Triple Digits

Corey Strickland

On the entire ride to the airport, Claire seemed... jittery.
Knowing what he did about her family, Corey could not blame her for some amount of nerves, but the way she continuously glanced out of the windows did not speak of nervous energy, but paranoia. She had left Helix with explicit instructions to lock up every time he left the house, even if it was just to go downstairs, which was odd. Claire, like most people in Mid-City, never locked her doors. She'd also requested he find her a new car, one that 'was impossible to be tampered with in any way.' Also odd. Was she paranoid about Jaivon Carter's death, or had something happened? Corey knew from his research on street-racing earlier in the week that they often bought or modified their own cars. To ask for a vanilla one made a pit of worry begin to sprout in Corey's gut.
Had she found the killer? Or had they found her? They'd attacked Maddison, after all, and Corey still had no idea what Claire's street-racer name was. If this person was hunting racers, it was more than possible they'd found out who she was. Especially if she was one of the lower-level racers. Even the Mid-City police knew some of those ones; the young who were too cocky to hide their real identity properly.
Seated in the back of a taxi, crammed in with their two suitcases, Corey reached over to tap her on the shoulder when she peered out of the back window for the hundredth time.
"Claire." She flinched at his touch, whirring around to face him so fast her braid slapped him across the face. She clutched at something in the pocket of her dress.
Just as quickly as the panic appeared, she'd buried it behind a flimsy smile.
Corey mentally noted down the reaction, asking, "Did something happen?"
He knew she'd called the house to ask Corey to meet her at the bus stop when she'd finished work, asking him to walk her back home. Helix had remarked that it was strange; Claire normally enjoyed walking in solitude.
She bit her lip, shaking her head and peering out the window again. This time, Corey looked with her.
The street behind them was empty. Nobody else was on it but them.
Shaking her head, she unscrewed the cap on her bottle of water, sipping from it to avoid answering. Corey knew all the signs of a liar.
"I know you don't want to tell me anything about the street-racers, that it violates your code or whatever, but if you know something about the killer, I need you to tell me."
Another sip of water followed his statement, and she shook her head weakly. Her fingers flinched toward her pocket again. Alright, he'd just have to figure it out himself. He took the water from her, preventing her from using it as an excuse again.
"Are you in danger?"
If she was, he needed to know, even if she was one of the worst street-racers.
That could be why she didn't want to tell him. If she was bad at street-racing, or had more losses than wins, she would want to keep her identity hidden.
When she didn't answer, the sprout of worry erupted into a full-blown tree in his gut, his instincts screaming at him. He'd seen that look before, in movies. It was a look of prey being tracked by a predator.
"You're being hunted down," he breathed in horror, Claire shaking her head frantically, wrapping her arms around herself and sinking low enough in her seat that she wouldn't have been visible to anyone peering through the windows, like hugging herself and hiding would make the problem go away.
"Tell me who you are in the street-racer world," he begged desperately, "Please. I don't care if you have the worst track record in the world! I need to know, if you are in danger."
She sucked down a sharp breath, and forced out in a squeak, "I'm fine. I'll be fine."
I'll be fine. She was being hunted. Damn it.
"I can't protect you if you don't tell me what happened. Did someone come speak to you at the café?" Had they threatened her? Gods, he'd been there for lunch! Nobody else was present in the café at the time, so how quickly had it changed? Had they been watching and waiting for him to leave? Corey tried to think back to lunch today, if he'd seen anyone standing around outside. His mind came up emptyhanded for answers.
He should have stayed and kept an eye on her.
"Corey, I'm fine. Everything is okay."
Just earlier today, she had been joking around with him that she could be the killer, and teasing him for the accidental innuendo he made. He never thought she would end up as the next target! But of course she was at risk. If the killer was after people involved in the racing world, then Claire and Maddison were always at risk. How could he not have seen it?
"Is that why Maddison was attacked? Did the killer approach her, and neither of you told me?"
She shook her head fervently, seeming truthful in that, at least, as she reassured, "No. Maddy would have said if someone had spoken to her. I would have said something if she was in danger." Claire was not willing to budge on her friend's safety, so why would she not care about her own?
"Then you need to do the same. Tell me."
Claire paused, reaching for her pocket again, only to retract her hand.
They were going to be in Redwood City for the next three days. She would be safe until then.
Corey had until they returned to figure out what had happened, and stop Claire from becoming the next victim.
