The Outsider

by Anthony Franze

  Arturo and Sam exchanged a glance.

  “We’ll beat them to Cutler’s house. Catch them playing the game.”

  “Oh, that’s all,” Arturo said. He was quiet for a long moment, then said, “We’re gonna have to trust you on this one, Pony.”

  Gray said, “We’ll need some supplies. First, I need some iPhones.”

  “How many?” Arturo asked.

  “Ten.”

  Arturo didn’t flinch. He made a call, and said it was done. Gray doubted that Arturo’s connection was making a run to the Apple store. More likely the phones had been ripped from the hands of commuters on the Metro.

  Next, they needed disguises. They stopped at a Jos. A. Bank downtown where Arturo strutted in, picked out a 42 regular suit, and had it fitted on the spot. Gray waited in the van, but could imagine the salesman’s face as Arturo paid in hundred-dollar bills. Sam, meanwhile, hit the Ann Taylor nearby. Even in the midgrade apparel, the transformation of each of them was dramatic. Arturo, save the scorpion tattoo sneaking out of his collar, looked almost respectable. Sam was stiff in her outfit, but she was pretty as always. They then stopped at a CVS and Sam jumped out of the van and purchased the rest of the supplies: poster board, markers, garbage bags, duct tape, and makeup.

  “You sure you wanna do this today?” Arturo asked. “Shouldn’t we plan this out more? Seems kinda rushed.” Spoken like a man who’d performed a few heists in his day.

  “We’ve got to do it today, or it won’t work. The challenge starts tonight at seven o’clock. And if we don’t get the envelope back soon, they’ll know something’s up.”

  “All right,” Arturo said. “What else you need?”

  “I need one of those air horns, the kind they use at football games.”

  Arturo creased his brow, but nodded.

  “And we need six of your men to meet us near the Supreme Court. You need to be clear that none of them should bring a weapon or have any drugs or anything on them. And none should have any outstanding warrants.”

  Arturo gave a grin. “I’m not sure I can find six…”

  * * *

  By midday, they were buried in the crowd at the front of the Supreme Court. Normally, the masses cleared out around noon after the arguments. But today the plaza and sidewalk running along First Street were packed with tourists, reporters, and protesters. The media frenzy over Lauren’s abduction and fugitive Grayson Hernandez. Gray watched as Arturo and Sam made their way to the side entrance of the court. Sam had used the makeup both for her face and to conceal Arturo’s tattoos on his neck and hands. They’d filled the garbage bags with trash they’d pulled from a Dumpster, and the bags were now props for Gray, who was dressed as a street person. He’d smeared grease from the van’s undercarriage on his face and shirt, and held a sign scrawled with incoherent nonsense. He’d also matted his hair with some dirt. Sadly, one of the best ways to be invisible in the District was to look homeless.

  The building had always been surprisingly open, and news about Lauren had not changed anything. Visitors needed no appointment and didn’t even sign in, they just went through dated metal detectors. A man and a woman in suits would breeze through. They were almost as invisible as the homeless.

  Getting into the building was easy; getting back to chambers would be the challenge. The plan was to use one of the iPhones as a live video feed through FaceTime so Gray could guide their path. They’d cut a hole in Sam’s handbag just small enough for the phone’s lens and secured the device with duct tape so that it wouldn’t move, a poor man’s hidden camera that Gray could watch from another phone at his end on the plaza.

  Gray watched the camera feed jostle about as Sam and Arturo emptied their pockets and put Sam’s handbag through the X-ray machine.

  At the end of the conveyor belt, Sam scooped up her bag and positioned it so the iPhone was properly angled, as they’d practiced in the van.

  They were in.

  Sam called Gray on another one of the iPhones.

  Gray answered his second phone, still watching the other phone with the FaceTime feed. The ground floor of the court housed the gift shop and cafeteria as well as display cases with court memorabilia, so there were plenty of tourists wandering about.

  Sam’s voice: “You can see okay?”

