Mirror, Mirror on the Wall ✓

18 | Misses and Leads

Chapter 18: Misses and Leads 

Clark finished up his job with the hysterical Hewitts and returned to the station. He packed up his stuff. There was a problem tugging at the back of his mind since they had decided to take up the mission alone: he had no idea of any front or back of the case. He knew nothing and was alone. Could a lone wolf take a pack down?

Now that he had decided to face the issue, he had no idea what he was going to do. Smash open their doors and start firing rounds of bullets? No, he had to be more realistic. Who could he expect help from? He needed someone who was trustworthy, skilful and tough. After few minutes of pondering, he had the perfect answer: the Bullet-tooth.

~

Kamroon "the Bullet-tooth" Curreri was a mobster on the mend. The police had taken him down earlier in the last year. His rehabilitation graph rose steadily and everyone was hopeful that he would not take much time to become a well-respected (at least on the face) citizen of Roxlow. 

But his nickname had still stuck with him. He had been given the absurd nickname because of some bullshitty tale about how he had once caught a bullet between his teeth during his early years. Clark, of course, doubted the authenticity of the tale to the fullest. Dammit, he wasn't even sure whether his real name was an actual one or a random selection of an exotic Italian-sounding surname.

Still, he would be of use to Clark. They had met during his rehab ruling, and Curreri had visibly taken a liking to the young enthusiastic sergeant. He was not that old, maybe in his mid-forties, still vigorous and fit, and he was expected to help the police now in any case. And he would never know that he was not on a real case—there was no one to tell him. 

He reached the Curreri residence—a humble cottage he had taken after his gang was taken down—in the respectable quarter of Roxlow. He rang the doorbell and was greeted by a plump, voluptuous lady, probably the wife, and promptly shown inside. He asked for Curreri, who met him after few minutes. After recognitions and curt greetings, they settled to business. Without any pretence, Clark told him he had a job for the police. He ran over the task, telling him only what he had to do, and left out the background of the case--he neither had the time nor use for those details now.

As he had expected, Curreri accepted the job without any requirement of payment. He took it as a personal favour, not business. Clark was thankful: he had nothing to spare from his meagre police salary.

After having a short discussion for a rough strategy, they left the house, both armed and determined.

~

As he made his entrance into the antique shop the third time, he felt strangely awkward. It was so...quiet. First, he and Curreri checked the office and the shop. No one. They descended towards the basement, Clark half expecting someone to jump on them at any moment, but nobody came. They entered, guns raised, but there was no need. The basement was naked as a newborn. And what were they supposed to do? He had no freaking clue.

They had probably emptied the place and gone somewhere else, he thought. And he feared they had taken Sanchez with them too. He tried calling him on his cell. No answer. He called two, three, four, ten times, his stomach clenching more tightly every time. But each time the call went into voice mail. He had to give up and face this all by himself. He cursed himself as to why he had not discouraged Sanchez from coming here alone. 

There was no link to the criminals other than this shop. He stood there, thinking. Curreri stood silent, respecting his time. Finally, Clark had to resort to the last option—a search of the basement. There weren't many things there anyway, just a few (probably discarded) items from the antique shop. Clark started looking inside and underneath, up and down and told Curreri to do the same. The search continued on for fifteen minutes without yielding any significant result. They did not find anything which would lead them to the outlaws. But just when Clark was about to call it quits, Curreri shouted and came running:

'Here! I found something!'

Clark turned to look what Curreri had found. He found himself staring at a food receipt.

Curreri was smiling at the receipt, 'Are they this dumb?'

Clark had still not gotten what Curreri was trying to say. He said, with a hint of frustration, 'What do you mean? How does this help us?'

Now it was Curreri's turn to show frustration. 'Do you not see this?' He pointed again at the receipt. 

'It's just an order for tacos and—'

As sudden as a stroke of lightning, it became clear to Clark. On the very top was written:

JOKO'S TAVERN.

The famous restaurant in the next town. 

Curreri declared, 'David boy, I think we need to make a road trip to Vernolee.'

---

*A/N: Vernolee: fictitious town name, just like Roxlow.