Page 70 of Commit

It feels like I’ve only just closed my eyes when Kenzo’s nudging me awake.

I groan as I stretch. “I’m getting too fucking old for this.”

“You and me both,” Kenzo complains.

We get off the plane and into the waiting rental car. Kenzo opts to drive, which is fine by me. I’m more than happy to play passenger. I contemplate going back to sleep, but Kenzo turns the radio on and blasts Radiohead loud enough to make my ears bleed.

I know damn well he’s doing it out of spite. But if I say anything, he’ll break into my house and make Alexa blast Christmas music at three a.m. or something.

I pull my gun and set it in my lap, warning Kenzo that my patience is wearing thin. I mean, sure, Atlas likes him, but does he need both of us? He’d probably understand. Kenzo has a knack for getting under people’s skin.

I don’t shoot him, mostly because I’d have to take over for him, and that’s not going to happen. Doing Kenzo’s job would increase my body count exponentially. And like I said, I’m getting old now. It’s time to slow down a little.

I’m so glad when we pull up to the morgue that I’m out of the car before it’s even stopped. I head inside, only slowing down for Kenzo to catch up to me.

“Something wrong?” he asks innocently.

“I want to fuck my wife.”

He grins as we make our way down the corridor. His mood shifts, and he straightens when a door on our left opens and a guy in a white coat steps out.

“Mr. Kenzo?”

“That’s me. This is my associate, Pete. Detective Andrews told you we’re consulting on this case with him?”

“He did, though I’ve also had a call from the feds. They’re planning on dropping by on Monday.” The face he makes when he says “feds” makes me think he's not a big fan.

“Next week? They sure as shit don’t rush themselves. We got on a plane the moment we could,” I tell him.

“They care about cases, not people. The guy I spoke to said they’re understaffed right now and stretched too thin with other cases,” he scoffs.

“That’s where we come in. We work with the local police as private investigators. We don’t have to wade through as much red tape as they do.”

He blows out a frustrated breath. “Ain’t that the truth? Sorry, it’s been a crazy morning. Follow me.”

We head into the cold room, with me following behind Kenzo. There are two gurneys waiting, each with a body covered by a white sheet.

“Have they been identified yet?”

“No. No formal identification yet. The family’s coming by later to make one.”

The sound of a phone ringing draws all our attention to the open door.

“Sorry, I need to get that. I’ll be right back.”

He hurries toward the door, but before he leaves, something hits me. “You said family, as in just one?”

“What? Oh, right. Twins. It’s a double whammy.”

He rushes out to answer the phone as Kenzo and I look at each other.

“Not much fazes me anymore, but I’d have to be dead not to feel for their mother losing them both like that.”

Kenzo walks over to the first body and pulls the sheet back to their waist. The first thing I notice is the number 4 carved into the guy’s stomach. As my eyes move up his body, they land on a tattoo that covers his heart. Moving closer, I see it’s the inked version of a set of dog tags.

I squeeze my hands into fists and walk over to the other table, pulling the sheet back. This one has the number 14 carved into his stomach. He has the same tattoo on his chest, only it’s inked on the opposite side, like a mirrored image of his brother’s. I press my hand to it, not needing to read the names because I already know what they say.

Looking up, I stare at a face I haven’t seen in over a decade.