by John Griffin
“I’m so scared,” Francine said, continuing to cry and heave.
“Francine, listen to me. You have to stay calm. There’s no air in that room, and Francine, the calmer you stay, the longer the air will last. Francine, you have to stop crying, and you have to stay calm, and we are coming for you, Francine.”
“I’m so scared,” Francine repeated, crying.
“We are coming, Francine. I am coming.” He reached the station and got out, running in. The desk sergeant was waiting. A young man with dark hair and blue eyes was with him.
“Help me,” she said. “Are you there?”
“I’m here,” Solomon said.
“Detective?” Francine said, more agitated. “Are you there?”
“I’m still here, Francine. I’m not going anywhere. I’m coming to find you.”
“Detective?” She burst into a violent sob.
“She probably can’t hear you. He probably put you on mute,” the young man said.
“I’m so alone,” she said.
“Can you trace it?” Solomon asked.
The man with dark hair took the phone and rushed to a room full of gear. He plugged the phone into his computer and started typing. “Ten minutes?”
They listened as Francine continued to sob and cry. Solomon pulled the note out of his pocket and handed it to the kid. “How long has the call been open?” he asked.
“Eight minutes, forty seconds.”
“She’s got twenty-one minutes to live,” Solomon said.
The kid started typing and clicking furiously, taking the note and opening another window, going to the site on what he called the dark web. A video started playing showing a live stream of the girl. But the audio was not her screaming, it was a high-pitched squeal. The kid and Solomon ignored it and turned instead to the phone. Officers from around the precinct gathered outside the door, and they waited and they listened. Solomon turned. “Get me a line to dispatch. We’re going to have ten minutes to get to her when we get the address.”
Someone handed Solomon a phone with dispatch on the other end. Minutes passed. The man at the computer pulled up an address and called it out. Solomon repeated it to dispatch, grabbed his phone, and ran out to his car.
He listened as he drove. As the minutes continued ticking, he heard her breathing become more labored. Her crying stopped, but her breathing continued. Eventually that stopped, too. He continued to drive, swerving in and out of traffic. He heard banging on a wall, and then someone yelled, “Police,” and “Francine?” There was some chatter before someone asked for an ambulance.
Solomon pulled up to find the building closed off. He flashed his badge and went in. Francine’s body was sitting where they found it. She was dead. Solomon’s phone rang. He looked at it, didn’t recognize the number, and ignored it. He stared at Francine again and looked around the room. She had tried to claw her way through the thick blue plastic all around the room. There was blood coming from her nose, and foam had gathered in her mouth. She looked petrified.
Solomon’s phone chimed. He took it out of his pocket and read the text. Didn’t believe me? Answer your phone. His phone rang again, and he answered this time. He said nothing.
“You didn’t believe me,” the voice said.
“Who is this?” Solomon asked.
“You know. Say it.”
“Sounds like a fucking Psycho to me,” Solomon said.
“Psycho?” the voice said. “That’s a good name. You can call me Psycho, Sol. But this is not my fault. I told you what you needed to do. I told you what would happen if you did not do it.”
Solomon had started walking toward the door to leave the building. “You think I was going to kill someone to save that girl? Was never gonna happen.”
“You told her parents you would bring her home,” Psycho said. “And stop walking. If you keep walking, I’ll hang up.”
Solomon stopped walking and turned around. There were enough windows that he could be seen, but that did not feel right. “Cameras.”
“Of course,” Psycho said, chortling. “You don’t build a lair where you keep a kidnapped girl without cameras.”
“Remote. We’ll trace them.”
“I hope so. That’s the game, Sol. And you’re in it. Me and you. You and I. We’re going to play another round. I won this round. But you didn’t know it was serious. But the game is simple: you choose, Sol. You choose who dies. An innocent girl or some random asshole of my choosing. So yes, please, trace the cameras. There’s one in a small mirrored box behind the blue plastic sheet in the northwest corner of the room where you let what’s-her-face die. So yes, trace them. If you don’t, you won’t find the next girl.”
