Triple Digits

Claire Miles

There was someone knocking on her door. Too tired to even consider getting up from her spot in bed, Claire Miles waved her hand in the direction of the front door, shouting, "It's unlocked!"
Violent crimes in Mid-City were rarer than rare, so she had nothing to be afraid of, especially not with Maddy sleeping soundly in the bed, right next to her.
The two girls had done the bare minimum of changing out of their mudstained, racing outfits, which Claire had dumped into an empty washing basket and left in the back of her closet to deal with when she actually had the strength to do so, before the both of them dropped into bed and slept. The green contacts, she'd disposed of in the bin in her bathroom.
The front door opened, heavy, male footsteps entering her house, and she sleepily called out, "Who is it?"
It could be Helix, emerging from his tunnels. Maybe he'd gotten sick of the rats? If there was too much police presence at the docks, he would typically find himself wandering up to hide for a couple days- usually in Claire's apartment, since there were few other people in Mid-City who would let a boy who smelt like sewer into their house.
There was another knock on the bedroom door, which opened a moment later, Officer Corey Strickland poking his head in, making Claire gasp in surprise, sitting up and trying to wrench the blanket over her bra and underwear. It snagged underneath Maddy, leaving her with a tiny corner in her hand that she dropped, an embarrassed flush blooming on her cheeks. It was mirrored on Corey's, his eyes shifting to the corner of her bedroom ceiling.
"Miss Miles', I wanted to check in on how you were doing."
Her most painful injury was by far her wrist, even if her pounding head was a solid contender. The concussion was really starting to bloom, now. Last night's racing, with the spotlights and constant, body-shifting movement, had not helped.
"Tired, Mr. Strickland, but beyond that, I'm alive."
She winced at her choice of words seconds later, seeing the quiet horror on Corey's face, and she mumbled, "Sorry. I heard about the guy." The tiny town of Mid-City had closed for the day, allowing people to mourn, Claire's work included.
Older than her by a year, and taken already.
At least he'd died doing what he loved. What better way to go than that?
"I've been assigned to the case." Corey said absentmindedly.
"Case?" It was too early in the morning to be hearing this, talks of the dead, especially without coffee.
Rising from the bed, and leaving Maddy snoring peacefully, Claire padded into the kitchen, waving for Corey to follow her. He did, his eyes darting everywhere but her body.
Filling the kettle with hot water, she set it to boil, grabbing two coffee mugs out of the cabinet mounted to the wall and placing them down on the kitchen bench, Officer Strickland nodding gravely.
"Mid-City is treating Jaivon's death as suspicious." Maybe Claire should be locking her doors...
"On what grounds?" Claire called, leaning around her bedroom door to grab the lime bathrobe she kept hanging there, wrapping it around herself.
"I was at the races last night," Corey began nervously, jumping when Claire let out a dramatic gasp, "No! An Officer of the law, at an illegal street race? Do tell!" In truth, Claire had seen him when she first entered the races. The look on his face at the sight of Triple Digit driving his car was priceless.
Rolling his eyes, he continued, "I was the one to bring it up to Dunfield that the way he died was odd. Jaivon was the type to always check his seatbelt, from what I saw that night, so why would he take it off?"
Claire nodded, searching underneath her cabinet for coffee beans, her voice muffled as she replied, "Quickshift was a stickler for safety. He wrote the rules for every race."
Claire heard Corey taking notes, asking, "Are you there at every race?"
"You going to bring me in, Strickland?" A smile tugged at her lips at the thought. What would Dunfield think, watching Strickland drag Claire in only a day after her disastrous crash? Poor Corey would probably be fired on the spot! There was not an ounce of humour on Strickland's face when he replied, "No, but I'm investigating a young man's possible murder, so any information you can give me, Miss Miles, would be helpful."
"Yes, I'm there at every race. Quickshift was a no-nonsense guy. Fast, sensible given his profession."
"Do you know if he had any family?"
Claire shrugged, dropping a spoonful of coffee beans into her own mug, eyeing the cup she was making for Strickland- still empty- unsure what to put in it. She knew he bought a triple-strength espresso at the café, but she didn't have the ingredients needed for that here.
Plain old coffee it would have to be. She dumped a spoonful of the stuff into his mug, placing the jar back under her bench, and tossing the spoon into the sink with the rest of the dishes that needed doing.
"Us racers don't mingle outside the profession. I didn't even know his name until the police revealed it on the news." Horrific incidents like last night's crash travelled fast in Mid-City, and despite having gotten home at three-thirty and crashing in bed, she'd awoken at six to an alert on her phone detailing Jaivon Carter's death. Now, it was ten-thirty in the morning, and Strickland was here telling her it was no accident, but a murder?
"It's hardly a profession!" Corey argued, Claire shrugging, "Hey, drug dealers deal drugs, street-racers race cars. It pays the bills." The kettle finished boiling with a 'CLICK!', Claire pouring the hot water into both cups, opening her fridge and grabbing out the carton of milk she kept there, unscrewing the cap and pouring it into just one of the mugs, sliding Corey's cup over to him. He slid his hand through the handle, lifting it and remarking, "Both are very illegal, Miss Miles."