  “All clear,” Gray said. He watched on the screen as Arturo took the elevator to the garage as Sam hung back. Gray smiled when Arturo exited the elevator five minutes later and gave a nod.

  “He got the phones in their cars,” Sam said. The plan required them to hide iPhones in the chief and Justice Wall’s cars.

  “He got by the officer?”

  Arturo leaned down and put his face near the lens in Sam’s purse and gave a large grin.

  “Okay,” Gray said into the phone. “Now at the statue in front of you”—the bronze statue of John Marshall was visible on his iPhone screen—“you need to take a right. From there, you’ll see a staircase. Go up one floor.”

  As they made their way to the main floor, Gray lifted his gaze from the phone and stared up at the front of the court. The words etched above the portico—EQUAL JUSTICE UNDER LAW—took him back to the night Anton Troy was executed. What a night that was. He would have never guessed then that the next time he’d spend any time on the plaza he’d be disguised as a soiled homeless man.

  “There’s several cops up here,” Sam whispered into the phone.

  “Just act like you belong. It’ll be fine.”

  The Great Hall didn’t look so great on the diminutive screen of the iPhone. Gray’s field of vision was just above waist height, so it was a lot of midriffs.

  “Take a right at the X-ray machines near the entrance to the courtroom.” In front of the chamber was another security checkpoint. The court didn’t have the high-tech stuff, the mantraps or other sophisticated security measures at other federal buildings. Just old X-ray machines and wands. Sam and Arturo wouldn’t need to go through the X-rays again since they weren’t going into the courtroom.

  Down a hallway, Gray could see the bronze gate to one of the more remote entrances into chambers.

  As they approached the gate, the screen showed an officer sitting on a chair at his station, looking bored. It was one of the few entrances to chambers, Gray knew from his days running deliveries in the building, that had only one officer assigned at the door.

  “You’re sure about the passcode?” Sam said into his ear as the feed on the phone showed the officer watching her as she got near the entrance to the nonpublic section of the court.

  “It will work,” Gray said.

  At that, the iPhone clicked off. Gray turned his attention to the video feed from Sam’s handbag. The officer smiled at her. The guy’s face then turned to concern, and he jumped to his feet. The video went blurry. Gray couldn’t make everything out, but the officer and two other figures were huddled around a man who was on the ground. He was having a seizure.

  The camera then whipped toward the latticework door. He saw Sam’s hand, noticeably shaking, stab numbers on the security keypad.

  Gray held his breath, praying that the code hadn’t been changed. He exhaled loudly when the door swung open. Sam did a quick turn around, and there was a crowd hovering over the man who’d collapsed. This had been Arturo’s idea. If it was good enough for distracting a grocery store clerk and pilfering the register, it was good enough for the Supreme Court.

  Sam walked quickly down the hallway and around the corner.

  Gray’s second iPhone rang again. “Okay, it worked,” Sam said. Her voice was breathy, worried.

  In a calm tone, Gray said, “You’re doing great.”

  “I don’t feel great.”

  “Just one quick delivery and you’re out. Just follow the route we discussed.”

  This time, Sam didn’t kill the line, she put the iPhone in her handbag. Gray kept one phone pressed to his ear, and watched the screen of the other as Sam marched into Justice Wall’s chambers. The camera was right at eye leve
l for the secretary and she gave Sam a what can we do for you look.

  It was time for the distraction. On yet another phone, Gray dialed the number. One of Wall’s clerks, it sounded like Audrey, answered.

  “Audrey, it’s me,” Gray said.

  She paused a long moment. “Gray?”

  “I wondered if you could get a message to Keir?” Gray knew that the call would prompt two reactions. First, it would set into motion whatever protocol agents likely implemented in case Gray ever called. All hands on deck rushing to Audrey’s office, which was just off the reception area of Justice Wall’s chambers. Second, it would place suspicion on Keir. That part was just for fun.

  With three phones in play—one a direct line to Sam, the other the FaceTime feed, the third his call to Audrey—he was afraid a homeless guy using three iPhones on the plaza would draw attention. But he was still invisible to the crowd.

