Brad Parks - Eyes of the Innocent

Just as Tommy’s narration finished, I saw three people appear on the video screen. Then the front door swung open. Primo entered.

It was my first look at the man. He was shorter than I thought he’d be, but broader-if I had to guess his dimensions, I’d say five six, 230. A regular fireplug. Even his fingers were short and thick. His bald head had a square, boxlike shape. His goatee, equal parts salt and pepper, made a neat oval around his mouth. Under a three-quarter-length black trenchcoat, he wore a black V-neck pullover and charcoal-gray slacks. His walk was quick and direct. Maybe it was because of all I already knew about him, but he moved like a killer.

Akilah stumbled in gingerly behind him. Her hair had a bedraggled, slept-in-the-gutter kind of look. Her face was a mess of snot and tears, like an infant who hadn’t been tended. Her left arm appeared to be fine. But she was holding her right arm like it was made of tissue paper and would tear at the slightest stress.

Johnny the Goon brought up the rear. He was a big chunk of black guy, but his bulk wasn’t nearly as troubling as what was bulging against the pocket of his jacket. As I said, I’m no gun expert. But whatever he was packing looked large enough to put a respectable-sized hole in anything it hit.

Primo walked up to the window and put his meaty hands on the counter. I expected to feel a rush of nerves, but it never came. I was calm, in control, anxiety-free. I was one tough hombre when I was shielded behind bulletproof glass.

“Hi, can I help you?” I said, ever the officious clerk.

“I’m looking for a jewelry box for my niece,” he said, still looking around the store, not making eye contact, trying to play nonchalant. “Something nice.”

“Aren’t you really looking for this, Primo?” I said, dangling the thumb drive in front of him.

At the mention of his name, his head snapped toward me. His body seemed to coil, and for a brief instant, I thought he was going to leap through the bulletproof glass. Instead, his eyes narrowed on the thumb drive, then on me.

“Where did you get that? Who are you?” he demanded.

“I’m just a neighborhood pawnbroker, looking to make a deal with you, Primo,” I said. “You give me the two women you’ve kidnapped, and I’ll give you this thumb drive.”

He glowered at me.

“How do I know that’s the thumb drive I need?”

“Take a good look,” I said, pressing it up against the glass. “While you were shooting Windy full of nails, I’m sure this is exactly what he described to you.”

From the way Primo was studying the thumb drive, I could see I was right. He started stroking his goatee absentmindedly, obviously a nervous habit.

“I know what you’re thinking,” I continued. “What good will the thumb drive do you if there are still two witnesses alive who can testify against you? But here’s the thing, Primo: either way, you’re going to have to make a run for it. You know that by now, right? It’s way too hot for you here. So the question you have to ask yourself is, What do you want to leave behind?

“If you leave behind these two women, all they can do is offer the authorities a vague description of a man whose name they do not know, along with a story about how they were kidnapped. Maybe the police would look for you, maybe they wouldn’t. Either way, you fall off the radar screen pretty quickly.

“But if you leave behind this?” I said, pulling the thumb drive back from the glass and waving it around. “This drive has everything. Every payoff you ever gave Wendell Byers. Every piece of land he sold you in return. You’ve got fraud, corruption, racketeering, and, oh yeah, you become the prime suspect in the murder of a city councilman. So what’s it going to be?”

Primo’s eyes darted back and forth between me and the thumb drive.

“How do I know you haven’t already copied the file somewhere else?” he asked.

I turned to Denardo. “Can you give me that receipt for a second?”

He fished it out of his wallet. I held it up against the glass.

“Because we were only a little bit ahead of you,” I said. “If you’ll look at the time on this receipt, you’ll see we bought this thumb drive no more than five minutes ago. And you’ll notice there are no computers here. There’s been no time to download this data. This is the only copy.”

“Ten thousand dollars,” he said, after he was done studying the receipt.

“Funded by your last campaign contribution to Windy Byers,” I said.

I thought the irony might sting him. But I suppose literary devices didn’t have that effect on everyone.

“Your friends are worth a lot to you, I see,” he said.

“True,” I said. “But I think we both know this thumb drive is worth a lot more to you.”

He actually chuckled slightly and petted his goatee a few more times.

“You are right, of course,” he said at last. “We have a deal.”

* * *

I pointed at Akilah, who had been watching the entire interaction with wide eyes.

“She’s the down payment,” I said. “Both of you stand against the wall over there and let her come through that door.”

Primo nodded and walked backward until he reached the far wall. He jerked his head at Johnny, who had been clutching the back of Akilah’s shirt. He released his grip and she tripped toward the door, which I buzzed open. She slid through it quickly, then ran back into the stockroom without a single word of acknowledgment. And that was fine. I needed to concentrate on getting Sweet Thang back. There would be time for hugs and thank-yous later. And I suppose I couldn’t blame her for wanting to get as far away from Primo as she could.

“Okay,” I said. “The final payment is outside in your blue panel truck. Please go get her.”

Primo and Johnny stalked out the door, and I once again saw them on the video screen, walking back up the street.

“You still there, Tommy?” I asked in the direction of my cell phone.

“Yeah, I see them coming out of the store,” Tommy said. “They’re coming back toward the truck … Man, Primo looks pissed … Now they’re getting in the truck, they’re starting the engine and … They’re on the move.”

I felt a surge of confused panic.

“They’re making a run for it?” I asked.

“No, no … They’re turning the truck around … Just turning around … They’re cutting off a Dodge Durango … The driver just made a proper Jersey gesture at them … They’re coming back toward the store … And … They’re pulling up to the corner now.”

“Okay, I’ve got visuals, thanks, Tommy,” I said, huffing a lungful of air out of my mouth as the truck appeared on my screen. I didn’t realize it, but I had been holding my breath.

Primo hopped out of the passenger side door and left it open. The truck’s engine was still running. He was evidently going for the quick exit and I wasn’t going to stop him. Bringing Primo to justice wasn’t my job. That was the responsibility of the Newark police or maybe U.S. Marshals-if they could find a nameless man with a talent for identity theft. I didn’t really care. All that mattered to me was that Sweet Thang would be able to tell her grandchildren about this someday.

And if, at the end of the story, the bad guy got away? Well, that would just be a good lesson for the kiddies that the world isn’t always fair.

On the screen, I could see Primo open the truck’s back door, then Sweet Thang hopped out. I felt my throat constrict a little when I saw her, looking shell-shocked but otherwise unharmed. I swallowed twice and tried to keep my composure. There would be time for emotion, hopefully in another minute or two. But not yet.

Primo grabbed Sweet Thang by the hair-the cruel bastard-and stomped to the front entrance. Sweet Thang followed awkwardly. Walking while being led by one’s curls is not a particularly graceful endeavor.