The Silver Lake Murder by Gregg Matthews (read novel full txt) 📗

of the store and opens the door leading to the alley. He looks into the alley and sees the empty dumpster. He takes his time emptying the contents of the store into the dumpster. He also notices the store has a small bathroom and shower in it. Once the store is empty, he walks around checking out the walls to see where the electric socket and light switches are. He needs to know where he can set up his workstations for himself and the other artist he may hire.

Stopping at a mirror mounted on the wall, he looks at his reflection in the mirror. He is wearing cowboy boots, jeans, a two-inch-wide belt, a white T-shirt. Both of his arms, chest, and back are covered in tattoo ink. He can see the ink through his T-shirt. He is six feet and five inches, lean and muscular. He has long brown curly hair going down to the middle of his back. He has a tired look in his eyes. The last few days have taken their toll on him. He knows he needs to pull his life together.

The second thing he needs to do is open all the doors and windows to air out the store. He takes a break and sits on an old milk crate in the alley. His T-shirt is wrapped around his head as he uses it to absorb the sweat. He walks through the store and out to the car

opens the trunk, takes two bottles of water out, and drinks them quickly.

His stomach groans. He checks the time on his smartphone: 6:00 p.m. He looks at the signs of the stores in front of him. He wants to talk to the owner of K-9 Academy, but he is also hungry, so he walks across the crushed stone parking lot in the direction of Sun Luck.

Walking up the steps and across the porch to the entrance of Sun Luck, his stomach groans again. He puts his T-shirt back on his body. He reaches for the doorknob and steps inside. The middle of the restaurant has basic tables and chairs with exotic tablecloths. The paper placemats on the tables have patterns on them, explaining the years and the animals combined with each other. Tilting his head and reading the placemats, it looks like this year is the year of the dog. The silverware is meticulously placed on each of the tables in front of the chairs.

On the right and left-hand side of the restaurant, there are booths. The booths are a vinyl blue-green color. The booth tables are covered with table cloths and placemats as well. All the colors in the room are exotic. There are large paintings of Dragons and Tigers on the walls. Over by the cash register, the pictures are small and framed with personal messages on them. Most if not all of the chairs have customers sitting in them. The noise of the crowded restaurant is at a decent level.

In the back of the room, there is a full view of the kitchen. He can see several Chinese men cooking and preparing the meals. It is dinner time, and the kitchen is in full swing, outputting as many meals as fast as they can. The smell of the food makes his stomach groan again.

There is a small side table with plastic-coated menus on it. He reaches down and quickly reviews one of them. Number seven: fried rice, chow-mien, chicken fingers. Looking up from the menu, he sees a small Chinese man walking up to him.

“Can I help you, Sir?”

“Number 7 to go.”

“Yes, sir. Anything else?”

“No.”

“$9.99, please. The meal will be ready in five minutes.”

Handing the man, a ten-dollar bill, he can hear his stomach groan again. He wants to introduce himself but can see the man is busy with the dinner crowd. He gives it a try.

“Blake Rivers. I am opening Rivers Tattoo shop two doors down,” Blake says over the noise of the dinner crowd.

“Excellent. My name is Lu Xu. If you need any laborers, let me know. I hope we can talk at a more appropriate time. I have my hands full with the dinner crowd, as you can see,” Lu says over the noise of the dinner crowd.

“OK, Lu.”

He and Lu shake hands, and Lu quickly fades into the restaurant’s kitchen. In less than five minutes, a different Chinese man comes out and hands him a brown bag with a Styrofoam container in it.

Exiting the restaurant, he walks down to the water’s edge, where there are several picnic tables. He looks out over the lake, still trying to process the last few days in his mind. The two big events, one: he cannot find his girlfriend Rose, two: he saw his childhood friend, Cindy Flynn, lying dead in the street.

The reflections from the lights of the houses and buildings around the lake jet out over the water, giving it an orange and yellow glowing color. From here, he can see Little Rock Island in the middle of the lake. The slight glow of a bonfire is starting to show its strength. He assumes a small amount of people are starting to gather around the fire. He assumes he knows all the people at the fire, or he knows someone they know.

He can see a few small wooden rowboats anchored on the shore. He can see more small wooden boats in different parts of the lake, all rowing in the direction of the island. If he had access to a small wooden boat, he would row out to the island himself. He is too tired for rowing right now; he needs rest. Small fragments of post-July 4th fireworks race across the sky in front of the stars and moon. The sky is telling him nightfall is approaching.

Consuming the number seven, he is surprised by the quality of the food. He takes the brown bag and Styrofoam container and throws them into the sixty-gallon drum next to the picnic table.

Night has fallen, and