Author: Kanamera PM
Young FBI agent Cayden Maddox, 19 year old prodigy, aspires to close the case on the suicide of a Geneticist that was claimed to have been in the designer drug trade. With the help of the criminal's own son, Sydney, he will uncover a world of drugs, sex, love, deceit, and murder. Some of it may not even be human. Still, is Sydney who he says he is,or is he out to get Cayden too?Rated: Fiction T - English - Sci-Fi/Crime - Words: 1,756 - Published: 05-30-12 - id: 3027560
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Special Agent Maddox rapped on the glass door. It seemed everyone knew were Alfred's girl (now Bob's wife) lived. He contemplated the particulars of his case while he waited for someone to answer the door. Harris had worked on Alfred Knox's case when he was a field agent, and now that another mystery had sprung from the ashes of the aforementioned case, he just couldn't keep his curiosity in check. So now, Cayden Maddox came in Chief Harris's place to settle the matter once and for all. Finally, the door opened reluctantly, but just a crack enough for Maddox to make out the warm brown of a single human eye.
"What do you want?" The voice was high and heavily accented. Maddox determined that by the lack of vowel accuracy and emphasis on ending consonants that the individual had spent a significant portion of her life on the North-East Coast of Asia. Cayden had an eidedic memory and never forgot a voice.
"It's okay ma'am, I'm only here to ask a few questions. Is Mrs. Knox home?"
"I am Mrs. Knox." Cayden was taken aback. Alfred was a man of all the prejudices of a classic White Supremisist.
"May I come in? I would like to ask a couple questions about your late husband."
"You're not welcome here."
"Special Agent Cayden Maddox." He flashed his badge at her. "I'm here about Alfred Maddox."
The brown eye narrowed in suspicion, but the door opened to reveal a timid Chinese woman. She was not tall, about five foot, and she had to crane her neck to meet the FBI agent's eyes at five foot eight. She garb was a grubby house-dress over which she wore a paint-splattered apron. Multicolored pigments colored her from her face to her bare feet. Her hair was greasy and dandruff clumped on her scalp. She led him down a dark corridor into the living room. This room was equally poorly lit with only a candle stub flickering on the coffee table. Painted canvasses line the walls. She made herself comfortable in a worn armchair, the only seat in the room, so she did not extend him an invitation to sit down. Regardless, Cayden found himself a seat sitting cross-legged on the coffee table.
"Well," Cayden began nonchalantly. "You are Sandra Knox?"
"No." She replied.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I am Ai Lian Zhang."
"Is that the name on your birth certificate?"
"What is "Birth Certificate"?" Cayden face-palmed. He'd forgotten that most Chinese adults had no birth certificates because they were born before the time of their existence in China.
"Are you Alfred Knox's wife?" Cayden corrected himself.
"Yes. We married."
"So you are Sandra Knox on your marriage certificate?"
"NO." Cayden wanted to strangle the woman.
"So, Ai-Lian, do you know anything about the money that was siphoned from your deceased husband's bank account?"
"No. He leave me no money."
"The government seized his property because of the Ecstasy case. He couldn't leave you any money, but the government would have fully compensated you. Someone si..."
"Government no give money. I get no money!" Ai-Lian interrupted.
"Calm down ma'am. The government should have mailed you a check as due compensation equal to the amount in your husband's bank account."
Ai-Lian laughed bitterly. "He no leave me no money. Government give me no money. Other wife get all money."
"Other wife? Alfred had another wife?"
"She live in downtown. White girl give Alfred two kid. No know why he want me, but I no go back to China, so marry Alfred."
"Ai-Lian. Having two wives is not legal in the United States."
"Alfred no break law, he have three wife." After the peculiar remark, Ai-Lian's head hit the table with a thud. Cayden heard a door burst open in the hallway and a boy rushed over to Ai-Lian. He laid her gently on the ground and took her head in his lap. He crooned words of comfort to the woman in her native language. Two shining streaks ran down Ai-Lian's cheeks, and she suddenly broke into racking sobs.
Half an hour passed before she stopped crying and her breath calmed. During this time, Cayden had accidentally leaned too far back and knocked over the candle, lighting his sports jacket on fire. While he was rolling on the floor, the boy never once looked boy positioned Ai-Lian as comfortably as he could in the armchair without waking her and motion for Cayden to follow him outside. He led them to the front porch and sat down on the concrete steps. After they left the dim confines of the house, Cayden observed the boy's outward appearance. He was Asian, and presumably Ai-Lian's son. He was about the same height as her, and his face was remarkably similar to hers, and he had her eyes. When the boys eyes me his, his breath caught in his throat, those hungry feral eyes. He wore dirty a dirty t-shirt and baggy shorts, but his hair, amazingly, was pristine and platinum blond, contrasting starkly with Ai-Lian's Tar Black.