Solomon hung up. He grabbed a man in uniform. “Get that kid from 41st down here right now.”
The kid’s name was Kevin, and they had met before. When Solomon asked where he learned this stuff, he said, “Basements, mostly. But I was an early employee at Twitter and left when it IPO’d. Started my own little consultancy from there trying to do some good.”
“You, like, a billionaire?” Solomon asked. “Sold us eJusticeNY and before that worked at Twitter?”
“Millionaire, yeah. But who isn’t in New York?” Kevin said as he started to dismantle the camera.
Solomon smiled. He watched as Kevin attached the camera to his computer. “He really does want to be found,” Kevin said. “There’s nothing here protecting him. And that video stream? There was a message buried in the audio. I missed it. It was a picture of the building where the girl was being held. I missed it.”
“But you found where he is?” Solomon asked. Kevin nodded. “Where am I going?”
“It has to be a trap, doesn’t it?” Kevin said.
“I don’t think this guy is into traps,” Solomon said.
Kevin read him the address, and Solomon put it into his phone, texting the same to Greg, who was waiting for him when he arrived at the address in Newark. It was a construction site with a sign that said, Exciting Condos, Complete Summer 2008. The site was empty and had been so for years since construction was abandoned. There was a trailer that served as a foreman’s office. Inside was nothing but an envelope.
Greg opened it and read it aloud. It was an address and a date and time. The address was somewhere in New York. The date was March 15, 2014, 9am.
“What do we do in the meantime?” Solomon asked.
“We follow the leads, we wait, and then we show up.”
Solomon now got out of the subway and out of his reminiscing. He stood in front of the door to The Dog and Duck. He was knocking. Sean came to the door. “You know we’re closed, right?” he said from the window. “It’s fucking 9:00 a.m.”
“I know,” Solomon responded. “And I don’t care. Gimme a 50 and the room in the back. Send the asshole who comes in next back there.”
Sean opened the door. He handed Solomon the bottle of beer and locked the door again. Solomon went straight to the room through the freezer door in the kitchen and waited. He finished his beer and went out to the bar and ordered another.
“We’re almost open,” Sean said. “And two beers? Celebrating? Slow down, big spender.”
Solomon went behind the bar and took another beer from the fridge, removed the cap using the bar, and returned to the back room. A few minutes later a tall man with a shaved head came in, led by Sean. “This the asshole?” Sean asked.
“Fuck you,” the man said.
“That’s him,” Solomon said. “Sit down, Vince. You’re late.”
“So?” Vince said. “It’s early.”
“Not a good start,” Solomon said. “He doesn’t really like late people,” he added, pointing skyward.
“Sorry, man. Don’t schedule early meetings.”
“Fair enough,” Solomon said. He took the pill bottle from his pocket, took out a pill, and swallowed it with a sip of beer. His phone rang. He answered and handed the phone to Vince. “Don’t talk until I leave.”
Solomon
stepped out of the room and went to the bar to finish his drink. Sean handed him the remote to one of the TVs, and Solomon watched the news. Twenty minutes later, he went back to the room. Vince was sitting. The phone was in front of him.
“How did it go?” Solomon asked.
“Could barely get a word in edgewise,” Vince said. “Kept telling me my answer didn’t matter in the middle of me answering him. Said I could ask you questions. Didn’t mention the late thing. Didn’t seem like he cared. Just asked me whether I would take another gold bar or something? I didn’t really follow.”
“Well,” Solomon said. The phone rang. He picked it up, nodded, and agreed three times and then hung up again. “You’re in. He says you’re a great driver, and that’s what we need.”
“And he’s right,” Vince said. “So what am I driving?”
“BMW X6. Kevlar tires.”
“Good,” Vince said. “Smart. How many people with us?”
“Me and two others.”
“Who are they?”
“A lawyer and a navy doctor.”
Vince winced. “What?”
