[center][b]Angel Eyes
Part I
[/b][/center]


[b]Seattle[/b]


My fingers slowly glided across the ivory keys of the piano. I was playing “Skating in Central Park” by Bill Evans. The crowd in Staccato’s that night seemed to be half-paying attention to me as they had their drinks and carried on conversations. That was how I liked it. I saw myself as part of the decoration of the place, the piano player that made the piano bar legitimate. Despite the seeming lack of interest, the tip jar on the end of the piano had a nice wad in it.. The crowd broke out into a smattering of applause as I finished the Bill Evans tune. I was preparing to go into “Angel Eyes” when I saw him watching me from the bar.

Floyd Bowron, ten years and almost twenty pounds since I last saw him. The blotchy skin around his nose and cheeks let me know how his battle with sobriety was going. He had already taken out half an old-fashioned in between the time he sat down and the moment I saw him. I cleared my throat and stood.

“I’m going to take a short break, folks, but I’ll be back shortly.”

I made eye contact with Bowron as I passed his table. I heard his chair scrape and heavy footfalls behind me. We were on the far end of the bar, all alone, before I turned to look at Bowron. He flashed a smile as he took a seat at the bar.

“Hi, John. Didn’t know about your gig here until I started to ask around.”

“It pays the bills,” I said coolly. “Seattle PD never saw fit to grant me a pension, so I have to make ends meet.”

“I’m sure you’re okay, I’m sure you’re getting something from LAPD, right? If not a pension or a settlement, at least some hush money…”

I sighed. “Are you here for a reason, sergeant, or do you have nothing better to do than to harass your former partner?”

“I have a reason,” said Bowron, before pulling his ID and badge out of his jacket pocket. He flashed the gold badge. “And it’s captain now.”

“I have to get back to work soon, [i]captain[/i], so if you could get to it, I w--”

“I need your help.”

Bowron downed the rest of his drink before catching the bartender’s eye and pointing to his empty glass. I waited patiently as Bowron got his refill and took a slug from it before speaking.

“It's not easy, okay? The way we left things I'm swallowing a lot of pride to come in here." 

"Swallowing a lot of booze too," I said. "But some things never change."

"Caleb Maddox is missing.”

I knew it. Since seeing Bowron’s ruddy face in the crowd, I knew he was here to talk about Celeste. I ordered a drink from the bar and took my own Bowronesque gulps to prepare myself for what came next.

"He's nineteen now," said Bowron. 

"Nineteen," I said softly. "Hard to believe."

"Yep, and nobody gives a shit when a legal adult disappears. Just another runaway as far as missing persons is concerned."

“Last Tuesday was the tenth anniversary of her disappearance,” I said. “Were you aware of that?”

“Of course, John,” Bowron said with a cocked finger. “You act like you’re the only one who suffered. It was a fucking nightmare for all of us, me included.”

“Whatever you say… [i]captain.[/i]”

“I made a huge fucking mistake asking you for help.” Bowron finished his second old-fashioned off and pulled cash from his pocket. “I thought maybe there would be a trace of the old you still left. But I was wrong.”

“Wait.”

Bowron froze, cash still clenched in his pudgy fist. I thought back to that time. It was a little over ten years ago, but an entire lifetime had seemed to transpire. Looking back, I suppose it had. Pianoman John Jones was the current me, Detective Jones was the old me. But was it someone I could be again? Especially since the damage that the case had done to me. J’onn J’onnz was dead, as dead as the red planet he came for. But maybe I could bring the old manhunter back.

“Give me all the information you have,” I said after a long pause. “I’ll see what I can do.”