The Blade Itself

Da

Which made it cover-your-ass time.

The cops couldn’t have known about the kidnapping. He’d seen street fights where sixteen squad cars rolled up in minutes. No way they’d send just two detectives for this. So it all came down to what Da

And that made his next move clear. He smiled, popped his head from side to side, and started the car. “Buckle up, honey pie.”

“Where are you taking me?” Her voice was cold, and the contempt in it amused him.

He turned to her. A bright red mark burned on her cheek. He smiled. “We’re going to get ourselves a little insurance.”

38

Square and six feet on a side, the holding cell looked like a janitor’s closet. The smell of industrial cleansers couldn’t quite overwhelm a lingering odor of diarrhea, the product of years of junkies. The walls were concrete, chipped and worn, with rebar showing through in spots. Graffiti was scratched into every surface – the walls, the floor, the heavy wooden bench, the rail where they cuffed down violent suspects. On TV, people were usually put in lockup with other prisoners, but that was nonsense. After all, he wasn’t being charged with anything yet. They’d been careful to make that clear.

“What’s this about?” Da

The detective’s eyes had flicked up to the rearview mirror. “You’re a hard man to get hold of.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“So Karen told me. To track you down, we’ve had to visit all the construction sites your company is working on. Lucky we bumped into you, huh?” The detective winked at him. “But you know, you really should return phone calls from the police. You know who doesn’t?”

Da

“People with something to hide. You got something to hide, Da

He’d shaken his head and looked out the window, telling himself to take advantage of this time, to use it to plan his next move. He was smart, he’d think of something.

But that had been four, maybe five precious hours ago. In that time they’d driven him to the Area One station on Fifty-first, processed him, taken his watch, wallet, keys, and shoelaces. They’d put him in an elevator, taken it up one flight, and steered him through surprisingly corporate-looking halls to this holding cell. Unlocked the solid wood door, removed the cuffs, told him to take it easy, and then left him to pace tiny circles and think.

And despite all that time, he hadn’t come up with a plan worth a goddam.

Okay. Methodical. What do you know?

It was a short list. He knew that the exchange would happen sometime today. He knew that the police could hold him for something like forty-eight hours without charging him. Which meant he knew time was not his friend.

The list of things he didn’t know was more daunting. He had no idea where Evan had stashed the boy. No idea what his time line was. No idea where he would set the meet – though now it surely wouldn’t be Union Station. He didn’t even know where Evan lived, or what his phone number was.

Somehow everything had ended up backward and upside down. Evan was free and holding all the cards, while Da

It seemed absurd that his entire life could be ripped away so quickly.

The bare wooden bench felt oddly comfortable, and he had the urge to lie down and close his eyes. Give it all up. Quit this unwi

After all of this, you’re going to lie to yourself? You know that if you don’t stop this, Tommy and Richard are dead.

He shot upright. Was that true?

He thought of Patrick on a lonely morgue slab. Imagined the poor citizen in the parking lot, murdered for bad timing.

Evan had killed twice in the month he’d been out of prison. Why stop now, especially when with a few more squeezes of the trigger he could assure that no one came after him?

Bile burned his throat. Da

He had to be careful. If Nolan had anything on him, he’d trot it out soon enough. Otherwise, this was a fishing expedition. If that was the case, he might be able to talk his way out of here in time to prevent more violence.

He turned and began pacing again, counting his steps and trying to focus.

Thirty minutes passed before he felt a tingling on the back of his neck, a subconscious warning. He sca

“I’d like to make a phone call, please.” He used his citizen voice.

There was a moment of silence, and then the scrape of a bolt being drawn, and the door opened. Nolan stepped into the door frame, his posture calm. The other detective stood beside him. He’d taken off his fedora.

“Calling your lawyer?”

“Calling my girlfriend.” He smiled, shrugged. “Karen was expecting me home. Don’t want her to worry.”

Nolan smiled, playing the game. “Sure. Detective Matthews, would you take Mr. Carter to make his phone call?”

Matthews nodded, and put one hand on Da

“And when he’s done, could you bring him into Interview One?” Nolan made it sound like he was asking Da

The detective guided him out of the bank of holding cells and down the hall, keeping the grip on his arm. For a moment, Da

Matthews sat him down at an officer’s desk, a black fabric half-cubicle. He cuffed Da

He dialed carefully, trying to collect his thoughts. One call to Karen to let her know what had happened. The phone rang. Then he had to convince Nolan that he didn’t know anything useful, and do it fast. The phone rang. If they didn’t have anything on the kidnapping, it would just be about Patrick. The phone rang.

Where was Karen? She had said she’d wait by the telephone.

The machine clicked on, his own voice playing back at him. He felt his pulse quicken. Had she panicked? That wasn’t her style, but he was supposed to have called hours ago. She might have come looking for him, wanting to help.

The machine beeped, and he spoke loudly. “Karen? Karen, pick up.” There was a crackle and a click as the machine cut off. “Thank God. Karen, listen-”

“Partner.”

Evan.

Da

“I’m sorry,” Evan continued, “Karen can’t come to the phone. She’s tied up, if you know what I mean.”