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Authors: Andi Marquette
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of the word. Cody with his shirt off, flexing his muscles. Showing off his tattoos.
On his left pectoral was the double lightning bolt of Hitler’s SS while on his right pectoral was the number
“88.” I saw the swastika that Melissa had noticed on his left forearm in these images.
I clicked on another image. In this one, Cody’s bare back was to the camera. I tried not to think about Megan taking the photo and hoped that one of his friends did. My eyes were drawn to a huge Nazi Third Reich-style eagle tattooed across his upper back. The swastika in the eagle’s claws dangled to his mid-back.
I clicked on the image to enhance it. Grudgingly, I had to admit that the work was very good. The artist had captured minute details on the raptor and the perspective was excellent. Maybe Chris had a line on local artists who might have done the piece. I noticed another tat on Cody’s left bicep that I didn’t recognize. It looked like a pissed-off rat clutching a Nazi iron cross. Above the rat’s head in gothic script were etched the letters ADR.
I went through the rest of the photos. There must have been fifty. The most recent date was June 5th of this year, about six weeks ago. Cody figured in about half. Some of the photos depicted other young men and women. Probably some of Megan’s other friends.
Two guys in a few of the other images looked like they might be friends of Cody’s. I’d have Chris check them out, as well. Megan had included names of everyone in her photos, little control freak that she was.I webbed over to Gmail, which handles my personal e-mail accounts, and zipped three photos of Cody to Chris. I included two others that pictured guys I thought might be part of his group. Maybe Chris would get some hits on them as well. I also asked her if she recognized the tattoos and if she knew of any local artists who did that kind of stuff. If not, I’d have to suck it up and visit local shops myself.
Finishing that up, I glanced at my watch. Three o’clock. No wonder I was hungry. I closed all the windows and stood up, stretching. Melissa probably wanted to hear from me. As I reached for my cell phone, it rang and I glanced at the ID. Speak of the devil.
“Hey. I was just going to call you.” Too late, I realized how that sounded. She didn’t say anything right away and I fumbled. “Uh, I finished some stuff up and I wondered if you wanted to come over and have a look. It might upset you, but—”
“I don’t care. I need to know. I’ll come by after work. Five-thirty okay?”
“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll be here. See you then.”
“Thanks.” She hung up.
I closed the phone and stood staring blankly at Megan’s computer screen. Melissa used to rush home like that after work until Megan’s relapse. Then she started coming home later and later. The waves of my past slid over the beach of my present as I thought about the last time I had seen Melissa before she showed up in Texas, when she was standing ten feet from me, saying she loved me and asking me if we could talk. I’d slammed that door shut. Well, why not? She was having an affair, for chrissakes. That’s not something you forget. And it makes everything past that suspect. What was there to talk about? She was doing Hillary. She’d betrayed the relationship she had with me.
What the hell? Why am I trying to excuse her? The image of Melissa in Hillary’s Mercedes was burned into my brain. But as I focused on it and waited for the pain that accompanied it, only sadness came up.
Shoving it out of my head, I decided to walk the four blocks to La Montanita, a local cooperative health food store. I locked up and headed toward Central in the late afternoon heat.
Chapter Five
I LEFT THE outer security door unlocked and the inner door open. When Melissa showed up, she called softly through the wire mesh, announcing her presence before she came in. I had just finished putting my groceries away when I heard the door open.
“Kase?”
On his left pectoral was the double lightning bolt of Hitler’s SS while on his right pectoral was the number
“88.” I saw the swastika that Melissa had noticed on his left forearm in these images.
I clicked on another image. In this one, Cody’s bare back was to the camera. I tried not to think about Megan taking the photo and hoped that one of his friends did. My eyes were drawn to a huge Nazi Third Reich-style eagle tattooed across his upper back. The swastika in the eagle’s claws dangled to his mid-back.
I clicked on the image to enhance it. Grudgingly, I had to admit that the work was very good. The artist had captured minute details on the raptor and the perspective was excellent. Maybe Chris had a line on local artists who might have done the piece. I noticed another tat on Cody’s left bicep that I didn’t recognize. It looked like a pissed-off rat clutching a Nazi iron cross. Above the rat’s head in gothic script were etched the letters ADR.
I went through the rest of the photos. There must have been fifty. The most recent date was June 5th of this year, about six weeks ago. Cody figured in about half. Some of the photos depicted other young men and women. Probably some of Megan’s other friends.
Two guys in a few of the other images looked like they might be friends of Cody’s. I’d have Chris check them out, as well. Megan had included names of everyone in her photos, little control freak that she was.I webbed over to Gmail, which handles my personal e-mail accounts, and zipped three photos of Cody to Chris. I included two others that pictured guys I thought might be part of his group. Maybe Chris would get some hits on them as well. I also asked her if she recognized the tattoos and if she knew of any local artists who did that kind of stuff. If not, I’d have to suck it up and visit local shops myself.
Finishing that up, I glanced at my watch. Three o’clock. No wonder I was hungry. I closed all the windows and stood up, stretching. Melissa probably wanted to hear from me. As I reached for my cell phone, it rang and I glanced at the ID. Speak of the devil.
“Hey. I was just going to call you.” Too late, I realized how that sounded. She didn’t say anything right away and I fumbled. “Uh, I finished some stuff up and I wondered if you wanted to come over and have a look. It might upset you, but—”
“I don’t care. I need to know. I’ll come by after work. Five-thirty okay?”
“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll be here. See you then.”
“Thanks.” She hung up.
I closed the phone and stood staring blankly at Megan’s computer screen. Melissa used to rush home like that after work until Megan’s relapse. Then she started coming home later and later. The waves of my past slid over the beach of my present as I thought about the last time I had seen Melissa before she showed up in Texas, when she was standing ten feet from me, saying she loved me and asking me if we could talk. I’d slammed that door shut. Well, why not? She was having an affair, for chrissakes. That’s not something you forget. And it makes everything past that suspect. What was there to talk about? She was doing Hillary. She’d betrayed the relationship she had with me.
What the hell? Why am I trying to excuse her? The image of Melissa in Hillary’s Mercedes was burned into my brain. But as I focused on it and waited for the pain that accompanied it, only sadness came up.
Shoving it out of my head, I decided to walk the four blocks to La Montanita, a local cooperative health food store. I locked up and headed toward Central in the late afternoon heat.
Chapter Five
I LEFT THE outer security door unlocked and the inner door open. When Melissa showed up, she called softly through the wire mesh, announcing her presence before she came in. I had just finished putting my groceries away when I heard the door open.
“Kase?”
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