'718 Enterprises.'
'Actually,' I said to the guard, 'I'm in the wrong place.'
Walking back into the lobby's atrium, I stopped by the company directory listings. Scanning the names and floor numbers of the companies that were housed here,
I could find no listing for 718 Enterprises. Strange.
Where were all these young men going?
And what the hell was 718 Enterprises?
I figured I'd ask someone who might know. I walked up to the security guard and said, 'Hi, sorry to bother you again. I'm looking for a company called 718 En terprises. I'm pretty sure it's here, but I can't find it in the directory and I forgot the name of the person I'm supposed to meet.'
The guard looked me over. He was in his late fifties, heavyset, with big wide eyes that looked like they believed me as far as he could shove me down his throat.
'No, you didn't,' he said.
'I didn't?' I said incredulously.
'No. You're not. I don't know you, friend.' He averted his eyes to the crossword puzzle on his desk. I stood there for another moment, until the guard's eyes came back to mine. He put his hand on the phone at his desk and said, 'Do I have to call the cops?'
I apologized and walked outside.
Standing there outside the building, I tried to piece this together. Those young men who filed into the building, who knew each other and were all dressed alike, I'd be willing to bet they all took on the moniker of Vinnie during their day job. And I'd also be willing to bet that whatever 718 Enterprises was, it was some sort of supplier.
I still had no idea what, if anything, they had to do with the deaths of Beth-Ann Downing or even Stephen
Gaines. But it's all I had. As thin and transparent as this thread was, it was the only one I had to pull. And I'd had thinner ones that ended up unraveling a great deal.
As I stood outside the building pondering my next move, a lone straggler exited the building wearing the telltale suit and carrying a bulging briefcase. He was thin, younger-looking than his cohorts, and had a gangly walk that told me he hadn't been at this very long. He began walking north. He took a cell phone from his pocket, checked it then dropped it into his briefcase.
A thought crossed my mind. Suddenly it occurred to me what I could do. What I needed to do. I certainly wouldn't feel good about myself…but my father's freedom was at stake. Finding a killer was my justifi cation. I silently apologized for what I was about to do.
I began to walk faster, the young kid in my line of sight. I was ten feet behind him. Nine. Eight. Seven.
I began to jog to keep pace, my pulse quickening.
The subway was just a few blocks away. I'd make it…
Pushing off my back foot to get a burst of speed, I lunged forward and grabbed the briefcase off the young guy's shoulder. It was loose with surprisingly little effort, and suddenly, to my surprise, I was standing there in the middle of the street holding a young man's bag that I'd just stolen.
He twirled around to see what was happening, and just before I could react, he locked eyes with me. His were light green, a mixture of anger and horrific fear in them. He knew what he stood to lose.
I didn't wait another moment. I turned around and began to run as fast as I could, whispering, I'm going to hell, I'm going to hell, as my legs churned.
'Stop! Thief!' I heard a high-pitched voice scream.
An arm reached out for me but I shrugged it away.
The N train would be too obvious and too close. If the train took a long time to pull into the station, I'd be dead. I could outrun this kid. I had to.
I sprinted east down Fifty-eighth Street as fast as I could. The kid was screaming behind me. I peeked over my shoulder, feeling a surge of adrenaline as I saw my lead increasing. Once I got to Sixth Avenue, I turned south and saw the entrance for the B and Q trains ahead of me.
Pulling things into fifth gear, I leaped down the steps into the station, fumbling as I got my MetroCard out. I swiped it, went through, and took a millisecond to decide to head for the downtown B train. I figured if I was caught, at least he wouldn't know the direction where I lived.
The platform was all but empty. Bad luck for me. But there was a red light in the tunnel signaling an ap proaching train. It couldn't come fast enough. I walked quickly toward the end of the platform, the weight of the bag pressing on my shoulder.
As the train rumbled into the station, my breath caught in my throat as I saw the kid clamber down the stairs approaching my platform. I hoped he hadn't seen me.
When the doors opened I slid into the car, peeking out once more.
The kid was on the platform, peeking into each car.
The train began to move. Faster and faster, it was bringing me right toward him.
As the train passed where the young kid was standing, I saw his eyes meet mine. His mouth dropped open, and I could have sworn I heard a stream of pro fanity. Then I was gone, into the darkness of the tunnel.
I transferred at the next station onto the uptown B, then rode it until the 125th and Frederick Douglas
Boulevard station. From there I walked home, the bag on my shoulder burning a hole.
I was tired, weary, trudging up the stairs, my blood still pumping, however, with my prize. My guilt had been overcome by my curiosity.
When I opened the door, I saw Amanda sitting at the dining-room table eating a bowl of cereal. I forgot how early it was, that she hadn't even left for work yet.
She was wearing a formfitting tank top that accen tuated her amazing figure. Her hair was held together in a ponytail, and her shapely legs disappeared beneath her chair. I smiled, and she returned it.
'Whatcha got there, sweetie? A present for me maybe?'
I sat down at the table opposite her. I stuck my hand in the outside pocket and came out with a cell phone.
The same one the young kid had been using.
Then I unlatched the brass buckles on the outside.
When the bag was unlocked, I folded back the top and turned it upside down.
Out poured five white bricks the size of VHS cassette tapes, as well as several thumb-size bags of the stuff. It also contained a dozen small bags of marijuana with varying quantities, and several pieces of tinfoil. I didn't want to open or touch anything I didn't need to, so whatever was in those packets would remain a mystery for now. Chances were, it was either coke or crack.
One package, though, was half-open. Sitting on one loose piece of foil were three small off-white stones that looked almost like sugar cubes. But I knew exactly what they were. Rocks of pure crack cocaine.
'Wow,' Amanda said, staring at the mass of drugs.
'Remind me to buy my own birthday present next year.'
I reached for one of the packages, but Amanda grabbed my arm. I looked at her to see what was up, and she was shaking her head like she was scolding a child about to eat paste.
'Do you really want your fingerprints on those?' she asked rhetorically. 'Don't we have enough problems with fingerprints where they didn't belong? I assume at some point we're going to have to get the police involved, and we'll have a much easier time convinc ing them if it doesn't look like you were rolling around in the drugs beforehand.'
My arm shot back. The girl had a point.
'This is unreal,' I said, the words not even doing justice to the feeling of seeing all the drugs spread out on our table. My college never offered a Drug Dealing 101 course, so I had no idea what the value of the nar cotics were. Though, based on the amount of stops
Scotty had made yesterday, and the money Rose Keller claimed to have shelled out over the years, it had to be several thousand at least. And if I factored in all the dif ferent suit-wearing carriers I saw this morning, there had to be at least a hundred grand making its way around the city every single day.
'What do we do with this?' Amanda asked. The truth was I wasn't sure. If I delivered it to the cops with the
