy is what his friends would refer to as “liquid”. To be honest, I think Cole keeps them around just as drinking buddies or his first wave of criticism. To be honest…” She took another drag.

“… I do not think that Cole has asked for criticisms from me in years. Funny! Life! Children grow so fast. I’m sorry to trouble you, but may you please hand me one of those empty plates?” her smoking left hand again directing attention in her favor.

Marty stood up as fast as she could finish her request. Leaning so much over the table Ms. Palmer did not need to move a muscle.

“Again, you are kind.” Alice said

She tapped the ash of the tip of her burning cigarette. Leaning to her right, she placed the empty plate atop the emerald sofa squared off arm rest. The bright lights of the room’s chandeliers and tiffany lamp light, still shimmered diamond refracting colors. The sun was opposite the house and had no more natural light to offer the War Room.

Sitting back, she adjusted her posture to tighten the loose cardigan exposing more of her natural mature perfect imperfections. She attempted to bury tears looking up to exhale more smoke. Her tears sifted through her long eyelashes as she blinked. She cupped her face for a second breathe and took a deep breath.

“Ah!”, Ms. Palmers face was flustered, her eyes red, and her breathes after her deep breath were becoming shorter and more rapid. Pools of emotion disguised as saltwater laid on the brim of her lower eyelid, she smiled. She took another drag.

“I think that we may have overstayed our welcome, is there a way we can get the names and address’ to all possible locations of Cole and his three friends?”

Ms. Palmer wiped some premature flooding from the top of her left cheek.

“I’m sorry, this is all just so…”, She took another deep breath and pulled another drag from her cigarette.

“The two of you can head upstairs. I need to go get a key from my bedroom just in case Cole locked his room from outside.

She asked her cigarette onto the plate again. Standing she roamed the home with her lit cigarette.

Both Soli and Marty stood up and waited for Ms. Palmer to lead the way.

She walked toward the foyer and turned the two dimming dials on the wall to the left.

Both the lights in the foyer and the war room dimmed. She moved back to the lamp shade neat the whiskey decanter. She turned off the lamp and turned back toward both men.

Her eyes looked different. Not just darker from the dimmed light. She had a contemporary emotion toward her previous flirtatious advances. Ms. Palmer seemed more emotional, catatonic, rigid. She even kept repeating something inaudible. As she walked to check if the front door was locked and then up the stairs. The smoke trailed her movements.

“Did you see the carpe pond?”, She pointed to the hallway below the stairs. “There is a bathroom there as well if you have to go. My bedroom is two more flights up. Cole is the first floor. There is only one door at the end of the hall. That door should be unlocked, it is just a small study. Wait in there I will be right back.”

Again, she was distant from who she was when we had first meet. She was still smoking and with a soft touch. Ran her fingers on the black and white marble staircase handrail. The wide foyer made for a slow curving staircase. Her whispers continued; Marty looked at Detective Cordero.

Cordero raised both palms up, his left gripping his notebook. Bewildered with a jovial stiff snarl, encouraged by his buzz, “Follow her.” He said softly.

The two followed Ms. Palmers lead up the stairs

The only path to Cole floor, veers left. The hallway is an immediate and narrow walkway. Walking up the stairs there was a trompe-l'oeil, due to the matching wallpaper and the slow curving three tier staircase.

“I would’ve walked right past this whole floor.” Marty said as Ms. Palmer waited near the walkway. Standing behind both men, she flipped up the light switch.

Two red lights lit the hallway as if it were a darkroom for a photo developing lab. Black colored frames of different styles and sizes hung on the black wall to the left. The three lights spread down a good fifty feet. The black tiles in the hallway matched the stairs marble. To the right was a solid epoxy treated cement wall, with a single linear window.

The window sat eyelevel to Marty. It also stretched all the way down the hallway. Cordero bent from his waist to look out the contemporary window.

