Thomas & Brutus

(Working Title)

Written by: Matthew Thomas Luka

Chapter One

Click, click, click, click.

The ceiling fan spins lazily above Thomas Rawlings as he leans back in his leather desk chair and stares up. On each revolution it clicks as the blades spin above his head. Click. It’s marking the passage of time. Click. It spins with a purpose. Click. It accomplishes nothing as the humid air hangs oppressively. Click. The blades search the air for reason while spinning on their course.

Thomas pulls his feet off of the desk and tosses a gingersnap in Brutus’ direction. The bulldog bounds over to it and licks it off the hardwood floor. After a few more cookies sail through the air, Thomas links his fingers behind his head and stares up at the fan again. He had always felt like he was born to help people. In his eight years as a S.W.A.T. Demolitions Expert for the Los Angeles Police Department, he had resolved so many disagreements, located so many stolen (usually lost) items and helped fellow cops repair failing relationships with their girlfriends and wives that it seemed inevitable to become a private investigator.

He winces in pain as he pulls his legs off the edge of the desk, he still has to deal with slight pain and stiffness from when he had been caught in the explosion over seven years ago that had ended his police career.

However, he was still an investigator more out of necessity than desire. At first it was a desire to be occupied. He eventually got tired of his early retirement and had decided to do something with his time. He didn’t need the money, Thomas honestly enjoyed helping people.

Then, five years ago, his life had fallen apart. Amie had left Thomas without a hint as to why. Thomas had tried to live without knowing why she had left him, but he couldn’t. He had decided to hire himself.

Amie had walked out on him more than five years ago, three days after accepting his proposal, and he had traced her plane ticket from Los Angeles to here, Seattle. He had followed only to find that the trail ended at the airport and had continued his uneventful search these five years while doing odd jobs for extra money, which had led him to private investigating. Nothing had developed since then and Thomas had all but given up hope. It was obvious that Amie didn’t want him or Brutus in her life anymore, but he couldn’t help but think that there was something more to it.

His office sits in the corner of the third floor in a rundown building near downtown Seattle. The walls are colorless and bare; the old counters against one wall, unadorned, except for the coffeemaker, microwave and sink. His desk sits across from the door, where Thomas rests now.

In the five years of searching, the room’s occupants hadn’t changed much either. Thomas wore what most would consider too casual for work attire: jeans, a polo shirt and tennis shoes. His style of dress wasn’t sloppy, but just casual and he had found that it helped set people at ease whenever they walked in with a problem for him to solve.

Brutus has been Thomas’ companion and best friend for over ten years, an aging bulldog whose blind left eye was the least of his ailments. Brutus rolls out of his cushion in the counter cabinet and searches among the cracks in the floor for leftover particles of gingersnap cookies, seemingly propelled with each step by fresh proof of his gastrointestinal instability.

“Brutus, you sure aren’t the same pooch you used to be,” Thomas comments. “We’ve been through a lot, us two dogs.” He catches a glimpse of his curly, reddish-brown hair, close-trimmed beard and deep brown eyes from reflection on the rain-streaked window behind him. Not bad looking for just over thirty-five years.

Thomas’ thoughts drift to Amie. She had always impressed him as one of those women who aged well. She probably looks better now than she ever did. Thomas shakes his head, trying to remove the thought. He has to be careful, his heart still hasn’t recovered. He pulls himself out of the chair to rinse his stained coffee mug in the nearby sink.

“What do you say we get on home? It’s almost nine o’clock.”

Another barrage of gas escapes from Brutus as a knock on the door startles them both. Thomas looks at the dog.

“Maybe our next paycheck has finally decided to show its face,” Thomas whispers as he sets his mug on the counter and strides to the door. “Now, keep your gas in check if you want to eat,” he advises the dog as he pulls the door open, although they both know that money is no issue for them.

The hall outside of his office is empty, the only light coming from the end of the hall where the elevator stands with the perennial out of order sign emblazoned on the door. Puzzled, Thomas looks out the window next to his office door opposite the elevator and glimpses at the moon peeking through the nighttime clouds over the Seattle skyline. The moon seems to be peeking into Thomas’ painful past, trying to illuminate the darkness hiding there.

At Thomas’ feet lays a plain, brown cardboard box with only one identifying mark, a hand-drawn tulip in the upper left corner with a single leaf in the shape of a capital A adorning the stem.

“After all this time…” Thomas’ voice fades away. He bends over, grimacing as his leg protests, and carries the package in before dropping it unceremoniously on the desk.

Thomas examines the box more and stares at the single marking on it. The last time he saw that symbol was when he had come home to find an envelope sitting in his mailbox with that same tulip drawn on the front of it. Inside of the envelope, Thomas had found a letter from Amie informing him that he would never see her again. Taken by complete surprise, he had rushed to her apartment to talk to her, but she had already left and he was unable to find her or contact her at all. His only hope had been the plane ticket, which only led him to the gray, wet vastness of northern Washington.

