The closet door caved in with broken padlocks swinging from thedoor jam. Three of them. Those kidnappers hadn't wanted Raul to even thinkabout escaping. Now they lay sprawled out across the floor and stainedfurniture, either unconscious or dead. Hard to tell which.
"Can you walk?" said the stranger.
He was tall, backlit by the room's glaring light. His gun was inhis right hand, pointed at the floor. A revolver with a large cylinder and awide barrel. The cylinder glowed blue where three rounds remained unfired intheir chambers.
Raul nodded and tried to say he could, but his throat was driedshut. So he got to his feet instead and instantly crumpled against the man.
"Steady, champ." The man caught him with one arm andheld him upright. "You haven't gotten much exercise lately."
"I swim," Raul managed. Talking hurt his throat.
"You're dehydrated. Want me to carry you out?"
Raul shook his head. He forced his wobbly knees to obey, taking astep back from the man.
"You're one tough kid," the man said. He sounded like hemeant it.
They stepped over the zip-tied limbs of the motionless men on thefloor and headed toward the busted front doorway.
"You a cop?" Raul rasped as they stepped out into thehumid summer night.
The stranger shook his head. "They gave up on finding you afew days ago. Thought you were dead. Maybe worse." He nodded over hisshoulder toward the first-floor apartment they were leaving behind, one ofmaybe a thousand in the block-long HellTown tenement. "Your mom hired meto find you."
"Are you a detective?"
A smile cracked one side of the stranger's face."Sometimes."
"What's your name?"
"Muldoon. You?"
"Raul."
Muldoon stuck out his hand. Raul took it in a firm shake.
"Would you believe we've met before, Raul?"
He frowned at that, trying to remember. "I don't think so..."
"Another life." Muldoon's eyes looked sad but relieved,like maybe that other life hadn't turned out so well. He clapped Raul on theshoulder and squeezed. "Let's get you home."
A police car pulled to the curb with its flashers on. Muldoonstepped in front of Raul, shielding him from view.
"This had better be good, Muldoon," said the cop,heaving himself out of the vehicle and glaring at the detective.
"They're inside, Sergeant. You should've brought moremen."
"Couldn't spare 'em." The sergeant spoke with a funny accent. Like aleprechaun who'd woken up on the wrong side of the bed. "Other divisionsmight be gettin' those synthetics, but I prefer my officers to be flesh andblood." He cursed. "SYNs. Don't trust the damn things. Ain'thuman!"
"So you're stuck with the few. The proud. Thestretched-too-thin."
"Want a thank-you? A pat on the back? Fine. Nice work. Crossyour fingers and imagine a big fat bonus."
"You can't afford my rates."
"Don't I know it. I've given up on you ever joining theforce. You'd be a real asset, Muldoon. Uncanny. That's how good you are."He cursed under his breath. "The Blackshirts will be all over this, soonas I file my report. Human trafficking is their dance. The kid will be remandedinto their custody—"
"Hold off on the report, Sarge," Muldoon said, steppingforward. "He's been through enough. He should go home to his mother."
Raul peeked around Muldoon's frame, draped in a long black coat.Weird thing to wear in the summer. The sergeant scratched at his unshaven cheekand nodded, squinting at Raul. Thinking things over, it looked like. Was he agood cop or a bad one?
"Get in," he said at last, climbing behind the steeringgrips of his black and white vehicle. The lettering on the side read NEWCITYPOLICE—TO PROTECT THE RULE OF LAW.
Muldoon and Raul slid into the backseat. As the doors closed and lockedautomatically behind them, Muldoon gave the sergeant Raul's address on theother side of HellTown. The police car sped off into the night, carrying theboy and the stranger who'd rescued him to the onlyplace in the world he wanted to be: home.
Fifteen minutes later, Raul's mom was clutching him to her chestoutside their tenement and sobbing all over him, and he was hugging her backand doing plenty of his own crying. The relief he felt washed over him like atidal wave. She kept repeating his name and saying, "Thank you, thankyou," again and again.
But when Raul looked back at where Muldoon and the cop had been,they were gone.
Muldoon rested his head back against the seat and closed his eyesas Sergeant Armstrong drove them along the congested city streets, weaving around four-wheeledobstacles in their path. Both of his hairy hands were on the grips. No automatic drive for this cop; he didn't trust the AI.
The kid was back with his mother, where he belonged. Thekidnappers were out of commission. And it had taken only a dozen or so attempts. Not tooshabby, all things considered.
The only problem? This wasn't his time. Raul might mention Muldoonto his mother, but she would have no memory of hiring him. Because she hadn't.Not yet.
A pinpoint of light started flashing on his wristwatch. He clappeda hand over it before Armstrong had a chance to notice. Soon the alarm wouldchime, and after that, he'd have a whole lot of explaining to do the next timehe crossed paths with the sergeant.
"Let me off here," Muldoon said, reaching for the door'smanual release.
"You nuts? This ain't exactly the right side of the tracks.We're still a couple kilometers out from your office."
"Need to clear my head."
Armstrong glanced at him. Then he pulled to the curb, tiresscreeching. "Tough case. I get that. The ones with kids usually are. Buttonight was a win, Muldoon. You saved that boy's life. Feel good about it.You've earned that much."
One out of twelve tries. In every other attempt, Raul hadn't madeit. Intervening to prevent the kidnapping hadn't worked. Neither had taking outthe van or the men prior to the act. Muldoon had to wait until they were in theapartment with their guard down, once they were at each other's throats. Buteven then, it had taken three tries to break in and know where each of the menwere located in the front room, which one would go for his gun first, and whowas the
