Triple Digits

Corey Strickland

Claire had fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder, the pillow tucked under one of her arms and across her chest, as though she enjoyed the thought of sleeping curled around someone. She'd wrapped her blanket around her shoulders, coiling it over her lap. Her mouth hung open, and to Strickland's surprise, she snored. It wasn't overly loud, but it was enough that it made him crack a smile despite his nerves, reaching over and using two fingers under her chin to gently close her mouth. It dropped open a moment later, her face slack with sleep.
He let out a yawn, stopping his movie, removing his earphones and unfolding the blanket over his legs, intent on getting some sleep of his own.
Carefully adjusting himself so Claire could continue to use him as a mattress, he pinned the pillow between his head and the window of the plane.
He was just about to get some rest of his own when a thought struck him. Now was the perfect moment to read the note.
Telling himself it was to keep Claire safe and alive, not to mention potentially help solve a murder, Corey reached over and into the pocket of her cotton dress.
There was only a single scrap of crumpled up paper, no bigger than his credit card, inside.
Unfolding it, he smoothed it over his knee, holding it up to the light of his miniature TV screen to read it in the dark. The top edge of it, unfortunately, had been torn off, likely to conceal her street-racing name. That would mean that someone knew who her alter-identity was. 

What was that number? The thirteenth? Fourteenth?
The thirteenth of May was next Thursday, while the fourteenth would be Friday. Was anything significant happening on those days?
What did the fifty-fifty mean? Was it a percentage? A chance of something occurring?
Corey pulled out his police notebook, since he'd brought it along as carry-on, and copied down the writing exactly as it was on the page before placing the original note back in Claire's pocket. The handwriting was neat, and distinctive enough that he could attempt to match it with someone. If the high school boy had given this to Claire, he would go to Mid-City High with a warrant and get a sample of everybody's writing. Paired with the pin, it was another step forward in the case.
If he was right, and the fifty-fifty was a percentage for something happening, then what? For Claire to die? He didn't like those odds at all.
Could it be a bet of some kind? She'd been so nervous in the taxi, and kept clutching at the note in her pocket. It had to mean something! 
The fact that it had her name on it was worrying, too.
This could be a calling card just as much as the eclipse pin was.
Frowning, something tugged at Corey's memory, and he skimmed back through his police notes about the case until he found everything he'd written down about Jaivon Carter.
The car, location, and his body had been scoured for evidence after his death, and one of the numerous reports had mentioned... There!
Corey read over his details about the report, and horror panged through him.
A piece of lined paper had been found in Jaivon's glovebox, containing his street-racing name, Quickshift, his real name, the date of the race- and when he'd died- and a number.
The number underneath was not fifty-fifty, however, but one-hundred.
A one-hundred percent chance that Quickshift would die.
Corey was right. The note given to Claire WAS a calling card, and a warning from the killer about his upcoming targets, and Jaivon had been murdered. This confirmed it all.
If Claire was only fifty-fifty, did she share odds with someone else racing on Thursday or Friday? Which other racer had received a note, and not reported it? Who else in Mid-City was in danger of losing their life?
He had to stop her from racing next week. If she died, Corey did not think he would be able to live with himself, if the woman he was assigned to protect died while under his care.
Forcing himself not to shake her awake and demand why she hadn't told him, he scoured his notes for any other potential similarities. There were none.
Interestingly enough, no eclipse pin had been found anywhere near Jaivon, his car, or his house, and Claire had not mentioned anything about one in her description of the boy who'd come into the café. Maybe the pin outside Maddy's home was just coincidence, and not a calling card.
It would be a relief, even if it meant he lost a valuable piece of evidence.
He would keep working on this case until he solved Jaivon's death and Maddison's attack. He would work until he was certain Claire, or anyone else, for that matter, would not be next. Closing the notebook, he placed it back with his other items, settling into his seat. It was too dark to continue reading without risking straining his eyes, and there would be plenty of time to read in Redwood.
Beside him, Claire was dangerously close to inhaling a strand over her own hair, Corey reaching over and gently brushing it back, swiping his thumb over her forehead and temple before tucking the offending hair behind her ear. She mumbled incoherently, settling in closer to him, her perfume washing over him. She smelt like lime and pepper.
Then, closing his own eyes, Corey let himself get some sleep, reassured in the fact that Claire was safe next to him...