Cookie crumbs grind into Thomas’ palm bringing him back into the present. Brutus nuzzles Thomas’ hand, worried by the pain in his master’s face.

“Looks like Amie decided to finally let us in her life again, buddy. I bet she’s known where we’ve been all along. Let’s see what she sent us.”

Thomas pulls his Smith & Wesson pocketknife from his back pocket and flicks it open expertly. This knife has been with him since he joined SWAT. He had been awarded it during training for testing well at the Tactical Explosives Training Facility. This same knife had been used to cut multiple fuses to blow open lockers full of evidence and safe house doors. Now it was used as a letter and box opener.

As Thomas’ eyes caress the familiar blade he realizes it is shaking in his hand. The hand that had been steady for years, by necessity for handling delicate explosives, now shook with the thought of opening a box. Not just another box of cardboard but a box from the past, a box from Amie. Thomas folds the knife back into its handle and slips it in his pocket again.

“C’mon, Brutus, let’s get home. We’ll open her package in the morning. I just can’t do this right now. Let’s see if it’s still here in the morning.” His voice trails off painfully.

Brutus eyes his owner quizzically and wags the stub that is his tail as Thomas picks up his leather jacket and backpack. Thomas walks into the hall and closes the office for the night. As he lumbers down three flights of stairs to the garage his mind flickers back to the package, trying to remember the last time he met with Amie. He is too tired to think about it for long.

Once in the garage, Thomas sets Brutus in his basket on the back of their Harley Fat Boy and straps the child-size helmet on the dog while being sure to keep the dog’s ears free so they can flap in the wind. He then fastens his own helmet, slides into his leather jacket and squeezes his arms through the backpack straps. As Thomas swings his leg over the bike and the engine starts, the familiar rumbling and vibrations reverberate through the empty parking garage and soothe his rattled nerves. He drives out into the night, and forces the package from his mind, trying to protect his heart.

Up in the office, shadows caress the package on the desk, as it waits to be opened.

At exactly 9:30 in the morning, rumbling fills the garage as the midnight blue Fat Boy pulls in and parks in its usual spot among the dripping pipes. As Thomas steps onto the ground floor to check his empty mailbox, a set of beady eyes and a sharp nose belonging to the proprietor poke out of the office door and a pudgy hand holds out a vanilla wafer cookie. Brutus bounds over and licks at the hand, slurping up the contents.

“Thanks, Kenneth. Brutus looks forward to those cookies every morning.”

Once Thomas hears the door close down the hall behind him he comments, “It will never cease to amaze me how much that man reminds me of a mole. We’ve never seen more of that guy than his eyes, nose and hand for as long as we’ve been here.” Brutus just struts along behind his master oblivious to Thomas’ constant side comments.

The dank dust of the stairwell irritates Brutus and he sneezes loudly, making Thomas jump a few steps above him.

The echo still rings in their ears as they step out into the hallway on the top floor of the drab building that houses Thomas’ investigator business. The floorboards squeak under Thomas’ weight as he walks towards his office door on the left-hand side of the hallway. Thomas opens the door and holds it for Brutus. Brutus walks right over to the cabinet at the opposite end of where his pillow is nested and paws at the door.

“I know, I know. We just got here and before I can put my bag down, you want me to get you your food. You are a typical male, aren’t you?”

Brutus’ eyes follow Thomas with rapt attention as he moves about the office, setting his bag down on his desk. Thomas pulls a bag of dog food out of the cabinet and ruffles the dog’s ears before pouring some of the soft food into the metal bowl next to Thomas’ desk.

“Brutus, all you need is the basics of life. Do you know how lucky you are?” Thomas chuckles at the expense of his friend. “Hey, you know I’m just joking. I love ya, pooch.”

Thomas turns to the coffeemaker which is programmed to make fresh coffee each morning and prepares a cup. He then slumps into his desk chair and begins preparing his own breakfast. Thomas pulls the two foil-wrapped breakfast burritos he made that morning as well as two small containers of salsa and sour cream. Brutus continues to stand patiently as Thomas bows his head and whispers a quick prayer.

“Okay, boy. Let’s eat.”

Brutus digs into the bowl while Thomas takes a bite from his first burrito. Halfway through his bite, Thomas looks up and sees the package sitting on the corner of his desk. He had avoided looking at it, half expecting it to have vanished like the memories of his nightmares did each morning. His chewing stops as a slight frown creases his brow.

“Well, Brutus. We might as well get this over with and see what she sent us, huh?”

Thomas reaches forward, pulls the box toward him, and examines the outside of it with his trained eye. Daylight reveals no markings missed the night before. The tulip still stands alone in the corner of the box with none of the regular shipping addresses or labels. Thomas’ gaze locks on the tulip again and he shakes his head in a halfhearted attempt to make the memories leave.

