Brad Parks - Eyes of the Innocent

“I lost her,” I said.

“Okay, what the hell is going on? Where are we going?” Denardo asked.

“We’re heading to a place called Maury’s Pawnshop,” I said. “It’s-”

“Oh, I know Maury,” Denardo said. “Everyone in the hood knows Maury.”

I filled in our crew on what I had been able to piece together from my eavesdropping.

“So, basically, we’re using the thumb drive as leverage in a hostage negotiation,” Tommy said.

“Yep,” I said.

“Have you ever negotiated a hostage release before?”

“Nope,” I said.

And we left it at that. As soon as we got off the highway and entered Newark, Denardo flipped his siren back on and began an aggressive grand slalom through the city streets. Presumably, Primo would be obeying traffic laws-what with two kidnapped women in the car-so Denardo’s maneuvering increased our lead by another minute or two. At this point, every second mattered.

We screeched to a stop outside Maury’s, leaving some taxpayer-funded rubber on the asphalt.

“Keep an eye out for Primo,” I told Tommy. “Call me the second you see him.”

I leaped out of the SUV, charged up the crumbled front steps, and burst through the spiderwebbed glass door that separated Maury’s Pawnshop, Check-Cashing, and Payday Loans from the outside world. Inside, the same pudgy Hispanic guy as before-what was his supposed name? Pedro? — was staring at the same overwrought Mexican soap opera. Or perhaps it was a different one. The mustaches looked the same.

I was about to start the whole routine where I asked to see Maury while Pedro stalled us-a dance that would waste precious minutes-but Denardo, who had decided to follow me in, took a shortcut.

“Yo, Tracy, get your black ass out here,” he boomed, loud enough to be heard on the other side of the bulletproof glass. “We got some business to conduct.”

“Maury’s real name is Tracy ?” I asked.

“Yeah. Between that and the lisp, he got beat up a lot at recess.”

“How do you know him?”

“You been around this city your whole life, eventually you know everyone, one way or another,” Denardo said. “My cousin used to date his sister. They all went to West Side back in the day.”

Maury emerged from the back, his Jheri curls looking freshly lubricated, wearing a lime-green suit and, of course, sunglasses. Again, I couldn’t see the shoes. But I was guessing white imitation-snakeskin cowboy boots. Or perhaps some pointy-toed slip-ons.

Maury slid open the small piece of Plexiglas that covered the airholes and pointed at me.

“You,” he said. “I thpecifically inthtructed you not to return here.”

“Tracy, shut the hell up,” Denardo said. “He ain’t none of your concern.”

Maury looked a little cowed. I wondered if Denardo had been one of the kids who administered those playground beatings.

“Now,” Denardo continued. “You got a jewelry box I need.”

“How would you dethcribe thith…?”

“It’s the one you took off that little skank Akilah Harris.”

“Thkank!” Maury said, like it offended him. “Thuch language!”

“Yeah. Now go back to your little hole and get it.”

“Thkank!” he said again, then turned and disappeared into the stockroom.

A minute passed. Then two. I kept glancing at the clock on my cell phone, watching our time advantage slip by as Maury screwed around. I didn’t want to know what this scene would turn into if Primo got here and we still weren’t in possession of that thumb drive. Would it become an open auction? Or would he just decide to depress the price by shooting the other bidders?

I looked at some of the guns Maury was selling in his display. But they weren’t going to solve anything. Not for me. I had never handled or fired one in my life and wouldn’t know where to begin. Mostly, I found myself yearning to be on the other side of that bulletproof glass, safely ogling buxom Mexican women with Pedro.

“You know what you’re doing with this thing once we get it?” Denardo asked.

“Not yet,” I admitted. “I was maybe going to…”

Then I looked at the bulletproof glass again.

“Yeah,” I said. “Actually, I think I might. Let’s just get this stupid thumb drive first.”

Two more minutes passed. I tried to keep myself calm, but that’s not easy when you can feel your heart thunking against your chest and are in imminent danger of breaking into a flop sweat. I expected my phone to ring any moment with Tommy telling me Primo was about to walk in.

“You okay?” Denardo asked at one point.

“This is taking too long,” I said. “This Primo guy is going to be here soon.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “You sure you can handle him?”

“No,” I said.

Not exactly the most inspiring answer. But at least it was honest.

Finally, Maury returned, clutching a jewelry box that, just as Sweet Thang once described it, looked like a miniature armoire, with tiny pocket doors and tiny doorknobs and everything.

“Thith it?” he asked.

“Open it,” I said.

Maury swung open the little doors and I saw it immediately, hanging on a string with the necklaces: a blue SanDisk thumb drive, encased in a protective plastic shell.

Denardo looked at me. I nodded.

“I’ll give you ten thousand bucks for it,” Denardo said.

Maury was so startled, he actually lowered his sunglasses.

“Ten thouthand? Cath money?” he asked.

Denardo reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope, removing the flap so Maury could see the stack.

“Take it or leave it,” Denardo said.

“Deal,” Maury replied quickly.

“I’ll need a receipt, of course,” Denardo said.

Maury just nodded and started gleefully banging on his cash register.

“A receipt?” I asked.

“Well, this money ain’t exactly mine,” he said. “This is the last campaign contribution from that Primo guy. Normally Windy logged it in to his computer, then took the cash to the bank. But he was killed before he got a chance to do it. I’ve been carrying it around with me ever since. I didn’t know what else to do with it.

“So, as his chief of staff, this strikes me as a judicious use of campaign funds”-he grinned-“and I figured I should get a receipt in case anyone asks me to account for it later.”

Denardo began shoving the bills through the Plexiglas.

“Actually, stop for a second,” I said, then turned to Maury. “There’s one more condition of the sale: we’re going to need to borrow your store for a little while.”

* * *

Maury had no problem with the temporary rental of his store. Heck, for another ten grand, he probably would have sold us the whole damn thing. He buzzed us through the heavy door to the side of the bulletproof glass, then showed us the video screen that allowed us to see what was being recorded by the store’s security cameras-there was one inside, one outside. After extracting a promise we not touch the “merchandithe,” he and Pedro made themselves scarce while Denardo and I hunkered down to wait for our man to arrive.

It didn’t take long. I barely had time to remove the thumb drive from the jewelry box before my cell phone rang. It was Tommy.

“A blue panel truck just pulled up a block away,” Tommy said. “Hector tells me it’s Primo’s.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’m going to put you on speakerphone. I want you to be my eyes on the street. Tell me what you see.”

“Okay,” Tommy said, his voice squelchy but distinct. “The truck is parking … It’s parked … There’s a man getting out of the driver’s side, a big black fellow … Now there’s a bald guy getting out of the passenger side. He looks South American. It guess that’s Primo, yeah?… Yeah, Hector says it’s Primo … The back door is opening up … It’s Akilah! She’s walking with the two men toward the pawnshop. She looks … She’s in pain, yeah, she’s in a lot of pain. She’s walking on her own and she’s … Oh! She stopped walking for a second and the black guy shoved her … They’re nearing the door, so I’m going to shut up now and … They’re yours.”