The Not So Lonesome Knight: Mistake at the Motel

Untitled Part 10

Every step he that carried him further away from Bonnie to the comfort of Kitt's cabin felt wrong. She abhorred violence of any kind and wasn't as accomplished of a fighter as Rc3 was which, regretfully left her Mrs. Stevens vulnerable. Bonnie hadn't grown up on the mean streets of Chicago like Rc3 so he supposed she had little need to know how to throw punches or fire a gun. Maybe, when this case was over, he would insist upon her taking self-defense classes or at the very least, having her learn how to accurately handle a gun or two. He'd gladly teach her himself.

If Devon had not required Reginald's help, Michael would have seen to it that Bonnie had the pleasure of the self-proclaimed 'Street Avenger's' company in his absence. He has to remind himself several times that she didn't need Rc3 to hover over her. She'd be fine. The only true solace he found himself clutching is that most smart felons, if there were any in this case, rarely returned to the scene of a crime.

Kitt's engine revs to life. "Where would you like to start, Michael?" He prods, having been paying attention to the whole conversation. There were some fantastic threads that Grace had left dangling and he was anxious to explore them all.

"While we're headed to the lodge of the local Freemasons, why don't you take a peek at the Stevens's bank-account. You see anythin' unusual? Larger than typical withdrawals for things other than payin' the bills?" His eyes scan the road, every now and then departing to check Kitt's console. He could just opt to have Kitt take the wheel but he doesn't. Driving enables him to think, to maul over all the new information.

The swooshing of his scanners provided appreciated background noise as Kitt delved into the bank's files. "The only thing that raises some concern is a recent five-hundred-dollar deposit." He finally remarks.

"Can you trace where it came from? Who issued the check? Or where it was deposited?" Michael questions. Interest consuming his vision.

"Sorry, Michael. That isn't possible."

"Isn't possible? Come on, Kitt. You are aware that there is a little number at the bottom of the checks..."

"That's the problem," Kitt regretfully states.

"Oh? How so?" The curly-haired agent challenges.

"It wasn't deposited in the form of a check. It was paid in cash," he bluntly informs.

"Five-hundred-dollars cash? Hmm." Michael parrots, eyes narrowing with skepticism. His fingers tighten their grips around the steering yoke as he considers a list of potential explanations. It could have been an innocent gift, he could have won it gambling, or it could be a bribe, or a small down payment for some kind of activity criminal or otherwise. It wasn't an awfully large sum but it wasn't nothing either. So which of the aforementioned was it? If Kent's wife didn't know where the money came from, there had to be a reason why he didn't tell her. What was he trying to hide? Was he hiding anything at all? The former police detective suddenly feels very much like a hamster caught in a wheel going around and around and getting nowhere fast. "Does that account include credit card statements?"

"No. It doesn't. But when we get back to Graces maybe she'll let you have a look," the AI wisely offers.

Michael gives a hesitant sigh."It's worth a shot." He isn't entirely certain what discrepancies he expects to find. But a part of him expects there to be one.

And with the temporary conclusion of that conversation, Kitt seizes the open door. "Have you told Bonnie how you feel about her?" He may not be able to compute such things the way humans do but he could tell. The man was oft caught in the habit of sneaking glances at Bonnie when her back was turned. Having been tasked with the care of Michael, he familiarized himself with every nuance. His usual heart-rate, the chord of his voice, the shift in his positions and their meanings, and how to read sarcasm from genuine cruelty. In this studious pursuit, he had taken notice that Michael's heart rate seemed to soar when she was around. Even more noticeable was that Michael, who never seemed to really be at a loss for words, stumbled over them like poorly discarded bricks in the road, when he spoke with her about anything not pertaining to work.