The landing was just as horrible as takeoff.
Corey hated every moment of it, clinging to his seat and cursing Claire, who remained asleep throughout the entire, awful process, until a flight attendant came and shook her awake. "Honey, we've landed."
Claire blinked blearily around, a line of drool plastered to her cheek and down her chin, where it had been steadily dripping onto Corey's shoulder for the better part of four hours, her eyes widening when she realised the plane was still and silent. She stood, gathering her items and yawning, reaching up and wiping the drool away with a blush, glancing to Strickland's shirt and noticing the wet patch she'd left behind on him. He found himself laughing at the horror on her face, opening his mouth and drawing breath to reassure her it was fine and he didn't mind, only for her to plead, "Please, not a word!" Fine, he could respect that.
He scooped up his own items, including the blanket and pillow. Claire left hers behind, and it wasn't until they were trundling down the hallway and to baggage collection that a sleep-addled Claire realised what he was carrying, and remarked, "Oh, you're meant to leave them behind."
He'd stolen something?! 
Panic made him whirl on his feet, intending on marching back and returning the pair, only for Claire to grip his arm and haul him back, muttering like a sullen child, "Don't worry about it. Let's just get our bags and get to the motel." She wasn't happy to be here, that much was obvious.
Redwood Airport was ten times larger than Mid-City, and navigating it was harder. While Mid-City Airport would be silent at this time in the morning, Redwood was still bustling and busy, one of the international airports of the world.
People clustered in close, Claire scowling the entire walk down the hallway, the both of them half-pushed by the crowd past rows of stores that sold expensive, name-brand items or high-end food and drink, and toward baggage collection. Bright neon signs in every colour of the rainbow blinked at him from all angles, and music from all genres poured out of stores, pulling his attention in a thousand different ways.
The collection station was just a conveyor belt that moved in a wide oval, the bags laid out on them and constantly shifting. People snatched up their personal items and left, moving quickly enough that between one blink and the next, people would disappear from his line of sight. Feeling a little flustered, he scanned the conveyor belt, searching for either of their bags, while Claire darted forward, grabbing her lime green one, having found it in an instant.
Why had he decided to grab a black bag with silver trim? It seemed half of Redwood had a black bag with silver trim!
"There!" Claire spotted it long before he did, leaving her own suitcase at his feet and leaping to grab the bag before it could disappear behind a set of curtains, dragging it over. He paused only to unzip the suitcase and add the stolen pillow and blanket, now a souvenir of his first ever flight, to his items before doing it up again and hoisting it into his arms.
Claire led him through the airport, reading signs as she went, using them to guide her toward the station, where their flight cards were stamped again, and toward a taxi terminal. The air outside was colder than Mid-City at this time of year, since Redwood was on the coastline, and Claire rubbed at her arms as goosebumps appeared across her skin, shivering.
Hailing one down that was big enough for the both of them, she waited while Corey packed their bags in the boot, taking a seat beside her. The car took off.
"What brings you to Redwood? Business, or pleasure?" The taxi driver pried nosily, Claire muttering, "A funeral."
The man fell silent for the moment, shocked by the response. Good. Hopefully he learnt to mind his own business. Woah, where had that thought come from?
Corey frowned, wondering why he was feeling so spiteful, only to sigh in realisation. It was Claire. Her mood, her entire demeanour, had changed the instant they stepped off the plane and into the airport. She was defensive and closed-off already, and they'd only officially been in Redwood for forty minutes!
What would she be like by the end of the weekend?
Deciding he would do his best to keep her in good spirits, Corey remarked teasingly, "The flight was good, don't you think? You looked like you slept well."
She blushed, remembering the fact that she'd drooled on his shoulder. The taxi driver remained silent. Her voice was a mumble when she replied, "I've always loved flying, ever since the first flight I took, from Redwood to Mid-City."
"You were fourteen at the time?" He'd been terrified boarding that plane at twenty-three. Never would he imagine doing it at so young an age!
She nodded, the light guttering in her eyes a little, and she wrapped her arms around herself again, the trademark sign that she was nervous or upset.
"I'll be here every second," he promised again, and she whispered in a teary voice, "Thank you." White street lights illuminated the road ahead of them, and the closer they got into the city centre, the brighter it became. This was a city that never slept.