  “Where are you? Everyone is looking for you,” Audrey said.

  On the screen, Sam turned and the camera was facing Audrey’s door. Audrey was holding the phone, the cord extended and she was waving wildly to get the secretary’s attention, mouthing that it was Grayson. Sam spun around, and the flustered secretary was picking up the red phone, the emergency line.

  “Can you get a message to Keir? I don’t have a lot of time.”

  “Sure, let me find a pen.” Audrey was stalling.

  The camera caught officers running into Audrey’s office. With all attention on Audrey, Sam used the distraction to tuck the envelope in Justice Wall’s in-box.

  Mission accomplished.

  CHAPTER 71

  Gray clicked off from Audrey, threw the phone on the ground, and stomped on it. He then picked up the other phone and waited for Sam to get back on the line. He was pacing small circles, nervous energy flowing through him. At last, her voice.

  “Which way?” She was breathing heavily. On the video feed was the hallway outside chambers.

  “Straight ahead. You can do this.” His heart skipped a moment when he saw officers running toward Sam, but she moved against the wall and they darted past her. More officers getting to Audrey about the call from Gray.

  He wondered how Arturo and his fake seizure were going. Gray felt another stab of worry as the video feed was blocked with an officer charging past Sam and into the chief’s chambers, bumping Sam’s handbag. Now all Gray could see was the blur of a wall.

  On the plaza, Gray saw a gurney being wheeled out the side doors by two EMS workers. Arturo making his escape.

  They were so close.

  But then Gray heard the sirens on the plaza.

  Gray tried not to react as agents flooded the front of the Supreme Court. Agent Milstein and her partner were first on the scene. Men and women in Windbreakers, TASK FORCE emblazoned on the backs, jumped out of black sedans and Suburbans. The agents soon were darting about the crowd. Looking for Gray. They must have tracked Gray’s call to Audrey. Things were so Big Brother now.

  Gray pocketed the phones and stood confidently holding his sign full of crazy, hoping he’d be overlooked. He turned toward the Capitol dome across First Street, pretending not to notice or care that the task force was doing a sweep.

  The agents, Gray counted about ten of them, were going from group to group, asking for identification, studying faces.

  More dark sedans pulled to the curb. Soon there would be no hope for escape.

  From the corner of his eye he watched Milstein move aggressively through the crowd, pushing off ball caps, jerking shoulders, studying faces. It wouldn’t be long before she made her way to Gray.

  It was time.

  Gray threw aside his sign and pulled out one of the key supplies Arturo had provided: the air horn. He pressed the button and it let out an ear-piercing blast. The plaza seemed to go instantly still.

  Then, one by one, some of the protesters, all Hispanic—not your typical activists given the tattoos and scars—began to make a show of running in different directions. Six of them scurrying, Arturo’s men. The agents on the plaza gave chase.

  Not Milstein. She stood in place, intensely surveying the plaza, seeming to understand that it was a diversion tactic.

  Gray tried not to draw attention to himself. But then someone started yelling. “It’s him, it’s him!” The man was pointing at Gray. It was Vincent, the homeless man.

  Milstein stared at Vincent, then had a flash of recognition when she examined the other homeless man on the plaza. She drew her gun and started racing toward Gray, pushing bystanders out of the way. Before he could react, she was right on him, her weapon pointed at his chest. They locked eyes. She could’ve taken the shot. But something in her eyes told Gray she wouldn’t.

  Gray turned and hauled ass down First Street, his legs burning, heart thumping. He could hear Milstein shouting at him from behind. Gray darted around the corner where he saw the Dodge van. The back door swung open, and Arturo grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him inside as the van sped away. Before the door closed, Gray saw Milstein sprinting after them. As the distance grew larger, she stopped and just watched as they made their escape.

  “We did it,” Sam said. She was wired. Arturo loosened his tie.

  They’d gotten the envelope back in play. The trap was set.

  CHAPTER 72

  “How do we know the justices will take the bait?” Sam asked as they bumped around in the back of the van.

