“Excuse me, sir,” the officer said, keeping one hand on the butt of his gun. “I’m afraid you can’t have your…dog…in such a populated area without a leash.”
“I understand,” I said, flashing my ID, which usually resolved these issues. He wasn’t impressed. “Tell you what, we’re going to do a shoot this afternoon”—I looked at his name tag—“Officer Brown. How about I get you an autograph?”
“What are you filming?”
“Mission Impossible: StoneStrike,” I said, improvising on the spot. “Mr. Cruise’s people will be here shortly. Do you want to meet him?”
“Nah, I’m done with Cruise,” Brown said. “Who’s the female lead?”
“None other than the Black Widow herself, Scarlet Johansson. Maybe I can arrange a meet with her?”
“Saw her in that Marvel flick, the Revengers—end of the game, the one where she bites it—wasn’t impressed.”
New Yorkers—tough crowd. I opted for reverse psychology.
“Who are you a fan of?” I asked. “Anyone you want to meet?”
“That Matrix guy—John Kwik,” Brown said, full of conviction. “Him.”
“Mr. Reeves?”
“Yeah, him!” Brown said, snapping his fingers. “Is he in this one?”
“I was just about to say his name,” I said with a laugh. “You must have read my mind.”
“No shit, really?” Brown said with a chuckle. “You think I can get a selfie with him? Now that guy is badass. You never touch the dog.”
“I agree,” I said, glancing at Peaches. “He is a badass.”
“Can I meet him ?”
“As soon as he gets on set, I’ll have his people look for you,” I said, squinting at his name tag. “Officer Brown, right?”
“That’s me,” he said. “I’ll be just inside.”
“Do I still need to—?” I asked, pointing at Peaches. “He’s really well-trained.”
“Look”—he looked to the side—“as long as you can keep him close to you, and maybe you stand over there, away from the precinct? That way my supervisors don’t see you, know what I mean? Then it should be good.”
“Got it,” I said as we shook hands, and I moved off to the side. “Thanks.”
I looked across the street from where I stood in front of the station. Catty-corner to where I was, I saw the Hard Rock Cafe Restaurant. On the other side of the precinct, from 43rd Street to 44th Street, the sidewalk had been converted into a broad pedestrian walkway to deal with the influx of tourists and pedestrian traffic.
The precinct itself stood sandwiched between 7th Avenue and Broadway. Ursula wasn’t joking about it being fortified. I could feel the undercurrent of hub energy of the nexus point behind me. The officers in the precinct gave off a particular energy signature that delivered a subtle message—“Come try us, so we can end you”—in a concentrated dose.
Behind me and the precinct stood One Times Square, the building where the Tiffany crystal ball dropped every December 31st, ushering in the new year. I looked at the many clocks around the Square. We had a few hours to go.
The name Times Square was deceptive. The area was known as the crossroads of the world with good reason. Everyone wanted to be here, but it wasn’t exactly a square. It was shaped like a skewed hourglass where several streets intersected, creating an intersection of humanity and barely controlled chaos.
Monty circled back to the front of the precinct, saw me, and walked over to where I stood. He held an actual china cup of Earl Grey.
“Where did you get that?” I asked. “They let you walk out with the cup?”
“Apparently, I have charms,” Monty said. “The barista nearly swooned when she saw me. Kept calling me Tom Middlestrom or some such. I was afraid for her safety. In any case, she prepared this excellent cuppa of Earl Grey and allowed me to walk off with the cup—free of charge.”
“You are incredible,” I said, shaking my head. “We aren’t here to seduce baristas, you know.”
“Well, the perimeter is secure,” he said, after taking a sip and moaning with pleasure. “The outer perimeter will lock us in, and keep everyone out.”
“What about in here?”
“Once Ramirez gets his people out, I’ll activate the inner cordon. We’ll contain any damage to this area. Did you get a read on how protected the central hub is?”
“Considerably,” I said. “I counted at least ten officers I could see and they were alert. Do you need to get in there?”
“Without question,” Monty said. “The access to the Oracle is downstairs.”
“You have a plan for extricating the officers from the heavily guarded precinct?”
“I do,” he answered with a smile. “It doesn’t even involve anything blowing up.”
“That’ll be a first.”
THIRTY-SIX
Turns out, some of the runes Monty knew were from his misspent youth, where he would convince some of his instructors at the Golden Circle that something had died in the classroom and was currently rotting away.
When the first production trucks started rolling in, Monty unleashed his rune of putrefaction right on the precinct. The odor that enveloped the area was nose-destroying, nearly making me gag. It smelled like a platoon of skunks had decided to launch an all-out attack on Times Square.
Surprisingly, as resilient as New Yorkers were, even they succumbed to the odor, giving the area a wide berth and keeping to the edges until asked to leave the area by production personnel.
Soon afterward, NYTF officers entered the scene and people started clearing out the area.
“What the hell died in here?” Ramirez boomed as he approached us. “Was this you, Strong? Don’t you bathe?”
“Do you think you could clear out the precinct for us?” Monty asked. “I need to reach the lower level to get the events of the evening started.”
“Give me a moment,” Ramirez said, holding up a finger and heading into the station. He came out ten minutes later. “Sergeant and me go way back. They’ll be out of your hair in five. One of them said you promised him a selfie with Mr.