"So, you are her son?" Cayden inquired.
"Yeah. I'm Sydney Boxer."
Sydney laughed. "No."
"Is your mother okay?"
"Yeah, she'll be fine. She's just a little touchy about his other wives. She really loved Alfred, and would've done anything for him, but he broke her heart." That didn't surprise Cayden.
"Has your mother ever attempted to siphon money from his account?"
"I ain't gonna tell you shit."
"Calm down. I'm here on official business, and I'm not here to harm you or your family in any way. I just need to bring to justice the man that took away your father's money."
"I don't give a crap about your justice or Alfred's money. Leave us alone."
"If you help me, your family will be compensated."
Sydney gave him the cold shoulder and headed back toward the house.
He turned back toward Cayden. "Fine."
"Did your mother siphon money?"
"If only she knew how. She doesn't even know how to get a Green Card to get a job, let alone have the familiarity with technology and the banking system to siphon money from a government repossessed account."
"What about Bob?"
"Psh! He's a construction worker, and not even the techy kind. Heavy lifting just about sums up his job description. At home all he does is drink, man of the bottle. Man can really hold his liquor."
"Do you know of anyone who would know of Alfred's money and have the means to access it?"
"Yup! Two people."
"His other wives."
"I have Sandra. Who's the other wife?"
"Yours truly!" Sydney pounded his chest twice proudly.
"Haha, no shit. Who is she?"
Sydney laughed genuinely, took one hand to Cayden's lower back and walked him back toward his black FBI standard issue SUV. "I take you to Sandra's place."
Cayden, realizing that Sydney couldn't have possibly known he didn't know where Sandra lived unless he'd been eavesdropping on Ai-Lian's conversation when he though she was Sandra. He felt that perhaps the house was worth more investigation.
"Hey kid, what about your mom?"
"Oh, she'll be fine." Contradictory to his words, Sydney was already heading back toward the house. Cayden followed the boy back into the living room. Sydney picked up his mother and turned to him.
"Don't follow me upstairs. I know you wanna interrogate Bob, but he makes an angry drunk. I you wanna ask question, ask him at work when he's only hung over, but if I were you, I'd take my word when I say that he don't know nuttin' you don't know already." Then he dashed away at a remarkable speed with a woman his size in his arms bridal style. Cayden took this time to look around at a few of the paintings around the room. It seemed that Bob gave Ai-Lian all the painting supplies she wanted. He understood why Ai-Lian didn't sell well, because most of the paintings, for lack of a better word, were just boring. They were typical still-lifes or pictures of cloth patterns. He was about to turn away when he accidentally tripped over the armchair. The dilapidated seat cushion flew off, and paper towels that had been stashed underneath it were scattered across the room. On these sheets of Bounty brand, breathtaking mini-masterpieces had been painted in bold strokes. As Cayden gathered them up, he took time to admire each and every one: Ai-Lian kissing a man, Ai-Lian painting, Ai-Lian cooking. They were all of Ai-Lian: dancing, singing, reading, laughing. Some were steamy: showering, sleeping (nude) with a man. Some were mind boggling: giving birth to a shiny glass baby that reflected the whole room on its body, Ai-Lian looking at a mirror and pulling Sydney out of it.
Cayden was so engrossed that he didn't notice when Sydney came back down the stairs.
"No!" The boy snatched the towellettes from his hands. They tore.
"What?" Cayden, having been caught red-handed, shrugged it off. "They're pretty. You're mother is very talented."
"She sucks. She didn't make these."
"Shocker." Cayden didn't believe a drunk could paint so well. Ignoring his last remark, Sydney dragged the rather immature FBI agent from the vicinity of the dwelling and to the SUV parked on the curb.
"I'm gonna help you, but it's gonna hurt a little. You're fault for putting your nose where nobody wants it though." Sydney took a couple steps back and charged toward him. Cayden, nevermind how skinny he was, had nevertheless been trained as an FBI agent and prepared to fend off the attack. Still, there was no way he could have prepared for an assault of such a degree from the scrawny youth. He was taken by his throat and thrown against his SUV. His vision flickered like the candle in the living room. The last things he saw were Sydney's feral eyes, and he could have sworn they were the same color as that of the setting sun.