  “We don’t,” Gray said. “We just have to wait to see if they start driving toward Justice Cutler’s house at seven.” He looked down at the iPhone, which had two blue dots on a map. In the court’s garage, Arturo had popped the trunks of Douglas and Wall’s cars and dropped in the phones. They would use the find-my-phone app as a tracking device.

  “Where are we going now?” Sam asked.

  “The Heights. To get us another ride,” Arturo said. “Feds saw the van. And my boys got word that Ortiz is looking for the van too. Gunning hard for me now.”

  “Gunning for you?” Gray asked. “Just for going to one of his drug dens?”

  “You forget about what happened that night Razor was messing with you and your girl? Then I went on his turf. He’ll look weak if he don’t do something. Once the boss looks weak, he ain’t gonna be the boss for much longer. And this thing with me and him, it’s been a long time coming.” Arturo shrugged. “If it was the other way around, I’d be goin’ after him.” Street politics.

  As Arturo made some calls, Sam turned the discussion back to the plan. “So, the justices go to Cutler’s house, then what? I don’t understand the endgame.”

  “If they come, we’ll be waiting for them,” Gray said. “We’ll see from the trackers if they’re heading to Cutler’s, and when they’re nearby, we’ll call the FBI and say Cutler is in danger. That’ll prompt a rapid response to Cutler’s house. I’ll then confront the justices, try to get them to say something incriminating while you stay hidden and film it.”

  “It doesn’t feel right,” Sam said. “Too many moving parts. And I don’t feel good about putting Justice Cutler at—”

  There was the skid of tires and scream of metal on metal, as Gray, Sam, and Arturo launched into the air from the violent crash into the side of the van.

  CHAPTER 73

  Gray didn’t remember hitting the floor. He was dizzy and he must have blacked out for a moment. He saw Sam out cold on the bench that ran along the side of the van, her left arm dangling to the floor. Arturo labored to stand. There was a gash on his forehead.

  Gray’s head was clearing, and he crawled over to check on Sam. He caught a glimpse in the front cabin and the driver and Arturo’s other man appeared dazed, but okay.

  That’s when he heard the explosion of glass.

  The windshield shattered into thousands of pebbles, and the bodies of the two men in the front convulsed to the rhythm of rapid gunfire. Gray dove to cover Sam, grabbing her shoulders, taking her to the floor and rolling them both under the bench.

  Arturo stood, back p
ressed against the side panel, wincing as bullets pierced holes in the back door, light lasering through. Gray’s ears felt as though they were going to bleed at the eruption of automatic-weapon fire ripping through the metal interior.

  The gunfire went on for what seemed like an eternity, though it was probably only a few seconds. Gray could hear nothing but a high-pitched beeeeep in his ears.

  Still pressing himself against the wall of the van, Arturo seemed to be searching for something on the floor, his gun probably. Gray stayed down low, unclear about what the hell was going on. The police? But they wouldn’t shoot indiscriminately, would they?

  Then the van rocked as someone from outside was prying at the back door, which was jammed from the impact.

  Arturo looked through holes in the crinkled metal. Gray could tell from his expression, they were caught.

  Arturo turned to Gray, dread on his face. He put his hands together like he was praying. No harm in seeking help from the Almighty, Gray supposed. But then Arturo put his folded hands to his cheek, tilted his head, and gestured to go to sleep, like a father telling a child night-night. He was signaling Gray to play dead.

  Light filled the cabin as the van’s door pried open, the block of metal making a loud clunk as it swung wide and hit the van’s exterior. Gray, on the floor shielding Sam with his body, did as he was told and clamped his eyes shut. Before he did, he caught a glimpse of a man dragging Arturo out of the van at gunpoint.

  Razor Ortiz.

  CHAPTER 74

  Gray opened his eyes when he heard the car race away. He looked out onto the street. Good Samaritans were daring to come closer. The bystanders called out to them. Sam’s eyes popped open, her dilated pupils turned to pins in the light.

  “Are you okay?” Gray said the words, but couldn’t hear his own voice, his ears still ringing.