Buildings became skyscrapers, touching the horizon of Redwood, looking so tall that Corey wondered if any of them pierced the clouds during the day. Lights shone in windows like stars overhead.
There were people everywhere. They crowded around nightclubs, partied in the streets, ate food at restaurants, or were simply on walks or drives. A couple people wore sportswear, and jogged despite it only being one-forty.
Claire hid herself behind her magazine, using it as a shield against the sights of the city, and as much as Corey wanted to hate this place for everything it had done to Claire, he found himself staring in awe.
This place was amazing! It was no wonder the rich claimed it as home! Mid-City was never going to look the same to him again.
Lights curled up palm trees in the street, turning their fronds into rainbow displays, there were manmade rivers for people to kayak down, and bright green, tailored grass grew between the lanes on the road, forming islands for people who were crossing to wait on.
The taxi slowed at a set of lights that turned red, a crowd taking advantage of the situation to use a crossing. One of them banged playfully on the window beside Claire as they ran by, drunkenly pulling faces.
She sucked in a sharp breath, steeling herself for more loud noises, and something in his heart hurt at her pain and worry. This place was driving her insane already. She was tense until the car began moving again, and even then, she did not relax fully.
"We can go back," he whispered to her. She shook her head.
"We're already here. Might as well get it over with."
The taxi turned down another street, pulling into a parking lot of a huge building. It was a skyscraper, the glass doors lit up from within by bright lights.
Exiting the car, Claire grabbed their bags out, rushing for the door like it was cover during a storm, and shoved it open, entering the foyer of an expensive looking hotel.
The lobby was a large, two-floor tall room with a diamond chandelier hanging from the middle, casting dancing spheres of light on a white marble floor. Ared carpet led up to a desk toward the back of the room where a woman sat, wearing a prim and neatly pressed uniform.
Two sets of stairs flanked the desk, leading up to an indoor balcony, and from there, to the next floor. Claire's suitcase wheels were smooth against it. Her white dress glowed under the lights.
Next to the desk was a water bubbler full of crystalline water, slices of cucumber, strawberry and lemon drifting through it. Corey poured himself a sample into a plastic cup, sipping from it, finding it refreshing. Was this what luxury was? Gazing around at the motel around him, which made him feel like a King in a Palace, he thought so. This was the pinnacle of what money could buy. It must be.
White and gold couches with red-brown tables dotted the room, each one sporting a different arrangement of white rocks and bright green plants atop them. An information station was full of magazines full of all the latest car brands, houses, and designer labels. Some of them had cards that could be used to order said items. People could sit in a waiting room in a motel, fill out a card, and buy a house? 
The receptionist looked up and smiled warmly, greeting, "Welcome to the Cotterlee Motel! May I get your name, please?" It was a stark difference to the receptionist in Claire's apartment lobby. She'd all but told Corey to kick rocks when he went looking for her.
"Claire Miles."
The woman entered the name into her computer, nodding and reaching for a lockbox at her feet, unlocking it and pulling out two keycards, sliding them across the bench and waving forward a man who took their bags from them.
"Enjoy your stay, Miss Miles! You are a platinum member, so you and your guest receive free room service at all hours!" Corey didn't want to know how much a platinum status had cost her.
Claire nodded, turning toward the elevator that would take them up to their room, and the woman called out, "My condolences for the death of your grandmother!"
Strickland watched every muscle in Claire's body tense, one-by-one, until she spun on one heel, plastering a smile on her face and replying, "Thank you very much! She was a kind woman." How the Hell did she know who Claire was? Now that he thought about it, her father, Charles Miles, had been incredibly influential around this city. Why would people not recognise Claire's last name?
They stepped into an airconditioned elevator, the floor covered in thick red carpet. Alongside the buttons, which went all the way up to the sixtieth floor, were pamphlets with activities to do in and around the motel, and the various services the motel itself offered- like a private helicopter flight over the city, or a snorkeling experience on the Riverwood; Redwood's largest saltwater lake, about thirty kilometres inland. A shuttle left from the motel every morning, and equipment was supplied.
Claire pressed the button for the fifty-second floor, the doors sliding shut, and he adjusted the long-sleeved grey shirt he was wearing, feeling out of place standing beside her, in this motel. The shirt was the first thing he'd bought with the money she'd given him, along with the black and silver watch on his wrist. That was the first item of luxury he ever owned.