The dark of the night dominated the minimal lights from the perimeter garden lamps and pool lights.

The wind was picking up by the bow in a series of Crete myrtles bordering the pool deck. A flash of lighting and a distant rumble.

“Rain coming into night Rane?”, Cordero asked tucking his notebook away into his coat liner pocket.

“Just a few scattered storms. What was all that shit she was talking about dragons, going subsurface, flower power? For a beast coast gal, she has a lot of California fruitiness in her huh.”

“She is a bit of an enigma! I’m almost certain she is abusing her medications. By the way, don’t try and hit on her.”

Marty shy from wearing his emotions on his sleeve again, “Nah man! She was just leaning right in front. Plus, she has been taking your badge and gun of your belt since we got here. You haven’t noticed because you have been doing everything not to look at her. Trust me, I think Mary would understand if you had an affair with a billionaire.”

Marty laughed and turned from the window to the framed art. Cordero with a blank stare out the window, followed suit.

“Holy Shit! Wow I wonder if he did all of these?” Marty said in a raised tone of excitement.

The two-side stepped with passive curiosity.

“Has to be his, all the initials at the bottom are the same, ‘PCRJ’.”, Marty said.

“Palmer Cole Junior, the painting I was looking at earlier downstairs has the same initials. His mom said he did paint it for her. Damn that’s kind of cool.”, Detective Cordero pointed up to the middle red bulb halfway down the hallway. Each tip of the red bulbs we’re dipped in a thick black paint. Making the top half of the hallway darker.

“Perhaps brings more light on the pieces? Well i hope the kid is alright. I would like to meet him.”, Marty said.

“You don’t really believe what you said earlier? Wrong place? Wrong time? The dash cam has them getting pulled over near Montauk? There has to be some birdwatching cameras that picked up something… I don’t know… its strange. Why take the patrol car just to ditch it, especially leaving Montauk that’s a one way in one way out type of risk. Maybe it wasn’t the kid. He wouldn’t plan something like this on a terrain like that, In his own backyard?”

Detective Cordero got to the door first. Out of his coat he pulled a small flashlight. With his right hand he turned the knob. The latch retracted and he pulled the heavy black stained wood door open. Detective Cordero placed his left palm on the grip of his Glock. To his right a group of light switches.

The lights shined to the snap of Cordero closing the circuit to the room’s electrical pathways.

A room identical to the study below. A quarter of the size, regal bookcases, filled with books, rather the pop art pieces his mother had downstairs. Black stem candles instead of the stained-glass tiffany lamp shades. Two black leather chairs in the center. They faced the front of the house and a large black sofa pressed against two floors to ceiling windows. The Gothic arches not as tall as downstairs. The room still felt more open than the living room in Cordero’s Long island home. Detective Cordero sat on the sofa and clicked his flashlight off and tucked it into his pants.

The Gothic trend of black color schemes was prevalent. This room felt different though, more than just a castle look. The room had a different emotion. Giving way to Cordero’s curiosity, the room fell under more scrutiny of the Detective.

The candle holsters resembled chicken feet, a series of black African kudu horns mounted to the center of each wall, except between the windows Detective Cordero sat against. Marty walked to a small wooden cabinet and attempted to pull it open. He was meant with a foreseen millimeter budge. The rattling of objects shuffled.

“How does he manage not to trigger the fire alarm with all these candles.”

Marty laughed and walked toward the door linear to the sofa Detective Cordero sat.

Cordero looked and listened for any signs of Ms. Palmer, “Where is she?”.

Cordero turned toward the driveway and looked down at the Crow Vic, “It feels like a trailer to the motion picture of his room.”

This is probably where Sam Raimi wrote Evil Dead.”, attempting to turn the doorknob.

“More likely where they wrote, The Exorcist. You think Cole listens to Garth Brooks?” Marty laughed.

“Nah! … Bauhaus.”, Marty said smiling looking down at the tips of his feet, while resting the crown of his head against the door.

