Brad Parks - Eyes of the Innocent

So it made sense Primo would do anything to either possess or destroy that file or the thumb drive that contained it-burn down a house, torture a man, kidnap and kill two women.

After all, that thumb drive represented his freedom.

* * *

The sound of Akilah panting, moaning, or sobbing-or some combination of all three-still filled the phone.

“Now,” Primo said. “Are you going to tell me where I can find it? Or is Johnny going to work on that arm a little more?”

There was no reply. Akilah was tough and stubborn, a kid from the projects who’d surely had some scrapes in her life. But I don’t care who you are, a broken arm hurts like hell. I didn’t know how much more she could take.

“Please,” Sweet Thang pleaded through choked vocal cords. “Please stop. Please, she’s had enough.”

“It stops when she tells me what I need to know,” Primo said. “Johnny, gag her again. I don’t need the neighbors to hear her screaming.”

“Just tell him, Akilah, tell him,” Sweet Thang begged.

I heard more duct tape being unrolled, then more muffled agony. Maybe I was just imagining it, but the sound was different from the first time. There was more anger this time. This was the man who had set her house afire, killed her children, and killed her (ex-) lover. I felt like Akilah was finding the resolve, somewhere deep inside herself, not to give him anything.

There may have been some self-preservation at work, too. Because, really, once Primo had the thumb drive, what incentive would he have to keep Akilah-or Sweet Thang, for that matter-alive? They were just witnesses at that point, and why would he hesitate to kill witnesses? He had already killed three people, one of them a public official. Two more bodies on top of that wouldn’t change Primo’s bet. He was already all in.

I was just figuring this out, but I bet Akilah had already done the math. Now I hoped she could hold on until we got there. We were already approaching the Pulaski Skyway. It wouldn’t be far now. Denardo was pushing ninety when he could, but the road had enough other travelers that he didn’t get many openings. Five minutes. Maybe seven.

There was still the question of what we would do once we got there. It wasn’t going to be physical-there were four of us, sure, but Tommy and I weren’t exactly street toughs, and Hector didn’t have pants on. Denardo was the only one of us you’d draft for your ultimate fighting team. And he was several thousand chicken wings on the wrong side of being in good shape. We’d have no chance against Primo and his thugs, who were armed and, from the sound of things, ruthless.

But maybe we could convince him it was in his best interests to leave the girls and make a run for it. Hell, I’d buy him his ticket back to Brazil or whatever South American country currently lacked an extradition treaty with the United States.

The phone had gone strangely quiet, to the point where I worried I had lost the call. I studied the display-still connected. I pressed the phone harder against my ear, then plugged a finger in my other ear to block out more ambient noise.

Faintly, I could hear Akilah straining to breathe against her gag. We had crossed over the Hackensack River and were bearing down on the Tonnelle Avenue exit, the one for Sweet Thang’s place. Not far now.

Then I heard Primo’s voice.

“Let’s try this again,” Primo said. “I can continue to find ways to hurt you. If you think your arm hurts right now, you can only imagine what it will feel like when I have Johhny here dislocate your kneecaps.”

Johnny actually laughed, the sick bastard.

“So, Johnny is going to remove the tape, and you’re going to tell me where that thumb drive is. Then this ends.”

I heard ripping tape, then Akilah gulping air in between sobs.

“Now,” Primo said. “Where is it?”

Akilah was maybe trying to say something, but her own hyperventilating was making it difficult.

“Does Johnny need to do some more convincing? He can be very persuasive, you know.”

“No! No!” Akilah finally said, whimpering. “Please … please … please…”

Something had changed again in her voice. The anger was gone. She sounded like a wounded little girl. The imperative to avoid pain at all costs had finally won out. Primo had broken her. She was going to tell him, and the next sound I’d hear is gunshots. We were too late.

“Okay. Where is it,” Primo demanded.

“It’s … it’s … it’s in the jewelry box,” Akilah blurted, forcing out the words. “I hid … I hid it in her jewelry box.”

The jewelry box? As in, Sweet Thang’s jewelry box? But that wasn’t in the apartment anymore. That was …

I put my finger on the mouthpiece.

“Turn around!” I shouted at Denardo. “Now!”

“What the … it’s a divided highway, man,” Denardo said.

“Find a way. We’ve got to get back to Newark.”

Primo had been barking at one of his goons to find the jewelry box, figuring it must have been somewhere in the apartment. But it sounded like the guy was coming back empty-handed.

“Where is it?” Primo asked.

Akilah was battling to catch her breath and couldn’t get any more words out. Meanwhile, Denardo barreled down the exit for Broadway, a quirky little left exit that, fortunately for us, was also an entrance ramp on the other side. He hooked around and was soon back on the highway, heading in the opposite direction.

“Where is it?” Primo asked again.

“Akilah, do you mean my jewelry box?” I heard Sweet Thang say.

Akilah must have signaled affirmatively because Sweet Thang said, “It’s at a pawnshop.”

“A pawnshop?” Primo asked. “What the-”

“She stole all my jewelry and pawned it,” Sweet Thang explained. “See, after you burned down her house, I felt bad she had no place to go, so I let her stay-”

“Stop talking! You talk too much. I don’t care about your stories,” Primo said. “Where is this pawnshop?”

“I don’t … I don’t know,” Sweet Thang said, her voice rising an octave. “This friend of mine went there and got my bracelet back, but I told him not to bother with the rest of it. He never told me the name of the place. Akilah, honey, please just tell him.”

There was silence.

“Akilah, please,” Sweet Thang begged.

“Tell me or I break your friend’s arm, too,” Primo said.

Finally, I could hear Akilah moan: “M-M-Maury’s.”

“Maury’s Pawnshop. I know where it is,” a new, deeper voice said. It sounded African-American. It must have been one of the goons, probably Johnny-I didn’t know a lot of black guys named Davi.

“I’ll go get it for you, boss,” Johnny said.

“No,” Primo said. “We’re all going to get it.”

Not if we could get it first.

* * *

By my best guess, figuring it would take Primo and his entourage at least five minutes to usher the girls down into a car, we had a ten-minute head start on Primo. Ten minutes to negotiate the release of one jewelry box from one slimy pawnbroker. Having seen how Maury operated-speed did not appear to be among his customer service priorities-I just hoped it was enough time.

“Now, it’s just like before,” I could hear Primo saying. “One of these men will have his finger on a trigger at all times. If you want to live, you do as I say. If you try to run, you die. If you scream, you die. If that thumb drive isn’t at the pawnshop, you die. You understand?”

The answer was inaudible, but the rubbing noises coming through my earpiece told me Sweet Thang was on the move again. Then the sound stopped. I looked at my phone, which was flashing. The call had been terminated. Maybe she went into the elevator.