Sunrise Destiny

Chapter 1

Chapter One

June 14th began like most days, with me sitting in the corner booth of Carl's Diner drinking the swill that passes for coffee. I scanned the day's flimsy. No, I'm not an ambulance-chaser, but I have been known to find clients in the headlines.

My name's Donatello Sunrise and I'm a private detective. Not the uptown, shake-hands-with-the-mayor, attend-charity-events, high-class P.I. type, but the fast-talking, gin-swilling, skirt-chasing, pound-the-pavement, work-for-a-living gumshoe kind. If you need compromising holos of your cheating spouse, or you're being blackmailed by the sleaze next door, I'm your man. It's not glamorous, but it's a job that needs doing, and I'm damned good at it.

Maybe someone's daughter is missing and the cops—big surprise—are clueless. And maybe I call and offer to help find daddy's little girl—for a nominal fee, of course. Hey, I'm not proud of it, but it's a living, and sometimes I actually find the kid; so it's a win-win.

On this particular Tuesday, nothing jumped out at me as the 48-point headlines crawled across the flimsy. The mayor was stumping for re-election—so what else was new? The electronic ink on the plastic flimsy swirled and reformed to reflect the latest news. A woman had disappeared near a bus stop by the bay. Foul play was suspected. Same old same-old. I rolled up the flimsy and stuck it in my jacket pocket. Then I finished my third cup of coffee and tossed some bills on the table for Marge. 

I started to get up to leave, when a cloud blocked the bright sunlight streaming in through the window across the aisle. Except it wasn't a cloud.

A ham hock of a hand slammed me back down into my seat and held me there by my shoulder. I looked up...and up...and up at an Everest of a man. He sneered the way a bully does when he's about to pound a kid into the playground dirt. Across the table from me, a dapper and much less imposing man slid onto the bench seat.

"Long time no see, Sunrise."

His sneer matched that of the other goon. This didn't look to be a social meeting.

"Not long enough, Weasel."

"Always with the wisecracks, eh, Sunrise? And it's Weisel. You'll do well to remember that. My friend here," he nodded at the man-mountain, "don't take kindly to punks that insult me. Do ya, Tiny?"

The ham hock turned into a vise; steel fingers dug deep into my shoulder blade. I had to grit my teeth to keep from crying out. Weasel nodded sharply and the pressure ceased. Maybe Weasel didn't like the nickname, but his hatchet face and beady eyes invited the comparison.

"Tough guy, eh, Sunrise?"

I fixed him with an acid glare and thought of all the things I'd like to do to the little rodent. He was the brains of the duo, which wasn't saying much.

"Run outta wisecracks? That's okay, you can think up some more on the way." He nodded to Tiny, who yanked me out of the booth by my jacket collar.

"On the way? To where?" I had a pretty good idea.

"To see the boss. He wants to have a chat."

That's what I was afraid of.

* * * *

Outside, Tiny shoved me into the backseat of a black sedan, and climbed in after me. I dove for the far door, only to find myself face-to-face with the business end of a Glock 9mm. Weasel gestured me back to the middle of the seat and got in beside me. With an armed weasel on one side and a Grand Teton on the other, I felt like a sardine in a can—and just as dead.

"Go," Weasel called to the driver.

The acceleration of the powerful engine shoved me back into the shape-conforming seat. That didn't do anything to help my feeling of being trapped. I could think of only one reason for this meeting, and it didn't bode well for me. Scar and I had history, and not the good kind.