His family had not come from money. They hadn't been poor, but they certainly weren't rich, and on top of that, Corey never had developed a taste for luxury. He enjoyed thrift shopping as a child. His pay now allowed only for the bare minimum.
He was an only child, but Corey could remember growing up surrounded by cousins, uncles, aunts, grandparents and his own parents, all in a three-bedroom house, so he was never lonely. They rotated who stayed with them for holidays, since they never travelled. He'd never left Mid-City before. Some of his cousins had moved away, chasing their own dreams, but most stayed. He saw them on holidays. A few had families of their own now, despite only being a few years older than Corey. He'd never even had a girlfriend before, having focused on studying all through high school, and then the police academy right after.
He should give his own parents a call. They would never believe where he was right now.
The thought that Claire, who had two sisters, was lonelier than him, felt unusual. She should have had it all- wealth, a name for herself, a loving family that lived in a stylish house in Redwood.
How did she end up in Mid-City with a reputation for street-racing, and a family she was estranged from, not to mention downright terrified of meeting again?
The elevator doors dinged and slid open, revealing a hallway painted a crisp white. Buttercup shaped lights were mounted to the walls on either side of the doors, and a window sat at the end of the hallway, where a couch had been placed.
Corey watched Claire clutch at her keycard tightly, mouthing the room numbers to herself as they passed before pausing before a door. Swiping the card over a card-reader next to the door, it unlocked. Corey leapt forward, pushing the door open, stepping aside to let her pass first. She smiled at him, and he winked. 
"Very gentlemanly, Officer," she teased, some of the nerves melting from her posture, and entered the room. Their bags were already waiting at the ends of the two double beds.
It was only a single room, since each floor had a public bathroom and shower area. The walls were made from wood, styled to look like a brocade, and were a deep brown with gold embossing. The floor was a black carpet.
There were two double beds, one placed directly against the wall to the left of the door, the other jutting out from the wall on the right, and there were two bedside tables with lamps on them. The beds had matching sheets with a flora and stripe pattern on them.
A TV sat on a stand, positioned so both beds could see the screen clearly, and beyond it, there was a table covered with a light blue tablecloth with two chairs, and a dresser with a towel basket full of folded white towels, fresh packets of soap, miniature bottles of shampoo and conditioner not unlike the one Claire had given him back at home, and a room service menu that sat beside a motel phone.
The curtains were open, giving them a stunning view over Redwood City. The streets and buildings were still alive with light and sound.
Tossing her keycard onto the bedside table of the bed to the left, closest to the door, Claire kicked off her shoes and reached for her suitcase, unzipping it.
"I haven't told anyone I'm here in Redwood," she said as she rifled through her items. Corey nodded slowly, wondering where this was leading to. She twisted to face him, adding firmly, "So I need you not to tell a soul that I'm here."
The woman downstairs had recognised her. How long would it be until that news spread? He wasn't sure.
Regardless, he could swear to silence for her.
"Of course," he said with a smile, making her sigh in relief. She grabbed out a thigh-length t-shirt, kicking off her socks, and Corey paled. There was nowhere for him to go in the room while she changed.
Swinging on his heel, he tried not to listen as she wriggled against the fabric of her dress, only to hear her swear.
"Are you alright, Claire?"
"I'm..." She trailed off, grunting and swearing again, and Corey turned hesitantly, his eyes flicking quickly over her as she defeatedly mumbled, "I'm stuck."
With one arm still in the brace, the other was twisted around her back, trying to reach the zip on the back of her dress, which remained just out of reach against her grasping fingertips. Her eyes met his pleadingly over her shoulder, although she said nothing, too prideful to ask for help. She'd done the same with the dinner he'd made, not wanting to ask for help cutting up the food. Corey wasn't sure he could help her with this. Unzipping her dress? No way.
Seeing that he was standing there opening and closing his mouth like a fish, trying to search for the words to explain that it wasn't right of him to undress her, she gave up with a sigh, and lowered her arm, peeling back the sheets of the bed.
It wouldn't be a very comfortable dress to sleep in.
Feeling guilty, he darted forward, gripping the zip and closing his eyes as he undid it, the fabric peeling away from her skin.
He spun on his heel again, refusing to look when she gasped in surprise at how quickly he'd moved, before laughing lightly at his embarrassment. He heard her shimmying out of the dress, leaving it in a pile on the floor before tugging the shirt on.