The lights from the dope fiend press still camped outside. The fog dissipated and raindrops began to drizzle. Headlights emerged with police clearance through the barricade. The car waited for the Palmer Gate to open.

“Must be Mike again.”

“What?” Marty asked, still staring at the tips of his feet. Rocking side to side cracking his neck.

“There is a car that is coming through the gate right now.”

“Oh yeah! The curator, what was that about?”, Marty said as his neck cracked more.

Cordero shrugged his shoulders with disregard to the continual mounting mysteries of the world he was summoned to critique.

“She needs to hurry, if there is foul play, the three bankers would be the next primary investigations. I am going to need help with questioning, that could be another day and a half of passive police work. Officer Gant could be dead by now, if the perps didn’t treat his wombs.”

“I would lose hope with saving the Gant. You saw that dash cam. They put like six bullets into his groin and legs.”

Cordero placed his elbows on his knees and balanced his head on top of his wrist.

“Assumptions Cut man! Can’t quit on him, Karma brother. Should’ve poured us another glass of that whiskey. Fuck! Mike was supposed to send us home with a bottle of that whiskey too. Hopefully that was him that just pulled up.”

“It’s your Lucky day.”

The two men jumped from shock of a third voice, “Holy Shit Ms. Palmer.” Marty grabbed his chest and jumped back.

Cordero kept his head on his wrist to play off the fact how much his nerves just startled. His Left palm began to sweat, it was his quick draw hand, this was a natural New York cop bodily reaction. He looked up and sank back into the sofa smiling, looking toward the ceiling and running his hands flat back on his slicked back hair.

“I’ll have him grab both of you one.”

Cordero look at the estranged behavior of Ms. Palmer still standing in the middle of doorway and unapologetic what she had just done.

Her tears had subsided, her cheeks still red. She was smiling though, she didn’t seem cheerful, just grinning as she thumbed through her key chain. Her breast bounced as she walked toward Detective Cordero still fiddling with the ring of keys.

Cordero watched again catching himself twisting, pulling, and pushing his wedding ring. He looked up as she passed. Her grinning face smiled bigger, her eyes wide, she glanced at Cordero through the corner of her eye, still hunched over her key chain.

Cordero felt fear, a real fear. A strange form of it from a strange character, during a strange time. This was the type of fear that wouldn’t sit was for the rest of the night.

“Detective Rane.”, She asked as he moved out of her way to unlock another black stained wooden door.

“Yes? Thanks for the promotion, it is Corporal Rane actually Ms. Palmer.”, she stuck the key in the lock.

“That was Mike who just pulled up. He had to go collect Cole pay from a gallery near Prospect Hill, they just sold two of his pieces.” She turned the key to unlock and back to the center. She paused with the key ready to be pulled out.

“Detective Cordero is it ok for Corporal Rane to go get the two of you a bottle of the whiskey.”

Letting go the key, she turned toward Cordero.

The fear was lingering under his skin. He examined her; she was not the same. Something was amiss.

“As per protocol, that would be a hard no.”, Marty dropped his shoulders.

“I was just talking out loud. We can’t except that Ms. Palmer.”

She shrugged her loose cardigan back on her shoulder. Marty was to the side and behind her just looking down her close to exposed body.

She turned and grabbed his left shoulder, pulling him closer and lifting her five-foot body closer to his ear. Marty smiled, and power walked with a hand over his face, as if Cordero could not see him.

With a quick glance it looked like she had been in a pointe technique on bare feet right before Marty moved Cordero’s instance on staying together. He looked back and she was now facing Cordero, her long stringing hair in her face, and her bare feet pressed flat to the floor.

“Mar! Marther Fucker!”, Cordero almost yelled his Journalism name.

Marty had already turned to bow toward his audience.

He took two steps backwards into the hallway. Lifted his torso to stand. A smile worn on his face and with out of shape heavy breath, “You two play nice now.”

