Neil Knight Private Dick

Let's get Some Fried Chicken

She had just finished her afternoon workout and was cleaning of the equipment when someone called out "Hey Maria, they're towing your car!"

"What?" she responded.

"Are you sure?" she replied, running to the floor to ceiling windows at the Santa Ana Planet Fitness.

Sure enough, a tow truck had secured her grey BMW i3s all electric sedan and was in the process of lifting the front end away from the pavement in preparation to haul it away.

Her first thought was Carlos. He'd had her debit card disabled, then her personal bank account was suspended, and now this.

'What more abuse did she have to take?' she thought.

Then she noticed the side of the truck as it turned. It wasn't just any tow truck. Emblazoned on the doors of the vehicle was City of Santa Ana Police Department.

Her car was being impounded by law enforcement.

She stood there dumbfounded.

Her second thought was Carlos. 'What the fuck had that dumb son-of-a-bitch done now?'

She was held transfixed in thought.

Then she heard her name called out again, but more softly this time. More intimately.

"Maria" said the deep voice next to her, modulating his volume as he tried to be sensitive to the situation. "Why don't you clean up and come with me. I think I have the answers you're looking for."

Now time slowed down for Maria Fiorello Campana.

The sounds of the gym receded into the background as she slowly turned toward the voice. And there he was, the half smile on his face emoting empathy.

The man she had hired to do a job.

Perform a service.

Find a reason.

The overweight Private Dick, Neil Knight.

She nodded in slow motion and moved toward the locker room, the eyes of her fellow gym rats following her until she'd disappeared from their view.

Then the eyes turned collectively toward the detective, taking in his volume, judging his character by his appearance, and, like most opinions formed from a single data point, they found him less than worthy of their attention, and refocused on their activities with self-satisfied smiles.

Maria reappeared and they walked to his Toyota Rav4 in relative silence, thoughts and questions filling her mind, making it difficult to grasp an idea to begin a conversation. He opened the passenger door, reached on to the seat and brushed off some memories of past meals.

"Smells like dog" she said.

"The boys are in the back" he replied. And so they were, having worked their way back into the good graces of the detective, as the effects of his concussion subsided, or, perhaps due to the concussion impairing his better judgement. The pups lifted their heads and peered over the back seat to take in the activity, and then dropped back down, curiosity satisfied.

At that time of the day the drive to Yorba Linda took only fifteen minutes, the country and western music playing through the tinny, inadequate sound system of the car, barely filling the space between the two occupants.

As they neared their destination Maria seemed to come out of her intellectual coma. She knew this place. Recognized the streets. She'd been here only once before. Cassia Lane.

Different now. The entire area was covered in black SUVs, men and women in black suits and policemen in blue milling about. An officer held up her hand in the middle of the street, then, recognizing the car and driver, waved them through.