The City of Darkness and Blood

Chapter 11

Meanwhile...

I sat on my indigo motorcycle in a dimly lit alley in Solomon City, the urban landscape a blur around me. My gray smartphone buzzed in my pocket. I answered it casually, "Hello?" I heard my father's voice on the other line. "Jason, Herman called me. He wants to know if you're coming to his party," he said. The party! I had completely forgotten. I thought it was tomorrow. When it comes to work, I tend to lose track of time— it happens. "I'll be there as soon as possible," I said, feeling the pressure. "Okay. Chloe's asking about you. When are you coming to get her?" my father inquired. I hesitated. Fighting crime in Solomon City had consumed my life, but Chloe meant the world to me. I hated disappointing her. "I'll pick her up soon. I won't be out long," I promised. My father sighed, his tone tinged with concern. "You need to do better, son. She needs you," he said. "I know. I'll make it up to her," I said, hanging up.

I revved the engine of my motorcycle, the roar echoing through the alley. I sped home, parked in the garage, and rushed upstairs. I quickly changed out of my vigilante suit and took off my black knee-high combat boots. Then I donned a gray tuxedo—sans tie. I removed my mask, combed my hair into a neat ponytail, and slipped into my dress shoes. Grabbing my car keys and wallet, I went downstairs and out to my car.

9:45 PM. I was late. But it didn't bother me too much.

Arriving at the mansion, I parked and approached the front door. I knocked, louder this time, over the sound of classical music blasting inside. After a moment, the door opened. My old high school friend, Herman, greeted me with a broad smile. "Jason Adams! It's great to see you, man." "Same here, Herman," I replied, shaking his hand. He welcomed me into the mansion. The interior was opulent, a testament to wealth. Guests mingled in elegant attire, sipping on wine and champagne. Herman gestured to a butler and asked, "You want a drink?" "No, thanks," I declined. "You know, Herman, I'm impressed. You've been a lawyer for over a year, and you've already achieved so much," I said, admiring him. "Like that gangster, you put on trial—he pulled a gun on you, and you took him down. Badass move."

"Well, I have you to thank. Besides, he was asking for it. So, what have you been up to?" Herman asked, swirling his wine.

"Nothing much, just enjoying my work as a private investigator and making some good money," I replied with a smirk.

Herman chuckled. "Looks like we both love our jobs. Have you been seeing anyone lately?"

I laughed softly. "Not really. I try to avoid relationships."

Herman gave me a knowing look, a smirk playing on his lips. "Back in high school, you were a catch. Some girls said you had the face of a movie star and a body like a sculpture. They couldn't resist you." It wasn't entirely poetic, but he had a point. My high school yearbook had even labeled me '3rd hottest guy in school.' Those were the days. Herman finished his drink and asked, "So, how's Chloe?" "She's fine. I think she prefers Kendall's company more these days," I said, feeling a pang of guilt. I hated letting her down, "I really need to make it up to her." Herman nodded sympathetically. "You're busy, I get it. But you should try. I can get you tickets to a horse race. Chloe likes horses, right?" he asked. I appreciated the offer but had to decline. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure," I said with a slight smile.

Herman shrugged. "If you say so. By the way, hope you don't mind me asking, but... Have you heard from Betty?"

Betty Hoopsick. I had hoped to forget her. We hadn't spoken since graduation. "No," I replied, my tone curt.

"Man, I still can't believe you were with her. Of all the girls, her?" Herman said, his disapproval clear.

I remembered our brief fling— I didn't like her, but the sex was decent. "It was a mistake," I insisted.

Herman raised an eyebrow. "Leaving your baby daughter on your doorstep didn't sound like a mistake."

I flinched at the reminder of that day when Chloe had been left at my doorstep. "You don't have to remind me."

"I feel bad for the kid, but I'm glad Kendall's stepping up," Herman said. "Chloe deserves better."

"Yeah, she does," I agreed. "I remember when she was a baby and called Kendall 'mama.' Everyone nearly cried because it was so adorable."

Herman chuckled. "I'm sure it was."

I glanced around at the mansion's lavish decor before returning to Herman. "This isn't your house, is it?" I asked directly. Herman sighed and handed his empty glass to a butler. "You got me, Jason. This is my girlfriend's place." Knowing that Herman has a history of bad luck with women, I was slightly concerned. But I quickly dismissed them. "Is she part of the Montague family?" I asked, noting the large painting of Charles Montague on the wall. "Yes, her name is Sara. We've been dating for months," Herman confirmed. "I'm house-sitting since she's on a business trip until Friday."

"I see. And you're not surprised I figured that out?" I said, raising an eyebrow.

Herman smirked. "You never cease to amaze me. And how's Kendall?"

"She's been busy with work, especially undercover operations. She was promoted to Detective after taking down a drug-smuggling ring from the inside last year," I said. Herman looked taken aback but impressed. "Wow, that's... impressive. I missed that. I'll have to get her a congratulations gift."

Our conversation was cut short by my ringing phone. "Excuse me," I said, answering the call. "Hello? Yes, yes, of course. No, not yet. I'm still looking. I'll let you know when I find her. Alright, goodbye."

"Everything alright?" Herman asked, concern in his voice.

"Yeah, that was a client. He's worried about his wife, who's been acting strangely and disappearing a lot," I explained.

"You think she's having an affair?" Herman asked.

I nodded. "I should get going. See you later. And tell Roberto I said 'hey.'"

I left the mansion, returned to my car, and drove off. Speaking of Roberto, I wondered where he was. In the city, I lay on a rooftop, my camera focused on a bald, black man and his mistress in an apartment across the street. After a week of tracking, I'd finally caught my client's wife in the act. I snapped photos before the lovers began their affair. Climbing down the building, I got into my car and called my client. "Mr. Underwood, it's me. I've found your wife," I said. "Tell me, has she hooked up with another bartender?" he asked sarcastically.

"You could say that. She seems to prefer muscular bartenders," I replied with a hint of humor.

"I don't understand. How could they not know she's married?" Mr. Underwood asked.

"My guess is she removes her ring and pretends to be single," I answered, "So, that's lover number...3."

Mr. Underwood almost chuckled. "Well, it ends now. Thank you, Mr. Adams. I'll send your payment tomorrow."

I chuckled. "No, thank you, Mr. Underwood." I hung up, putting my phone away and sighing contentedly.

"I love being a private investigator," I exhaled as I turned on the car. Another tireless night lay ahead. I couldn't remember the last time I had a good night's sleep. Late nights were fine; it was the mornings that got to me. I drove off, planning to stop somewhere for a bite to eat.