"Please tell me you wear pants or leggings to bed," he begged. She laughed again, "Nope. Underwear and a t-shirt that goes down to my thighs. Deal with it, Strickland." The words were lightened by the joking tone, and he turned again to find her, mercifully, tucked up in bed with the sheets over her hips. She was watching him, another smile tugging at her lips.
The t-shirt she was wearing was white with a smiling pineapple printed across it, and the words 'I'm pine-ing for bed.'
"That is the stupidest pun I've ever read in my life," he chuckled, pointing to it. Her eyes darted down, and she laughed with him, explaining, "Maddy bought it for me. It was part of a matching set. She has the other one. Guess what it says."
He shook his head slowly, and Claire grinned, "Bedtime is a-peeling." Sighing dramatically, Corey muttered playfully, "You two would drive me mad, I think."
"What a shame you're living with me for the time being, then."
"Hardly a shame. You've been a perfect roommate so far," he admitted, and Claire sat up in bed, replying emphatically, "Says you! You cleaned my house for me! Not even Maddy does that!" "How long have you known Maddison?"
"Three years. I was sixteen, sitting alone in high school at lunch, and she just strode up, dropped her tray on the table across from me, and offered me one of her mozzarella sticks dipped in tomato sauce. She didn't even tell me her name for a week. We were inseparable- still are."
In Corey's opinion, the best friends came from unlikely places. Maddy and Claire were no exception.
Claire's eyes teared up suddenly, the mood shifting in the room so suddenly that Corey felt like he got whiplash. How did she have so strong an effect on him?
Frowning at her sadness, he murmured, "What's wrong?" Their conversation hadn't indicated any kind of grief... Her eyes met his, swimming with tears, and his heart twisted in his chest. The instant she drew breath to speak, the tears spilled over and down her cheeks. Corey watched as she gripped the sheets in her fist, her broken hand resting uselessly on top. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she released the sheet to hug herself again.
"Maddy is in hospital, and I'm stuck here in Redwood rather than at her side!" Miles' sobbed, spitting out the name of the city in disgust, and Corey took a seat on the edge of her bed.
To his surprise, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, crying into his chest. The hard edge of the cast pressed against his back.
He lifted his arms, rubbing her back slowly, unsure what to do with himself, offering up, "If you would like, I can call the hospital later and inquire about Maddison?"
She nodded, sniffling, and Corey added, "Claire, we can always go back home."
"I can't. I need to be here for Aves. It tears me up that I can't be there for Maddy, too."
Claire seemed to take her loyalty to her friends and chosen family seriously. Like, 'break-herself-apart-to-save-them' seriously. Once again, he found himself unsure what to do or say. He continued to hold her, and a couple minutes later, she pulled away from him, shuffling out of bed and over to the dresser to snatch up a tissue from the box, blowing her nose.
Her eyes were red and puffy from crying.
Determination shone in them, though, and she tossed the tissue into the bin, wiping at her eyes and taking a silent seat beside him. He reached over, taking her hand in his, and she lifted her head in surprise, searching his face.
"You are far too kind for your own good," he admitted to her breathlessly, "Averie is lucky to have you as a sister." She would risk being emotionally ripped apart rather than leave her big sister to her fate alone, that much was evident. It was a noble trait, if not slightly self-sacrificing.
"Sorry for crying on your shoulder," she mumbled, prodding his shirt, which was damp with her tears. He nudged her gently with said shoulder.
"Any time, Miles."
She slid back under the covers, and Corey rose, removing his shirt and placing it in a side-pocket of his suitcase, where he would be storing the worn clothes until they could be washed. Even with his back to her, he felt her gaze on him. 
Searching through his bag, he found his own, new pyjama pants, a set of long, black, fluffy sweatpants. Claire twisted in the bed, facing away and giving him privacy while he changed out of the jeans and boxers, marveling at how soft the new pants were. He would need to thank Claire for replacing his tatty, hole-filled wardrobe with a new one. These were comfortable! When he was dressed once more, he flicked the light off, striding across the room and pulling the curtains shut, plunging the room into darkness. It took him a couple blinks to adjust, shuffling over to his own double bed, sinking into the mattress and dragging the covers over him. On the other side of the room, Claire was already asleep, or a convincing fake.
"Goodnight, Miles," he whispered anyway, turning on his side and closing his eyes...