As fast as Marty was out of the room. Detective Cordero couldn’t even stand to get Marty’s attention. Afraid to look at Ms. Palmer he began to stand up with no idea of what he would do next.

Alice jumped atop of Detective Cordero before he could stand. She grabbed his face with both her hands. In control with unusual strength, they collapsed back onto the sofa. She started kissing him and pushing his lips tighter to hers. She felt him resist, He stopped resisting. She shrugged her shoulders from under the Burberry cardigan.

All of the fear he had just felt was gone. Cordero could not even remember what he was thinking about seconds ago. He started to slide his tongue in her mouth and grab her breast. She grabbed his dick from above his pants, she rubbed up and down the swelling muscle.

Detective Cordero could hear his wife Mary screaming in pain. He opened his eyes and overpowered her lips off his. With both hands on her small shoulders he lifter her off his lap and tossed her to the side as if she were a sack of potatoes. He stood up and kept his eyes on Ms. Palmer. He stepped back and bumped into another pink coffee table in the center of the room between the too black chairs.

“What are you doing? What just happened?”, He saw his notepad on the ground, and he fell to a knee to pick it up.

She had a horny smile on her face, she started rubbing her body, touching her exposed breast, and moving her hands down to the silk high waisted pants.

Cordero tightened up his tie and pulled his jacket on top his shoulders. Pressing back his hair again, he looked at her once more.

“Fuck Me! Fuck My Wet Pussy!”

He shook his head and walked toward Cole now unlocked room. He pulled the keys out and tossed them on the floor in front of Ms. Palmer still touching herself.

“Ms. Palmer thank you for all your help. My partner and I will ask for help if we need it.”

He sourced his notebook to remember why he was needing to go into the room in the first place. Turning back toward the door, the first page he turned to, the memory came back. He pushed the door open to put more space between her and him.

All the lights were off, and the blinds looked to be all drawn. Standing at the border of the illuminated study and the darkness. He felt his flashlight in his right pant pocket and pulled it out. The muscle memory from years of being a cop reached for the grip of his Glock with his left hand.

The world slowed to a feeling he was all too accustomed too, she had just picked his gun from his holster. His motion toward his gun was nonphysical. All this was a nightmare, she had to be joking. She had to be on to many meds, he had to be overthinking. He stayed still and clicked the flashlight on.

She began to giggle.

This was feeling was real, the fear was real. The fear that came to him was a fear that was always coupled with death. He thought about running into the room, but it was dead end. His stomach was an endless pit.

The street in him knew the barrel of his own gun was pointed at him, he began whispering to himself, “It was a good run, Mary and Rosemary will be better off without the karma of my past.” The last seconds were fleeting but at the same time eternal.

“CORRRRR! Oh- FuCCk - CORRR” he heard Marty screaming for help at the end of the hallway. The two of them were the next kudu horns to be mounted on the walls of this estate’s mysteries.

“I have a daughter. A wife. I’m a loyal man. I have many flaws and I have done and still do horrible things. My department knows I am here. You won’t get away with this. They will come here with more than just warm greetings and honest concern.”

“Step back!” she said. He stepped back.

With his Glock always in condition alpha there was no obstacles from a bullet going through him.

“On your knees. Lock your fingers behind your head” He collapsed to his knees. Dropping the flashlight to his feet as well his notebook from his left. He locked his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.

The blood gargling last words from Marty were next to nothing and finally muted with the sounds of a fist pounding his thick skin. The homicide detective was taking a photo of the crime scene in his mind. Marty’s corpse washed on the shore of some small beach. Cordero would be fortunate enough to not have his corpse photographed.

“The Last Quarter moon rises to its peak. I am here to destroy the negative influences from my life. Right now, Cordero causes me pain and brings with him energy of the casual light. I ask for The Manman Brigit and Baron Samedi to assist me in banishing these forces and eliminating my enemy.”