“He only hires smart people.”
Vince nodded in agreement. “That explains me,” he said, smiling. Solomon smiled in return. “You have the tools? Do I need to bring anything?”
“We have everything.”
“What tools are you using?”
“You only need to drive the car and carry a single bag. You don’t need to worry about the tools. That’s what the doctor and the lawyer are for.”
“Yeah, but, guns? What am I carrying?”
“We won’t have guns.”
“So I’m brining my own gun?”
“No fucking guns, Vince. No one’s going to be there.”
“What if the cops…”
“Show up?” Solomon asked.
“Yeah. What if the cops show up.”
“Then having a gun is the worst thing you can do. The cops won’t shoot you if you don’t have a gun. If you do have a gun, they’ll kill you, and having a tank wouldn’t change that. No guns.”
“But what if the cops…”
“If the cops show up, we’re fucked. We shut it down. We surrender. That’s it. That’s how he does things. We go to jail, we shut up, we don’t talk about him, we do our time, and we get to live. We bring guns, and it goes bad, we die. If you don’t like it, leave. I’m not fucking dying.”
“For a million bucks I can go a night without guns. But if we get caught, I’m going to beat the shit out of you in jail.”
Solomon smiled. “That’s what I wanted to hear. I’m getting the team together tomorrow. I’ll send you the meeting location.” He stood and left, heading to the precinct to meet with the captain, Roger, and his newbie.
At the station, Solomon stepped up to the desk, pushing his way past beat cops lining up with their arrests. “Roger and Lisa,” Solomon said as he walked past. The sergeant nodded and continued working his way through the paperwork for the next officer in line.
Lisa was waiting. She was wearing a leather skirt today. When Solomon walked up, she was taking some flak for it. As he approached, the man speaking to her stopped talking. “She in?” Solomon asked.
Lisa stood. “In her office. Roger’s in there already with Thomas.”
“The newbie?” Solomon asked.
“Been a detective six years and with Roger for six months.”
“Newbie,” Solomon said. He brushed by Lisa’s desk and made his way to the back corner, letting himself into the office. The name on the door said Captain Francis Bell. As he entered, Roger and Thomas stood. Francis did not. “Everyone,” Solomon said, shaking hands with Roger and Thomas. “Roger, Newbie, Francis.
“Roud,” Francis said.
“Nice to see ya,” Roger said.
“I’ve been shot,” Thomas said, patting himself on the chest. “Rules are rules. Can’t call someone who has taken a bullet a newbie.”
Solomon nodded. “Then you’re not a newbie, Thomas. I didn’t know.”
Thomas nodded. Solomon sat in the empty chair.
“Sol, thanks for coming,” Francis said. “We’d like a detail to stay with you.”
“Can’t do that,” Solomon said. “Firstly, Psycho isn’t that sort of dangerous. Secondly, I’m an asset on another sting.”
Francis nodded. “I know. And I can’t have an asset killed. It’d bad for my career, Sol.”
“And are you okay letting the sting fail? That’d be pretty bad for the career, too,” Solomon replied.
“Yes,” Francis said. “For you, Solomon, I sure as fuck am okay letting the sting fail.”
Solomon exhaled. “Okay. I’ll find a way. It’s only three days.”
“The girl has two days. Maybe three,” Roger said.
“The heist is three,” Solomon said.
“We need the note,” Thomas said.
Solomon took it from his pocket. “Lisa tell you what was on it?” He handed it to Thomas, who removed a plastic glove from his pocket and used that to put it in a plastic bag. “You won’t find anything on it.”
“We know,” Francis said. “And we know what was written on it. And we know the two girls. Did you meet with their families?”
“Yes,” Solomon answered.
“And what do you know?”
Thomas was writing feverishly. Roger sat, actively listening.
“He took Hyacinth,” Solomon said.
“Lisa said you had a lead for Amber?” Thomas asked.
