“Well... no shit. But what?”
He shrugs.
Another shrugger.
Awesome.
It’s only an hour this time before someone comes for me, two men in plainclothes, only their badges giving them away as officers. Big, and built, the rough-and-tumble types. The officer that had been watching me steps back, letting out a low whistle. “The violent felony squad, huh? Must be a doozy.”
My stomach is in knots as a sinking feeling consumes me. None of this ever felt right, but this without a doubt is wrong. These guys hunt down the bloodthirsty murderers. I’ve never even fired a gun.
Although, okay, I probably would, if I had one.
But I don’t, so I haven’t.
Which means there’s no reason for them to come for me.
I’m handcuffed and shackled, like a hardened criminal, before being led out of the back of the building, where inmates are loaded up to be taken over to Rikers. An older white man in a gray suit lingers in the darkness, casual as can be, waiting beside an unmarked Crown Vic, a black SUV parked right behind it at an angle, blocking my view of the exit of the underground garage.
The man in the suit opens the back door of the car, and I’m immediately shoved into it, the door slammed. It’s like a little prison, a cage separating me from the front, the windows all obscured.
“We’ll follow, just in case,” one of the plainclothes says. “Any problems, radio us.”
“You know I will,” the man in the suit says.
The man climbs behind the wheel and pulls out of the garage, not saying a word to me at all. It’s nighttime, well past sunset, maybe even pushing midnight. It’s hard to tell. I look around, glancing behind me, seeing the SUV is, in fact, following.
“Is all of this really necessary?” I ask, my shackles jingling as I turn back to the man in the suit, glaring at him through the bars of the cage.
He glances in the rearview mirror. “You broke a detective’s nose two days ago, did you not?”
“His nose is broken?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.” I’m pleasantly surprised. “Well, I mean, in my defense, he deserved it... off record, of course. You can’t double jeopardy that, right? Wait, shit, that’s not the Conspiracy charge, is it? Is this like some special prosecutor thing, making an example out of me for assaulting your prized detective?”
The man laughs. “I have no interest in seeing you prosecuted.”
Those words rub me wrong. “What, exactly, are you interested in doing?”
“Just delivering you where you need to go.”
My heart races so hard my chest starts to hurt. I look out the windows at the neighborhood around us, but it’s hard to see much of anything. I know we’re not in the city, though. We haven’t crossed a bridge, but we should’ve by now, I think, so we’re still deep in Brooklyn.
“Oh, fuck me,” I mutter, leaning forward, smacking my head against the cage. He’s delivering me somewhere, but it sure as hell doesn’t seem to be Midtown for a warrant.
“What did you say?” the man in the suit asks.
I look up, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror. “You know he’s a terrible person, right?”
His brow furrows. “Who?”
“The asshole you’re taking me to.”
A look of surprise passes across his face. “How do you know—?”
“Oh, give me a break,” I say, cutting him off. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not stupid. Give me some credit here, officer.”
“Detective,” he corrects me.
“Detective. Of course. Well, detective, you’re not the only one that can detect shit, you know, and I’m detecting this little field trip we’re taking isn’t to the seventeenth precinct for a Conspiracy warrant.”
“You’d be correct,” he says.
“So you’re going to take me to him instead, huh? How much is he paying you? Whatever it is, I’ll double it. Triple it. Just let me out right here and the money is yours.”
“Nice try, but no.”
“Why?”
“Because he’ll kill me if I don’t come through.”
“Yeah, well, he’ll kill me if you do.”
He laughs at that. Laughs. “He’s not going to kill you... or, well, I don’t think so. I hope not. He said he wouldn’t, anyway. I told him I wasn’t getting involved if this was leading to a murder.”
I sigh, exasperated, as I lean back in the seat, trying to wiggle out of the handcuffs but they’re too tight, cutting into my wrists.
The SUV is still right behind us, riding our bumper.
There’s a crackling then, the sound of a radio, but not the police radio, no... a fucking Walkie-Talkie.
They’re talking off the airwaves. Of course.
“We’ve had a car tailing us for a few minutes,” a voice cuts in. “Could be a coincidence, but we’re going to double back and run a traffic stop, to be safe.”
“10-4,” the detective says. “We’re almost there. Meet at the spot.”
Almost there.
That means I’m running out of time. I need to figure out something fast. The SUV backs off, and I can see lights flashing, but before I can get a good look at what’s happening, we make a sharp turn.
Then another.
And another.
A few turns later and we’re whipping into an old parking garage. We follow the arrows, going round and round and round, making our way to the very top. The unmarked Crown Vic pulls onto the roof, the cars growing scarcer with each level we navigate. There are none up here at all. The car creeps along the empty spaces, coming to a stop somewhere along the edge of the space where there are no lights.
I’m guessing no cameras, either.
No witnesses.
As the detective puts the car in park, a thought passes through my mind, something I couldn’t bring myself to entertain until that moment.
Sickness swells up inside of me.
A lump forms in my throat.
He said he was delivering me where I’m meant to be, but what if where I’m meant to be is... dead?
Before I can even wrap my head around that possibility, lights flash onto the roof, cars approaching. Cars, plural. I spot the SUV but the others are a blur. Two more, I think. I can’t really tell. My vision is blurring and it’s too damn dark.
The detective gets out, no hesitation, and opens up the back door, reaching his hand in. I pull away, shifting along the seat. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
I hear doors slam nearby, footsteps approaching. Sighing, the detective reaches further in, snatching ahold of my arm and dragging me out. Panic bubbles up inside of me. He’s right there, in the doorway. I’ve got little range of movement, but more right now than I will have in a few seconds.
Fuck this.
Now or never.
Lying back, I move quickly. As soon as the man reaches for me again, trying to force me from the backseat of the car, I thrust my legs out, my feet slamming against him.
BAM.
He staggers backward, gasping, wide-eyed as he clutches his chest.
I knocked the air right out of his lungs.
I rock myself out of the car, springing to my feet. Shadows move around me. I can’t escape them, not while shackled, but I’ll be damned if I’m going down without fighting.
Before the detective can catch his breath, I tackle him, knocking him onto his back on the parking deck. I land on top of him with a grunt, and he tries to shove me away, tries to shove me off, but I’m not giving up.
I can’t punch, can’t kick, but hell, I can head-butt, so I slam my forehead right into his face. BAM. All that extra security he brought and I’ll still break his fucking nose like I did Gabe’s. The detective screams, and my vision blurs, the pain echoing through me, so I know he has to hurt.
“Jesus, fuck!” a voice calls out as arms wrap around me, tearing me off of him. “I told the guy nobody would die tonight, so don’t kill him.”
That voice rushes through me as I’m set on my feet. I’m dizzy, but I manage to shove away from those arms to turn around, to look at him.
Lorenzo.
“Seriously?” I yell, staring at him with disbelief as he stands in front of me. “This was you?”