Through his closed eyes he could see the lights flicker.

If she was going to shoot. She would have shot him already. He stared into what would remain unknown to his imagination. He heard what had to have been Mike walk into the room straight toward Cordero.

Cordero slowed his last breaths, He thought of his daughter Rosemary. He swore one night that he would never not come home. ‘that’s a double negative dad’, his 10-year-old daughter said. Rosemary’s laugh sounded as if it came from the abyss of Cole room. Cordero’s athleticism and adrenaline allowed him to post on one foot, pivot and thrust his body toward the approaching threat.

The Lights went out.

September 11, 2001 7:46 A.M.

The sound of a heavy a mass being slammed against metal echoing through the space.

“Leave the elevator open! Head down to the garage, carry out the Delta path on the map!”, the shouting of orders in English. The Affirmative response came in both Arabic and English from what sounded like the same person.

The first second of consciousness was the hope of awaking from a nightmare. The 2nd second, was the immediate reality of being blindfolded, bound, and gagged. Warm blood covering both his hands that were bound to the back legs of a chair that must have been bolted to the floor. His tongue was scrunched with cloth stuffed in his mouth and taped shut. Cordero could hear footsteps come from behind him. The person behind him placed one hand on his right shoulder and lifted his blind fold with their right. Cordero saw a stairwell door coming to a creeping close.

He looked up as far as he could in attempts to see the person who removed the blindfold. With his right eye swollen shut. The person stood to his right and to the rear, out of his view.

“Nalia, get into the elevator”, Cordero could smell dried piss in his pants. Nalia tossed the blindfold on Cordero’s lap. She walked past him as ordered toward the elevator. The elevator was in plain sight to his good eye.

Cole Palmer Jr. was walking toward Cordero. Wearing all black he was taller than Cordero expected. He had a strong jaw and a penetrating motivated stare. His momentum was unstoppable, Cordero was anything but an immovable object. He ripped the tape from Cordero’s mouth. Cordero spit a wad of cash used as the gag.

He moved behind Cordero and situated a chair behind.

Cordero could only see his long legs and black boots from the corner of his left eye.

“Why? Why Cole? They know where I was. What kind of man lets his Mom fall her son’s sword.” Cordero could taste dried blood in his mouth. His chapped and dehydrated lips cracked.

Cole legs were stretched out and still. His breathe was slow and he remained quiet.

Nalia was standing in the elevator facing them. She uncrossed her arms and propped herself on top of a palate of wooden box crates. ‘Credit Suisse’ stenciled on the crates. There was another palate on the elevator with what looked like bricks of cash wrapped in cellophane.

Cordero began laughing, “Money! Your stealing money? Why would your mother? You have all the money…What the fuck is going on?”

Cole lit a joint, the smell was instant to Cordero. Cole moved the chair in front of Cordero. He carried himself in a manner Cordero had seen in few men. Men that either Cordero feared or admired. Cole continued smoking.

“Who are you? What is this? I promise ill never say anything. I’ll say I was mugged.”

Cole took another drag and blew smoke through Cordero. He stood up and walked behind Cordero, “1981 Panama – Omar Torrijos – You don’t know that name. He was a friend of my fathers, they worked in secret against the United Fruit Company to give independence back to Panama. This money! This Gold! This coke! This was just a fraction of what my father earned for the nation. This was the value my father gave these spineless men. This was stolen. I am stealing it back. I have worked endless nights and days to orchestrate this moment and the many more after.”

“I don’t understand! Wake up! Wake up!”, Cordero repeated shaking his head.

Cole walked to the elevator carrying four gym bags draped over each shoulder. He tossed four gym bags between the two palates.

Nalia remained quiet and watched Cole open one of the gym bags. He pulled a kilo from the bag and headed back to the vacant chair.

“Don’t do this! I can help. My only allegiance is to my family.”, He closed his left eye again filled with fear. He began to cry, “Who the fuck are you? What is this?”