"Then it's a good thing I'm only racing cars." Sipping from her own cup of coffee, which was black, she watched as Corey Strickland sucked down a mouthful of the coffee before gagging, lowering the cup back onto the table and eyeing it with disdain.
"That coffee should be illegal, too."
"I made it just about white for you!" Claire argued, placing her own cup down. Strickland's eyes sliding to her own cup and widening.
"You drink your coffee black? Gods, Miss Miles, maybe you're a psychopath and I should be arresting you for the murder of Jaivon Carter!"
She snorted, draining her cup with a flair just to spite him, watching him grimace.
"You drink espresso!" She cried out incredulously, and Corey replied, "With four sugars in it! The cup you made me is poison!"
Four sugars... Maybe Claire should be rethinking her friendship with Officer Strickland.
Before they could argue any further, Maddy emerged from the bedroom with a tired groan, rubbing at her face and moaning, "Can you two keep your lover's quarrel down, thanks?"
"Quickshift's real name was Jaivon Carter," Claire said in response, Corey spluttering that they were not lovers, Maddy's head snapping up, "Jai? Shit, I didn't know that guy was one of us."
Officer Strickland reached for his notepad and pen on the counter, ignoring the cup of coffee and asking, "You knew Mr. Carter?"
"Knew of him, we weren't friends or anything, he used to come into the grocers where I work all the time. Sweet kid. Always bought lunch for the girl who worked the deli counter."
"Do you know her name?" Strickland questioned, and Maddy hesitated, thinking, "Uh... Kaia, something-or-other. I don't really know, sorry. She works weekends. School-aged kid, probably around eighteen." Corey jotted down the main notes, Claire finishing her cup of coffee and placing the mug upside down in the sink. Scooping up Strickland's abandoned cup, she emptied it before dropping it beside the first one. She really needed to get a handle on those dishes...
"Thank you, Miss Birchson. That's incredibly helpful."
"Whatever helps solve his death quicker," she said with a shrug, "Work is closed for the day, so I'm going to head home and finish some projects," Maddy said elusively, leaning in and giving Claire a hug over the counter.
"Do you want a coffee?" Claire called as her friend made her way toward the front door, Maddy laughing out, "Not a chance, Claire-Bear! Love ya, girlie!"
She disappeared out the front door and into the hallway before Claire could argue, Strickland reading over his notes, a sombre look on his face. He had barely half a page of information.
"Look, I know this is uncouth, but Triple Digit was the first to reach the crash site last night. Do you know where I could find her? I need to ask her some questions about whatever she saw."
Guilt lanced through Claire at the idea that hiding her own identity might obstruct the investigation, but she knew she'd seen nothing of interest. Just Quickshift's body, hanging from his car window.
Shaking her head, Claire sighed, "Sorry, Strickland. We don't know each other's names, and we only meet at the races."
"When's the next one?" He pleaded desperately, and Claire twisted, checking the calendar on her fridge, held in place with a magnet of a smiling frog, "Uh... Monday night."
It was Thursday. She had four days to find herself a new car, since Strickland's police car had been dumped. Maybe she would pay a trip to Helix today; see what he could dig up for her.
"Is it possible the race could be cancelled?"
Claire gnawed on her lip. Possibly. The racing community had never dealt with a death before, not in Mid-City. Who knew how they would react?
"Maybe? I'll let you know."
Strickland was meant to be staying here for the next three months. How was she meant to continue being Triple Digit with a police officer living in her house?!
Another yawn escaped her, the movement making her head spin with pain, Corey sighing, "You should go get some more rest."
More sleep did sound like a blessing... But she had shit to do, starting with that pile of dishes in her sink. Before Claire could argue, Strickland was herding her back toward the bedroom, a look of guilt on his face when he spotted the cast on her wrist.
"Rest, Miss Miles. You were in a serious accident yesterday, and from the sounds of it, present at the races last night. Might I inquire if you were racing or observing?" His pencil poised over his paper notepad.
"You may not," Claire replied, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips at the exasperated look on his face. With one of the five greatest street-racers dead, there were four left who were present last night. Only two- Triple Digit and Velocity- were women. Claire could not risk Strickland putting two-and-two together.
Spinning at the threshold to her door, Claire faced Officer Strickland, singing, "If you are going to be staying here, you'll need a key to the apartment. There should be a spare one in the bowl by the door. If you leave, lock up for me?"
Corey nodded, eyeing the apartment, before asking, "Can I use your TV?"
Claire waved her hand, twisting on her heel and saying, "Use whatever you like. Help yourself to any food or drinks I have, use the shower- whatever. Make yourself at home, Officer!"
With that, she nudged her door closed with the back of her foot, peeled off the bathrobe, and collapsed tiredly onto the bed...