When they returned, he would have Dunfield place a watch over Claire's house and work.
Pulling out her phone, she opened the messages between herself and her grandmother, scrolling back through them, looking for something to occupy herself with rather than answer his questions, or buying time to get whatever story she was about to sell him straight. The last text Claire had sent to her was two weeks ago.
Switching the phone off with a sigh, entirely out of distractions, she turned to face him. Corey stiffened, reaching for the notebook and pencil in the front pocket of his suitcase, only for Claire to stammer, "A kid came into the café today. He didn't say a word, bought something, and then left. It unnerved me. That's all."
"A kid? Do you think it's the killer?"
"I don't know. I just... had this weird feeling." She shrugged self-consciously, Corey repeating quietly, "A weird feeling. I get it. Some people just give off a vibe."
There had been many a time in his police career that Corey had relied on gut instinct. People often underestimated its power, not to mention its role in evolution. If this kid had thrown Claire, who didn't seem like a person who was easily unnerved, off, then he needed to pay attention.
"Did he hand you anything?" Was the object still in her pocket? Corey let his eyes dip pointedly downwards, hoping the stern look would be enough to crack open her lies, Claire's hand slipping down to the offending pocket, resting atop it, but shaking her head, "No. He just paid for his food, and left."
"Okay..." Corey exhaled, making a note of everything she'd said despite the distinct feeling he had that she was lying, "Okay. Do you know what he looked like?"
"Black hoodie, school bag. I didn't really get a good look at him. He was young- definitely still in high school." He wrote down the description. A high school kid. The horror in Corey's gut vanished. There was no way a teenager was out there attacking and murdering people. Claire was safe, for now.
Sighing in relief, he said, "Thank you, Claire. And you're certain nothing else happened?"
"Nothing else," she promised quietly, her hand remaining on her pocket. Corey couldn't shake the feeling that she was lying to him.
Still, if she wasn't ready to tell him, he would have to either wait until she did, or he could pickpocket her later tonight, after she went to bed. Whatever was in her pocket could be linked to the murders. If it had information about who she was on it, so what? She was a lower-level racer, evidently. It wasn't like he would throw her in jail. There weren't any bounties on the lower ones, only the top five.
Four, now.
They reached the airport not long after falling silent, Claire paying the taxi driver and struggling to wrench her bag from where it had wedged itself between the front and back seat. Corey removed his bag first, striding around the car as she gripped the handle and tugged.
Her hand slipped from the handle, sending her tumbling backwards. Corey threw out an arm, catching her with ease and righting her before reaching for her bag. With a single, firm yank, it freed itself from the car.
Popping out the wheels on it, Corey carried his own bag, wheeling Claire's behind him. It was a stylish, lime-green and black bag with Claire's name painted across the front in swirling brown letters. There was no missing her bag in collection, at least.
Entering the airport, which was quiet at this time of night, they headed up to the receptionist, a buzzing excitement growing. He'd never been on a plane before.
The entire building was dark, only minimal amount of lights over the reception desks and lighting up some public amenities on. The sound of Claire's suitcase wheels rolling was muffled by the thick blue carpet, the fabric worn down from hundreds of people walking the same paths during the thirty years since the airport's opening day.
A café was open twenty-four-seven, allowing passengers to grab a final cup of life-giving coffee or a snack before they left, and there was a giftshop beside it, although the store was locked up with large metal sliding doors, closed for the night. A sign assured that it would be open again in the morning.
They were greeted first with a cloth fence leading up to a row of black desks, the company's name printed across the front of each one. A plastic divider separated them from the receptionist. Signs leading up to the desk reminded passengers of what they could and could not bring on planes.
The contraband made sense; no weapons of any kind, no bottles containing liquids over one-hundred millilitres, no batteries, no fruit, vegetables or plant life... At the signs, Corey suddenly began to feel nervous. What if he'd left a bottle of water in his suitcase?
That was ridiculous- he'd only packed it four hours ago. There was no reason for him to include a bottle of water.
Claire handed over their tickets, as well as their flight cards, watching as they were stamped with a Mid-City crest stamp. Corey hadn't even known such a thing existed, until Helix had asked him back in the apartment if he owned one. Apparently, it was a little cardboard book that was used to collect stamps as mementos for everywhere you'd been.
He had never owned one before, since he'd never left Mid-City.