Cole pulled it closer to Cordero. He sat with his elbows on his knees a kilo of cocaine in his left. With his right hand he depressed a button on his automatic stiletto knife. Stabbing a corner of the kilo he gutted the pack to the opposite corner.

He tossed the mutilated brick on top of the blindfold Nalia tossed earlier. With the knife he shoveled a mound of the white powder into his face.

“Behind me is Barclay street. To the left is West Broadway, and to my right is …”

“Washington street.” Cordero with his tears subsided and his lower lip quivering for a fix.

“Exactly! In 46 minutes, you will still be here. Outside, you will hear what sounds like a warzone. Plus, or minus 5 minutes at the top of the hour it will be 9am. The warzone will get louder. Eight hours and twenty minutes later you will still be here. If not by that time you have not abandoned every material aspect of your life and discovered a more powerful spiritual self. Then you will still have plus or minus ten seconds to discover that flame in you.”, Cole’s green and gold eyes were focused unlike he had ever seen.

“Not that it matters, but after today you will be remembered as a hero.”

Cole smacked his face up, “Cole look at me, stop looking at the reason as to why you know you are here.” Pointing the long sharp chromed blade at Cordero.

Cole mounded more cocaine onto the blade.

“This is quite the last supper.”, Cole said as he floated the cocaine under Cordero. His nostrils became a vacuum to the white hills of hopeful suicide.

Cole floated another pile of cocaine into Cordero’s face. Snorting harder and with hate in his left eye, Cole saw the fight Cordero wished to cull.

Cordero was begging to accept his inevitable end. He let out a war charging yell!

“There he is! Yes! Find Qayin through repating one, eight, two. Move your true self through the nexion. This is the Ain you’ve wanted and have never admitted to yourself Morfran! Find my flame among the Ohr Ein Sof. Find Azerate through repeating two, one, eight. Your power will be needed in the fight that awaits. You’ve died hard already! You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone. Calm down! Find your black flame.”

Cole checked his watch. Cordero looked at the tattoos on Cutis hands as he folded the blade back into the knifes pearl white handle. Standing up, he stood to the left of Cordero and placed his tattooed hand on his head.

“Don’t give yourself hope for survival, don’t build of confidence that you can find a way. It is done. Don’t be beaten by denial, focus on lighting the flame of your true self. Not your flesh but your spirit. No longer will you be a lamb. You asked who i am earlier Morfran! I’ll tell you!”

He gripped his thick black Latino hair with his right hand and lifted Cordero’s head. The blood shot eye looked up at Cole with a limp neck. Cole still calm and looking down on his forced pupil.

“I am the National Peril.”

Cole made the sign of the cross in reverse with his left hand and did the same with his thumb on the forehead of Morfran.

“Do not fear the Demiurge, Morfran! Earlier, we were enemies. May my tomorrow, be your eternity. Your eternity where you prosper with real power of the void. A power more powerful than any mortal can comprehend. Do not follow the light. Follow the morning star Morfran! Follow yourself! Fight the casual abstraction.” With his right hand, still in control of Cordero human body. He angled his head down to set the incantation in his mind, “I will create when I speak”

He released the life of Cordero with his right hand.

Nalia was waiting near the lift control as Cole walked to the service elevator. He pulled down the strap of the service elevator gate from the top. As the top gate crashed down, the bottom half meet the top in the middle.

“Fight the casual abstraction! I will destroy as I speak”, He ordered from across the Blacksite.

Cole and Nalia could hear the incantation being repeated over the peaceful morning. Nalia activated the lift toward the Garage.

“Do not fear the Demiurge, Morfran! Earlier, we were enemies. May my tomorrow, be your eternity. Your eternity where you prosper with real power of the void. A power more powerful than any mortal can comprehend. Do not follow the light. Follow the morning star Morfran! Follow yourself! Fight the casual abstraction.”