Chapter 8: The Bluebird Motel

Summer didn’t cool off after dark on Independence Avenue — it simply got louder.

The Bluebird Motel sat beneath a sickly neon VACANCY sign, buzz-flicker-buzzing against the evening heat. The parking lot was a patchwork of cracked asphalt, rusted cars, and women in too-high heels drifting between headlights and motel doors.

Inside an unmarked sedan, Detective Marla Simmons watched the scene unfold with professional detachment.

“She didn’t just vanish,” Marla muttered, tapping her notebook. “People don’t evaporate.”

Rory Wallace sat back in his seat, chewing a toothpick. “These cases aren’t connected, Marla. Different backgrounds, different situations. Missing people happen in this city. Doesn’t make it a pattern.”

She gave him a sideways look. “Five disappearances in eight weeks isn’t random. Even you know that.”

Before he could answer, she nudged his arm, nodding toward a tall figure near the motel office.

“There she is. Bibi Harris.”

Rory let out a breath. “Wonderful. She looks thrilled to see us.”

The moment the detectives opened their doors and stepped out, the other girls scattered like pigeons — slipping behind cars, ducking into rooms, disappearing down alleys.
But Bibi didn’t move.

She stood her ground, arms folded, neon-yellow top glowing under the streetlights. Pale makeup shimmered against dark skin, but there was nothing fragile in her expression.

As the detectives approached, Bibi rolled her eyes.
“Well look who’s back. If this is a social call, I’m charging overtime.”

Marla offered a patient smile. “We’re just here to ask a couple questions.”

“About what?” Bibi replied.

“Alicia Wilson did you know here?” Marla asked.

“Damn, knew that girl would bring cops to my doorstep sooner or later.” Bibi complained as she sucked her teeth. “Yeah I knew here.”

“How well?” Rory pried.

Bibi gave them a look of regret. “Pretty good. I let the girl stay with me for a bit.”

Marla was shocked. “Really?”

Bibi sighed. “Yeah. I was trying to be nice and a good Samaritan and that shit. Like Jaxson Lee.

Rory blinked. “Like who?”

Bibi stared at him like he’d asked who the President was.
“Jaxson Lee. Y’all seriously never heard of him?”

Marla shook her head. “Should we have?”

Bibi let out a humorless laugh. “He’s the street’s guardian angel — least, that’s what folks call him. Helps all the strays nobody else wants. Kids, runaways, sick folks, anyone who needs help. Feeds ’em, gives ’em a place to breathe, even pays bills sometimes.”

Rory leaned forward, surprised. “He sounds like a social worker.”

“More like a damn miracle,” Bibi shot back. “He helps the ones who can’t go anywhere else.”

Marla kept her tone calm. “What happened with Alicia?”

Bibi looked away, jaw clenching. “She was quiet at first. Polite. Then she started waking up screaming — blood-curdling screams — like someone was killing her. But then she’d stop, blink, and swear she didn’t remember.”

Rory frowned. “You think it was drugs?”

“No drugs,” Bibi said firmly. “Just…broken. In her head. She’d fight with me over dumb stuff — cookies, blankets, who got the shower first — and two minutes later she had no idea it even happened.”

She rubbed her arm, suddenly tired.

“She kept saying she wanted to be ‘unbreakable.’ But she wasn’t.”

Marla wrote everything down, then gently asked, “So you were trying to be like this Jaxson Lee and let this girl with some psychological issues stay with you. Right?”

Bibi paused, then nodded. “I know it sounds crazy, but he’s made a real difference on these streets and I was trying to do the same, but I guess I don’t have what it takes.”

Rory squinted and asked, “Have you ever met this Jaxson Lee?”

“Once.” Her voice dropped lower, like she didn’t want the shadows to hear. “Six months ago, some john beat me up behind this motel. Left me breathin’ gravel. Next day, Jaxson shows up. Calm as Sunday morning. Asked questions — real careful questions — about the man who hurt me.”

Marla leaned in. “Did he know the man?”

“No,” Bibi said. “He just listened. Then he left.” Bibi smiled — slow and satisfied. “The john turned up dead. Raytown motel, two weeks later. Heard he had a heart attack. On top of another girl.”

Both detectives froze. This was new information. Nothing on their radar. Nothing in any report. “What was his name?” Marla asked.

Bibi squinted, thinking. “Harry? Henry? Something like that.” Bibi pauses slightly. “Harvey…Harvey Miller, that was his name. Damn, big ol’ bull with a nasty temper.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Look, I don’t know where Alicia went. But if you’re tracking strays, start with Jaxson. Everyone knows him.”

Marla closed her notebook. “Thanks for talking to us.”

Bibi shrugged. “Yeah, well… someone should give a damn.”

She turned and walked away, heels clacking across the pavement, ponytail flicking behind her like punctuation.

Back in the car, Marla stared through the windshield.

Rory let out a low whistle. “Okay… I’ll give you this: that wasn’t nothing.”

Marla tapped her pen against her leg. “We came here for Alicia. But we just learned about a suspicious  death…and the name Jaxson Lee just became important.”

“I first heard of this man this morning and now he’s everywhere and has been for God knows how long.” Rory nodded slowly. “So tomorrow…we find him.”

Marla shifted the car into drive.

“Tomorrow,” she agreed. “We start with Jaxson Lee.”

© 2025 James William Jackson III. All rights reserved. “Jaxson Lee” and all related content are original fictional works created by James William Jackson III. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, or locations is purely coincidental.