Thunderland by Brandon Massey

store often. Mr. MacGregor might have told someone about Jason, and that person might have bought the bike for Jason, for whatever odd reasons.”
    The cop shook his head. “I pursued that line. No good. MacGregor hasn’t sold one of those bicycles in months.”
    “Why does it matter whether it was bought or stolen?” Jason said. “Can’t you just lift the fingerprints from it and identify the guy?”
    “The law doesn’t work like that, kid,” the cop said. “Before I can call in a fingerprint technician, we need a strong reason to believe a crime has been committed. This is a bizarre occurrence, certainly, but 1don’t see any proof of wrongdoing.”
    “You’re kidding,” Mom said.
    “I wouldn’t kid about this, Mrs. Brooks,” he said. “These days, most police departments in the country have huge backlogs of cases that need attending to: serious cases of homicide, rape, child molestation, you name it. The cops in Spring Harbor are under the same pressure. Our suspicion of criminal conduct has to be solid before we can justify the manpower needed to begin an investigation. I don’t mean to make light of your fears, but I’d get laughed out of my department if I requested a fingerprint man for this. It looks as if someone’s simply given you a gift, kid. There’s no law against giving birthday presents.”
    Jason stared at him. “That’s it? You can’t do anything?”
    “I’m sorry, kid,” he said. “My hands are tied.”
    “But couldn’t Jason be in danger?” Mom said. ‘We don’t know who did this. We don’t know what might happen next.”
    “I understand,” the cop said. “It’s frightening. Especially now, when there seems to be a psychopath living on every block. But like I said, no law’s been broken.”
    “And you can’t do anything until you suspect a law has been broken,” Mom said, punctuating her statement with a loud sigh.
    “Sorry, Mrs. Brooks,” the officer said.
    Mom looked at Jason. “I guess we’ll have to handle this on our own.”
    “I guess so,” Jason said, though he had no intention of involving his mother any further. She was the last person he wanted to have caught up in his business.
    The cop’s eyes softened. “If you want, I’ll impound the bike. We’ll wait a while and see if one is eventually reported missing, and if not, either you can pick it up or we’ll sell it at an auction. It’s up to you.”
    “Take it,” Jason said. “Keep it. I don’t ever want to see it again.”
    “All right, kid.” The policeman went to the Randolph. He punctured the Mylar balloon with a pocketknife, flipped up the kickstand, and rolled the bike to his patrol car. After he secured it in the trunk, he turned to them.
    “Once again, I’m sorry I couldn’t be of much help.”
    “You did what you could,” Mom said.
    “Which wasn’t anything, unfortunately.” He opened his car door. “You folks take care. If anything else happens, call us immediately. “
    “We will,” Mom said. “Thanks.”
    Nodding at them, the officer slipped inside his cruiser. He drove away, the bike jutting from the trunk, sparkling in the sunlight as the sedan rolled out of sight.
    Jason had never been so relieved to see a Randolph Street M9000 disappear. Once the bike of his dreams, it had become part of his nightmares.
    Freshly showered, clothed in a monogrammed black bathrobe with gold trim, Thomas hesitated at the closed door of the master bedroom. Inside, Linda was probably reading in bed. And anticipating a night of passionate lovemaking.
    In spite of their talk that afternoon about reviving their relationship, Thomas didn’t plan on fulfilling her sexual expectations. Sex, within the institution of marriage, was sacred, the ultimate means by which a couple celebrated their union. How could he make love to Linda while living a lie that mocked the very concept of marriage? If he were an honest man, he would abstain-and reveal the truth. That was what he had to do tonight,