Triple Digits

Corey Strickland

It was nine in the morning, and Corey Strickland was striding into Mid-City's only high school, a warrant in his bag, a gun in his belt, and a burning determination in his chest.
At his side, Dunfield walked quietly, offering moral support and to hold him back from doing something reckless in a school full of innocent teenagers.
One of these assholes had his girl locked up in a warehouse, and had sent a video to police taunting them, him particularly, for failing to keep her safe. He'd been the only Officer out of all of them to be named personally. He couldn't shake the way Claire's eyes, wearing those lime contacts, had met the camera, or how she had tried to scream his name while shaking her head.
Or the knife the killer had pointed at her. She must have been terrified! What had he already done to her? What was he planning on doing to her?
The other Officers had been too horrified by the footage, which was live-streamed directly into the police station, to notice the connection between him and Triple Digits. They had no idea it was Claire on the other side of the camera.
Corey had no reason to believe the killer would go to school after a night of killing and torturing, but it was a good place to start. He knew what the kid looked like. If the school had a yearbook, he could pick him out in a lineup of other students.
The black, braided hair, the tattoo on his fingers, hand and wrist- the arrogant smirk and attitude.
He would find him, and... His hand inched toward his gun, Dunfield glancing to him with a reprimanding expression.
"If we find the killer, he's getting taken to the station and charged. Do you understand me, Officer?" They kept walking. Corey remained silent. Striding ahead of him, Dunfield whirled to face him, snapping, "Officer, do you understand me? You will not draw your gun in this place unless you, or others, are in imminent danger!"
He was wearing a black hoodie that was down, his dyed-black hair cut short and braided along the fringe to frame his face. His blue eyes sparkled in amusement, and he bent to pluck up the coin, holding it out in a scarred palm, mumbling, "Here, mister." There was a backyard, uneven tattoo on his wrist of an ocean wave that curled around the back of his hand, up to his knuckles, where the wave crested into letters. In the dark, he could not read what they said.
That prick must have been laughing at Corey at the bus stop, knowing a cop was so close, and yet entirely unaware of the danger he posed.
He must have felt like the most powerful person in the world.
With each hour that passed since Claire was taken, Corey felt smaller and smaller. He was beginning to understand just how out of control he was in this crazy world.
"Please don't let me die!"
"Never!"
He was going to keep his promise. He would find her. If he wanted to be the one to drag the killer in, then he needed to reassure Dunfield that he was not a loose cannon waiting to go off, even if Claire's name was rattling around his head like a bag of bones.
"I understand." His voice sounded dull, even to his own ears.
Reaching into his pocket, he gripped the note Claire had left behind, his portion neatly cut off and carried with him. The other pieces had been put in evidence.
Corey hadn't wanted to put this part in. He knew that if Claire died, the letter would be sealed away for years, potentially forever, to be used in a court case on the off-chance they caught the guy later on.
He was going to keep this piece of her, until she was back in his arms.
The administration building was ahead of them on the path, its lumbering walls cracked and in need of a fresh coat of paint. Corey stiffened, and Dunfield planted his hand on his chest, halting him, "I'm going to handle this. I have the description of the kid from you. I want you to wait out here."
When Corey opened his mouth to argue, Dunfield reminded, "I am your superior, Strickland. I am doing you a favour by allowing you in on this case when, by all rights, you are far too emotionally connected to be involved. I want you to wait out here. If this kid realises we're here, he might try to run."
Dunfield was right, in more ways than one. The kid could try to run, and technically, with Claire having accepted to be his girlfriend last night, he wasn't legally allowed to involve himself in a case about her.
Corey had been interviewed last night about everything that had happened. He'd explained everything except the confession of who Claire was in the street-racing world. It was their secret to share. He had explained the love he professed for her, which Dunfield already guessed at just based on his reaction at discovering she was missing.
Still, he couldn't sit aside and do nothing. It would just lead to him doing something really damned reckless. Dunfield knew that, which was the whole reason why he was allowed to tag on. But Dunfield would have him thrown in a cell to cool off if need be. He'd done it before, to other Officers.
"Yes, Sir." He could keep an eye out for the killer. If he saw him, he was tackling that fucker.
Taking up a post near the front door, leaning against the wall, he tried to clear his mind enough to think while Dunfield pushed open the door to the administration building, a bell ringing out and a blast of airconditioned, freezing air smacking him across the shoulders and back, causing goosebumps to rise.
He didn't even have a photo of Claire.
The thought struck him so hard he felt winded, the world ripped out from under his feet.
He had been her boyfriend for only a night, but he'd began falling for her months ago, despite knowing it was wrong for an officer to love a criminal. Their cat-and-mouse game every morning had only intensified his feelings.
Sinking into despair, Corey didn't even notice when the door opened again, Dunfield striding out and shaking his head.
"Nobody with that description attends the school. None of the students have tattoos."
Corey didn't answer.
"Strickland!" Dunfield barked, making him jump, looking to his superior officer suddenly, "Did you hear what I said?"
"I... Um..." He shook his head like a student being called out by a teacher, and Dunfield sighed, "Go home and get some sleep, you fool. Come back into the station at five. I will continue searching for the killer."
No! He couldn't- "That's an order, Strickland. Home. Now."
He wasn't even sure which one was home anymore.
Since Claire's house was still an active crime scene, he chose to go back to his own house, which had been cleared hours ago. Corey had been right- the killer had flipped the switch on the breaker to the house. The power was restored already.
He had to take a taxi back to his house, where he entered, trying not to look at the couch where Claire had kissed him, or the hole in the bathroom door.
Instead, he shuffled into his bedroom, feeling exhausted, having not slept properly since Friday night, and collapsed into bed, still fully dressed in his uniform...