“No address means it was delivered by Amie personally. I didn’t think I would ever see another tulip drawn the way she does. That tulip was only put on things that I was supposed to open privately. It was a little signal that we had,” Thomas whispers to himself.

His pocketknife rests open in his hand in one smooth flick of motion. He cuts open the top of the box and opens the flaps. The box is nearly empty with the exception of five small items.

The first item he removes is a note, written in Amie’s delicate cursive with purple ink on tulip-bordered stationary:

Thomas –

I have a matter of great importance that I need you to help with. A young girl in my class has been kidnapped. Her mother has received a ransom letter which I have available for you to see. I didn’t include it in this package. Call me when you are ready to start and I will get you a copy of it.

Although it is not my place to do so, I referred her mother to you. She has given me all the information regarding the kidnapping and does not wish to meet you personally at this moment. I know this is not a usual practice but she has asked me to be her liaison to you. She really isn’t taking it well and I would like to respect her wishes as long as it is possible. I do not think she can take much more stress.

I know that we have unresolved issues between us and that I am the last person that you want to help, but you are the only person I trust to not involve the police. If you don’t want to help me, please help the girl and her mother. They really need you.

I included a picture of the missing girl, Rebecca, who is five years old. Also in this box are two small tins, one for Brutus and one for you. The last item is a check for your services. If it is not enough, please let me know and I will get you more.

Give me a call on my cell when you want to see the ransom letter…

The stationary is signed with the all too familiar signature, underneath is Amie’s phone number. Thomas sets the note aside and removes the other items one by one.

The picture of Rebecca is a grainy copy depicting a delicate looking redheaded girl with a mass of freckles on her cheeks. She has striking emerald green eyes and a smile that belies her intelligence. A slight scar between the clefts of her chin adds to her cuteness, not detracting from it.

“Too bad most victims don’t survive a kidnapping, Brute. This girl would have been a heartbreaker in high school,” Thomas says. “Amie knows I always have to help once I see a picture of a victim. Amie has just hired herself a detective. Not that I could turn her down anyway.”

Next out of the box came the check along with two brightly colored tins with notes taped to them identifying one to Brutus and one to Thomas.

After opening the bulldog’s and setting it in front of him on his pillow where the bulldog was eyeing him Thomas said, “Brute, look its gingersnaps, your favorite. Does Amie know you or what?” Thomas sadly ruffles Brutus’ ears as he wonders why she ever left them. Amie was the one person, other than Thomas, who would put up with Brutus’ gas.

Thomas takes his own tin and dumps it into his backpack, curious about what is inside, but not wanting to know what Amie thinks he likes. Seeing the tight, flowing, delicate writing reminds him of the last letter written five years earlier. He rubs his head, trying to will away the headache he feels coming.

Clearing his throat, Thomas shoves his thoughts aside and glances at the check absentmindedly. Not caring how much it is, he tosses it into his bag as well, not sure that it is enough to pay for the pain of hearing from Amie again, much less this job he now has. Not that it matters anyway, both he and Brutus are set with the retirement checks Thomas receives from LAPD each month.

Brutus walks over and sets his head on Thomas’ lap. Thomas scratches the bulldog’s head and picks up the burrito for another bite. Glancing at it when it is halfway to his mouth he then tosses it into the garbage bin next to his desk and dumps his coffee into the sink.

“Brutus, I know it’s early but I need a bottle. There is no way that I can make it through today without having at least one.” Thomas looks into Brutus’ wet eyes for understanding. “It’s just so hard for me, buddy. Amie and I had something special but…” Thomas’ voice cracks as his shoulders shake. “I don’t know what I did to drive her away, but I just want to make things right. If I can apologize and let her know that I do love her by accepting this job, then so be it.”

Thomas walks to the small refrigerator on the counter by the sink and opens the door. Glass bottles clink together as they rock into each other. Looking at the dog again, Thomas reaches in and grabs one. After twisting the top off, he takes a long draught of the clear liquid.

“Aaah, that is so much better. I don’t know what it is about cream soda, but it cools the nerves just right.”

He drains the bottle and drops it into the recycle bin.

“Okay boy, let’s go start this job. Amie needs her boys and they aren’t going to let her down; no matter what.”

Thomas always sorts out his thoughts before a job. He does his best thinking riding on his bike with the wind whistling through his beard and whipping around his body.

He scoops the remainder of the items from Amie into his bag and grabs his jacket.

“C’mon, Brute. We’re going for a ride.” Thomas walks out with the dog following behind. “The sooner we get on the road, the sooner we can get on this case.”

Brutus in pursuit, Thomas closes and locks the office door and walks down the hallway to the stairwell.

Soon, the roaring of a Harley echoes from below as a broken-hearted man and a slobbering dog ride off on their newest assignment.