Dangeruss & Tazer

Jonathan Toews loved a good walk through his neighborhood in Chicago. Though it was a little odd and predictable, he lived a block down from his buddy Patrick Kane’s house. They were two peas in a pod. They were almost so close, they were actual brothers. Jonathan always had Patrick’s back.

On the ice, whenever an opponent would come up and pick on Patrick, Jonathan was there to set them right and stick up for his friend. They had signed identical contracts together, since coming into the Chicago organization and it was just natural for them to be stuck together.

They were Chicago’s Twins.

As he passed by Patrick’s house, he noticed how silent it was. It had been silent for a few days now and it worried Jonathan. He made a sharp turn and jogged up to his friend’s front door. He knocked on the door.

There was no answer. No reply.

He tried again.

Still nothing.

He cocked his head, curiously. “Yo, Peeks, you in there, buddy! It’s just Johnny!” He made an attempt to peer into the window and check out the place. Was Patrick ignoring him on purpose? They did fight occasionally, but that was more on the ice stuff. He didn’t remember hurting Patrick at all to make him incognito like this.

He backed away, staring at the large, elegant, mansion-like red wood doors. They were semi-curved at the top, creating an arc, where clear glass was placed, filling up the top of the door frame. Swirls and curls were etched into the amber color. Jonathan’s doors were similar, but he had glass doors, instead of the wood.

“Patrick!” he called again, pondering whether he should try the doors or knock.

Before he could make a decision, two squad cars pulled up to the house. Jonathan whirled around. Four policemen got out of the car. The captain shook his head. What did Patrick do now?

“Good day, officers! What did Patrick do now?”

“Morning,” came the growled response.

“I thought I had talked to that boy not to get in anymore trouble. I know we just signed big eight-year contract extensions with our home team, but that was no excuse to get wasted and do something dumb!”

The officers ignored him. They pressed on in their mission.

Jonathan watched as the four Chicago Police Department officers quickly ascended the stairs. One motioned to the bewildered Blackhawk centre to take a seat on one of Patrick’s patio chairs on the front porch.

The other three entered the house. The door was unlocked, which peaked Jonathan’s interest. It added more questions. Why would Patrick Kane, star Blackhawk winger leave his door unlocked like that. Something wasn’t right.

As he walked across the porch with the officer, to the chairs, passing by the ajar door, he spotted yellow tape. His hands shot to his mouth instantly.

“W-what happened? Where’s Kaner? Where’s my friend, my teammate?”

Jonathan’s mind raced with scenarios. He fought with the officer, who grabbed onto him, yelling at him to calm down. How the fuck could he calm down, when his best friend might be dead?

“Mr. Toews! Mr. Toews, settle down please! Let’s have a talk!”

The Blackhawk captain was pulled to the side and shoved into one of the chairs. His eyes glittered with tears and he looked frightened. He wanted answers!

“Please, tell me what’s going on! Why is there a crime scene in my friend’s house?”

The officer bent down on one knee, like she was going to propose to him. And he really thought she might. After all, he was a famous celebrity. Crazy fans did it all the time.

“Sir, we had a call come in last night around one o’clock. There was a disturbance that was heard coming from this house. A neighbor reported the noise and officers were dispatched to the residence. When they arrived the house was empty. I know you don’t want to hear it, but we found signs of a struggle: a broken lamp, a desk chair on its side, smashed glass all over the floor.”

Jonathan bit his lip. He felt sick to his stomach. He finally managed to croak out, “Where is Patrick Kane? Can I see him?”

The officer glanced down for a moment. She grabbed his hand in her own, holding it in a comforting way. Then she gazed into his terrified eyes. “He’s not here. We found no body. We have reason to suspect that he was kidnapped!”

Jonathan’s blood ran as cold as the United Center’s ice. “No!” he gasped.

Who would do such a thing? Who would hurt his friend like this? Who would kidnap Chicago’s goal scorer?