Luckily, Claire had already thought of such a thing, and purchased one for him last night, printing it this morning at the university.
Reaching over, she lifted up her bag, dumping it onto a conveyor belt beside the desk, motioning for Corey to do the same, the receptionist printing off two long, thin strips of paper with their details on it, pointing to Claire's bag and asking, "Miss Miles?"
"That's me," Claire said with a sheepish grin. He watched as she pulled off a plastic covering from the strip of paper, using it to stick around the handle like a sticker.
Then, she turned to him.
"Mr. Strickland?" Corey jolted, nodding and assuring, "Yes. That's me."
The woman attached his details to his suitcase, and then with a push of a button, the conveyor belt began moving.
Their bags would be packed in the plane for them.
The receptionist handed back their flight cards and tickets, directing them up a set of stairs to the terminals, of which there were three. Claire strode confidently up them, ahead of Strickland. He could hear the tapping sound of her flats against the floor, which became tiled on the stairs and second floor. Her comfortable, soft white dress, chosen with travelling in mind, clung to her curves, swaying as she walked. She'd braided her hair, leaving it down her back, using hairclips to keep it out of her face. No makeup, but she didn't need it, not with a face that could stun an Angel.
He took a moment to admire her. She was fit; curved in what Corey considered to be all the right places. He forced himself to avert his gaze, feeling ashamed for looking in the first place, and cleared his throat, the noise strangled. He couldn't blame himself for finding her beautiful; he was certain he wouldn't have been the first, but he shouldn't have been studying her like that, letting his eyes wander. It wasn't respectful in the slightest, and Claire was an assignment, not a girlfriend. Her safety and wellbeing was his responsibility.
The noise made Claire turn, looking down at Corey curiously. He shook his head, waving the look off, and remarked, "I've never been on a plane before." A smile cracked the nerves on Claire's face, and she waved the tickets in her manicured fist.
"You're in for a treat, then! This is a six-hour flight!"
So he'd been told by Helix.
When they reached the second floor, only one plane was waiting in Terminal One. Their plane.
The digital destination board above it read: 'Redwood City- Estimated Arrival Time: One AM.' A picture of Redwood, taken from a bird's eye view, was next to it.
He could hear the whirring roar of the engine even through the thick glass windows that allowed him an unobstructed view of the plane.
More people were waiting in the terminal waiting bay, seated in rows of chairs that reminded Strickland of the one and only time he'd been to the cinema in town, and Claire guided him toward a set of isolated, private seats near the windows.
A row of vending machines sold plane-approved food and drinks. Claire made a beeline for them. Feeling no choice but to follow, he stood beside her while she made her choices, grabbing out her chocolate bar and soft drink, asking, "You want anything?"
He eyed the selection on offer.
It was all junk food, nothing healthy or nutritious, and certainly not worth the price it was being offered for. Corey could get the same snacks for a quarter of the price back in the supermarket.
Then again, what else could it be? He couldn't think of a way to safely put a salad into one of these things.
The vending machine beside the one he currently stood in front of did not contain food, but magazines and other time-occupying hobbies, like crosswords, a miniature puzzle, and even earphones.
Claire bought two magazines, and a pair of earphones that she handed to Strickland, explaining, "For sleep. You can plug the other end into the screen on the seat and listen to ambience to block out the noise of the engine."
What kind of plane was this? Sure, Strickland had only ever seen airports or planes in shows or photos, but he'd never heard of one having a screen on the seats.
"I booked business class. We get snacks on the plane, too."
Then why was she wasting money buying them from here?
Since it wasn't his business what she spent her money on, Corey kept quiet on that front, instead humming, "I see."
He didn't, but he wasn't going to admit that, not to her. What was the difference between business class and economy?
After carefully browsing all the options on offer, Strickland walked away with a celebrity magazine, a savoury snack bar, and a can of fizzy lemonade.
Before they could sit down, the intercom in the ceiling crackled, making him jump, and a voice announced, "All passengers to flight E-34780, heading to Redwood City, please make your way to the boarding station. I repeat, all passengers to flight E-34780, heading to Redwood City, please make your way to the boarding station. Thank you."
Claire looped her arm through his, guiding him toward the final desk, which stood sentry beside a long hallway that bent at the end, connecting to the plane with a removeable step.
People lined up, and before long, presenting their tickets and flight passes one final time, Corey Strickland was boarding his first plane.