Thomas O`Callaghan - The Screaming Room

“May I see it?” Shewster asked, the limousine continuing its meandering cruise inside Central Park.

As thoughts whirled inside Rita Crenshaw’s head, one of them being I’m gonna be riding behind my own chauffeur soon, she reached her pudgy paw inside an oversized bag and fished around. “I know I was instructed to bring it…oh, here it is…but for the life of me I don’t understand what for,” she said, handing Shewster a photocopy of the merchant’s portion of Angus’s notebook computer purchase receipt.

“You just leave that to me,” he responded, eyeing the SKU item code and barcode displayed on the image, before stuffing it into his pocket, which he patted down.

“Won’t the police need that?”

“Yes, they will. It’s sure to help track down these murderous demons. We need it for our accountant. There’s quite a hefty reward involved, young lady,” he said with a smile.

“I’ll say! I’ve already got it half spent!”

“Do you, now?”

“Oh, my God!” the girl gushed. “This is getting so real!”

“Real it is, Rita. But there’s work ahead for the both of us. You see, your telling me all about your encounter, in the same detail I’m sure the police will require, will hopefully lead to the capture and conviction of these demons. Although I’d like to be in a position to give every caller with a concrete lead the windfall money. For there’s no denying it. I am rich. But let’s face it. We do get a lot of calls. So, it’s only fair that the money be disbursed after the devils are caught.”

“I understand.”

“Now, that doesn’t mean you stop dreaming about how you’ll spend the reward money, because your information has been the most promising. It’s sure to help with a conviction.”

Rita felt like she had just lost her virginity to Brad Pitt. Move over, Angelina!

“Now, tell me all about his visit to the store.”

She took a deep breath.

“I was stuffing reams of copy paper into one of our bags for a lady customer who had bought four, I think. Okay four copy papers, two bags of PC Haven rubber bands, a box of blue stick pens, and a box of professional letterhead with number-ten envelopes to match. She told me she was working on getting a book published. Said it’s not what you write that counts but who’s willing to read it. I wasn’t sure what she meant by that and was about to ask. But then I saw him.”

“For the first time, right?”

“Right. He was next in line. I didn’t get a good look but enough of one to tell me he was getting annoyed with all the time I was taking with the lady. What’s with the male species? Don’t they know we girls are chatty? Oops. Sorry. You’re one of the male species. I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay. Go on.”

“Anyway, when I got through with the lady, he plopped down the notebook computer on the counter. And right away says, ‘How much?’ Like I’m a freakin’ mathematician. There’s tax involved, ya know? So I scanned the box and the register came up with the answer. ‘One thousand six hundred and eighty-two dollars and ninety-eight cents.’ I said. He reached in the pocket of his jeans. I’m expecting a credit card. Seventeen hundred is a lotta money. That’s when I got a good look at him. Damn, I know this guy, goes off in my head. From where, I hadn’t a clue. So I really studied him. Who do I know wears retro black glasses? I think that pissed him off a little ’cause he made a face. A frightening face. Back away, Rita, back away, I said to myself. Now, no credit card. Cash. The guy fished out a wad of it. He took off the glasses and counted out seventeen hundred dollars. I really had a chance to study him. His eyes were on the cash. So I figured what the hell. Before I knew it, the sale was over. His notebook was bagged and he was headed for the door. I forgot to tell him about the rebate, but when I hollered out ‘Hey! Hey, you!’ he continued walking. A little faster, now. I wasn’t about to follow the guy outside, rebate or no rebate. He gave me the creeps. Oh, yeah. His money smelled like horse doo-doo.”

“Horse manure?”

“I thought so. Anyway, I was glad the guy was gone. But I still had the nagging feeling that I knew him. Then, wham! It hits me. The paper. The guy in the front-page picture! Me and the girls were reading about him before the store opened up. Believe me, a three-million-dollar jackpot attracts a lotta readers. I ran to the back room. Grabbed the paper and there he was. He didn’t look like the sketch so much, but damn, the photograph was dead-on. The only thing ya got wrong was the hair. Seein’ him close up, it looks jet black.”

“What other distinguishing characeristics?”

“No visible tattoos or scars. No accent. Old-is-new-again glasses. Baggy blue jeans, a striped red and green polo, gray running shoes, Nike, you think.” Rita glanced at her watch. “I gotta get back to the store.”

“I’ll see to that.” Shewster hit the switch bringing down the privacy glass. “Eddie, Miss Crenshaw here needs to report back to work.”

“Phew,” said Rita. “We sure covered all the bases. You really make a girl work for her money.”

The privacy glass was still down. Befuddlement flooded Eddie’s face.

Driscoll stepped outside the library. He hadn’t found her.

On his trek there, he noted a few shops around the store she may have gone to. The Beanery on Tenth was a possibility. If she’s the library type, she’d probably like the atmosphere of a trendy coffee shop, he reasoned. It was also a type of place where someone wouldn’t feel uncomfortable eating alone.

Driscoll checked his watch. Ten minutes to go. What the hell, it was on the way back.

The Beanery was just as he imagined. A crowd of people, median age being about twenty-five, was sitting at small tables sipping a variety beverages; some eating lunch. A refrigerated display offered an array of pastry items along with an assortment of salads and sandwiches.

Driscoll didn’t know if it was a chain. It reminded him of a Dean amp; DeLuca on University, north of Washington Square Park.

A quick scan revealed no one clad in PC Haven red. And the only person with red hair was male.

She was due back soon. Although he could have used a quick bite, he needed to head for the store.

His cell phone sounded as he was about to exit.

“Driscoll, here.”

The voice of Lieutenant Matthew White at NYPD’s Computer Investigation and Tech Unit sounded in his ear. This must be important. He took a seat at an empty table, listening to what White had to say.

“We got inside the four hard drives, Lieutenant. Those belonging to the German and Chinese victims that had been forwarded to us from Interpol along with the two from our stateside departed. We’re gonna dig deeper, but I wanted to let you know we got in and give you a heads-up on where we’re at. We had to have a translator involved. That slowed us down a bit. I’ll start with the overseas drives. They tried to erase the histories of Web sites visited, but their Favorites lists offer a quick link to the twin’s TwoNaughtyFreaks Web site. There doesn’t appear to be any way for contact online. The twins have a phone number, 858-734-6523, flashing across the top of the site in red. I suppose that’s how they’re hooking up?”

“You got it. They’re using a disposable.”

“Sex trafficking in the twenty-first century.”

“We show them having links to a number of Asian and European online outlets that offer all sorts of sexual enhancement gadgetry. We’re talkin’ some really weird stuff. Redefines kinky. No records of any purchases, though.”

“I’m sure that if they bought anything they’d pay cash at a retailer. They probably did their window-shopping online. These two have handles?”