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Good old C-11 gave Detective Keaton something to cherish which his former department in Tacoma hadn't – a lighter work schedule and no impromptu armed missions. Having left the bar last month after waving goodbye to his coworkers back in Tacoma, he found himself shifted to Dorchester in the blink of an eye. He wasn't a huge fan of Boston, the entirety of Massachusetts, but he was all alright as long as it was not Tacoma. Mannequin, he thought as he climbed in his car on a chilly morning. A lighter work schedule didn't mean plenty of free time. It was fine though since it wasn't Tacoma.
Keaton wasn't used to driving on busy streets since he spent most of his time in police vans. When he drove it was usually short to the nearest park where he would hang out with his daughter until his phone rang. This morning was no different either besides them not being in the park. It rained, thundered and the street turned foggy in the summer to the point he had to turn on the headlights in daylight. He could spend the day with Beth and his daughter Annie, instead of watching Bugs Bunny with her and pretending to laugh at scalping jokes from the early sixties. Keaton looked at the small monitor on the dashboard with an inverted red teardrop.
Jamaica Plains. Not far from Dorchester but the traffic made him feel the drive like an hour. And when he reached there, he couldn't find the purpose behind the name of the place. Nothing Jamaican. He hadn't driven there expecting a flock of Caribbean folks in their straw hats, dancing in tee shirts and offering him a beer in a thick accent. Man. Maan. Getting there he realized that place might have been busier than his own. He parked the car on the curb, took out his umbrella, and walked out of his SUV. Rain pattered his face right away, wind almost blowing his umbrella off his hands. He held the umbrella with one hand while his other hand was sunken into his coat pocket. Keaton was somehow able to retrieve a notebook from there but flipping it in the wind was something else. Challenges aside, he did it and considered himself lucky because he happened to have parked in front of the building he had come looking for. He put the notebook back in his pocket so he didn't need to look at the room number. Sixth story, number eleven. He took an elevator and knocked.
He could smell the coffee from inside, making his taste buds tingle. Keaton didn't want to admit but he hoped whoever was there would offer him the coffee. Keaton never considered himself a big coffee guy but the weather could make him what he wasn't. He knocked again then the door opened.
A man in a white tee shirt stuck his head out from the door. "Yes?"
Keaton showed him his badge.
"Boston Police District C-11. Can I have a quick word with you, Mr. Winston?"
"Yes, please." Winston looked inside his room then came out.
"Mr. Fred Winston, I preferred to do it inside rather than in the corridor."
"Mom is sick. She sees a cop in, she gets sicker," Winston said. "Better put your queries here now officer. I am running late to open my store."
"Well." Keaton reached for his notebook again, this time clicking a pen too. "I am Officer Leonard Keaton."
"Detective?"
"Ah, it's an outdated term now."
"So, officer. Anything I can help you with?"
"Hmm….I came here asking about Paxton Pierce." Keaton showed him a photograph of a red-haired guy. "You know him?"
"I don't."
"Maybe you do. Think again."
Winston held the photograph in his hands while he looked into the furthest corners of his memory.
"Dunno." Winston handed it back to him.
"Mr. Paxton's family filed a missing report on him. They say he was going to meet a storeowner in North End. Although they don't remember the store name clearly, they mentioned Win Win. I looked up and found the name exists, just like Jamaica Plain does, sorry. And you happen to own the store."
Winston scoffed.
"I should have met you at the store but my daughter insists I take her to the beach after lunch."
"Officer, this person might have come to my store. Might as well have not. Either way, I can't tell for sure because it's a store where hundreds of people walk by."
"The family says Paxton mentioned you." Keaton once again flipped the notebook pages. "I quote 'Paxton said he was going to buy Winston's store.'"
"Buy?" Winston cracked up.
"Winston, what's going on there?" an elderly female voice came through the door.
"Nothing, mother. Nothing."
"So?" Keaton said. "Can you guide me in this Paxton situation?"
"Unfortunately, I can't help you because I don't intend to sell the store. But one thing – I might have told him that because I was being friendly."
"Laugh yeh?"
"Anything wrong in talking to customers?"
"Fine as long as it's not bullshit," Keaton sighed.
"You think I'm bullshitting to you?"
Keaton's eyes immediately shot at him. "I didn't say that."
"Then you aren't offended, detective?"
"Not at this moment. It's just I can't return to the department with what you told me."
"You might as well spend a day with me and I shall tell you the same. Because I don't know him. Officer, you happened to knock on the wrong door."
Winston crept inside the room once again allowing Keaton to take the smell of caffeine before he shut the door for good.