“That’s why I know he took Hyacinth,” Solomon said. “He doesn’t leave leads unless he wants you to follow them. And he does so at the time of his choosing, not by accident.”
“Maybe he wants us to follow this?” Thomas asked.
“That’s not how it works,” Roger said.
Solomon nodded. “His leads aren’t people. They’re stupid fucking notes and obnoxious phone calls or an ad in the paper left on the subway seat by the passenger right before you pick it up to sit down.” Solomon had leaned forward toward Thomas. He was agitated.
“We’re here to help,” Francis said.
Solomon exhaled deeply. He took his pill bottle out of his jacket pocket, removed a pill, and put it under his tongue. He did so slowly, and while he did the three officers looked away.
“He’s not going to call us,” Roger said. “He’s not going to give that lead to us. That’s why we called you in.”
“I know.”
“We need to know…” Francis began.
“When he does, I’ll tell you.”
“Precisely,” Francis said. “You drop the sting, if you have to. You drop your assets and your marks and…”
“I can’t afford to,” Solomon said.
The three officers laughed.
“I will keep you informed, but we aren’t stopping the sting,” Solomon said dryly.
“You think I give a fuck about a guy who robs people and places with massive insurance and steals a pittance and never hurts a fucking fly?” Francis said. “Because I don’t. I don’t care if that asshole does that for the rest of his life. If every criminal mastermind was like him, I’d have a much easier job. I’d have no fucking job. And I’d be happy.”
“Noted,” Solomon said. “Who will be following me?”
“A couple plainclothes,” Francis said. “You’ll hardly notice them.”
“How close will they stay?” Solomon asked.
“The day of,” Francis said, leaning forward. “The day that girl is going to die, Sol, they’ll be on you like white on rice. You are not going to kill yourself or anyone else to save this girl.”
Solomon stood outside a bodega near the Y. He reached into his inside coat pocket and took out his phone, reading a message. He returned it to his pocket and then felt in his right pants pocket, his left pants pocket, and then under his left arm. He breathed calmly and went to the subway. He came back up to the street not far away.
There was a curly-haired man leaning ag
ainst a lamppost on a corner. Solomon walked up to the man and asked, “You Gyp?”
“Who’s asking?” Gyp said. He stepped away from the lamppost. He was wearing a white Adidas track suit with blue stripes.
“A cop,” Solomon said, showing his badge.
“Fuck you,” Gyp said.
“I’d like to buy you a coffee and make you an offer. I just need a name. And I’m willing to pay for it.”
“Fuck you,” Gyp said. “I’m not a rat.”
“Hopefully you’re a businessman. Let me ask you a question. What do you sell girls for?”
Gyp moved toward Solomon. “That’s not cool, man,” Gyp said. “Don’t talk like that here.”
“Then take me to a fucking Starbucks and let’s talk,” Solomon said. “That sounds like the right place to sell young girls into slavery?”
Two men came up to Gyp and Solomon. “Police business.”
“They know. They’re with me,” Gyp said.
“So you want to talk, or you want to fight with the NYPD?” Solomon said.
“Let’s talk,” Gyp said. He started walking away from his associates, with Solomon following. Two blocks south of the lamppost where Solomon found Gyp was a doughnut shop. Gyp held the door open for Solomon.
“You being funny?” Solomon asked.
“I thought you’d appreciate it,” Gyp said.
They sat at a table near the door. “You want anything to eat?” Gyp asked.
“This won’t take long,” Solomon said. “I want to buy a name from you. That’s it.”
“I’m not in the business of selling the names of business partners,” Gyp said. He nodded at someone behind the counter, and she brought over two coffees.
Solomon took two sugars and two milks from the bowl on the table and put it in his coffee. “There’s no reason he can’t be a business partner for a long time to come.”
“You going to take him off the street? You going to take him down? And then what, he rats me out? Not worth it.”
“I’m not that kind of cop,” Solomon said, blowing on his coffee and then taking a sip.
“What kind of cop are you?” Gyp asked.