“I can find anyone,” Ella said.
“Grab a shovel and start digging six feet under then, because this guy died a few weeks back.”
That doesn’t change anything, she thought. That just makes all the more sense. “Who was he? What business did you do together?”
“Any ‘64 coins I came across, I kept them for him. Simple as that. Them coins were actually worth a dime or two. It was a big year for coin collectors because of the Olympics in Japan. The guy paid me to hold them.”
Ella rattled her hand between the prison bars. She was getting impatient. “But how, if you never met him?”
“Very secretive man. Violent as hell. Complete lunatic, if you ask me.”
“Answer the question,” she demanded.
“He sent a messenger. This timid little kid. Shy as a schoolgirl, looked like one too. Me and some of the other boys used to give the kid a hard time. That kid must have grown up to really hate…,” Steen froze mid-sentence as he finished the thought silently. “Oh… shit.” The look on his face was a level of concern Ella hadn’t seen from the man: rare emotion.
Ella remembered the moments she saw Daniel Garcia, Aleister Black, and Kevin Steen for the first time. With all of them, there was a niggling doubt that she might be wrong or might have misinterpreted the facts that seemed so clear.
But this time, there was no doubt, just pure certainty. She’d bet absolutely everything she owned.
“Where do I find this kid? How do I contact him?”
Steen”s eyes glazed as over as he lost himself deep in thought. Three deep breaths later, he said:
“You bring me my phone and you let me do the talking.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Just like the other three, the man made the journey to his next destination on foot. He walked past an Italian restaurant that was just closing its doors for the evening. A grocery store owner switched off the lights and pulled down the shutters to his establishment. A seedy bar pushed its customers out onto the midnight streets, some who still had beers in their hands.
He crossed the road to avoid any large groups and kept his head down. Hood pulled up, but only enough to suggest it was a respite from the cold. His destination loomed in the distance, and as he passed the old cinema, he turned left down the narrow path leading to the rear of the buildings on this row. He slid himself into a tight alleyway that backed onto a towering wall, away from prying eyes. All the shops were shut at this time of night too, so he was as isolated as it came. Once he was behind his destination, he sat down beside a pile of trash bags that he used for both protection and warmth. If any eager lovers used the place for intimacy over the next hour or two, which he’d seen happen, he could just plead homelessness.
Sitting here now, waiting for the right hour, reminded of him why he was doing all this. The sense of discomfort he felt sitting on this damp floor with barely enough space to stretch brought back familiar memories, familiar distress. The times he’d been locked under the stairs while his dad drowned out his cries with music. The lies he told to his teachers, about how those cuts on his cheek were just cat scratches. Any time he felt that surge of pain, recollections of his lost innocence invaded every sense. He thought it would disappear with time, but every year it seemed to get worse. Now, at 24 years old, he couldn’t even prick his finger without it reminding him of some abusive episode or cruel directive from his youth.
There was one remedy, and that was to kill the author of his pain.
But fate had intervened. Two weeks ago, his father had fallen asleep and stayed there. He never woke up and never would, and that simple act ensured the boy would never get the redemption he needed. All those times he fantasized about slitting the old man’s throat in the middle of night would have to remain fantasies forever.
Unless he could track down the men who reminded him of his father. His precious coin collecting buddies, his dealers, the old men he bargained with for these little pieces of junk. He remembered the times his dad would wake him up at five am, drag him around flea markets and garage sales until his feet scorched with blisters. Sifting through endless sacks of coins in trash cans behind banks until his fingers bled. The rare times he found a worthwhile coin, his dad took it from him and gave no thanks. The times he found nothing, he got a beating for his efforts.
Always looking for that one piece of treasure that would change everything. His dad said it was out there somewhere: one little coin that could provide the fortune he craved so badly. They never found it. All of the coins he found were worthless, maybe fifty dollars maximum per coin.
He checked his phone. 00:34. His father had passed at one am, so it was only fitting that the others died at the same time too. If he recreated the circumstances of his father’s last moments down to a tee, there was a chance it would feel like the real thing. The others had given him a feeling of control he’d never felt in his life, and maybe with enough of that, he could finally put an end to his crippling trauma.
00:37 now. By the time he’d broken in, it would be the hour of reckoning. He climbed to his feet, edged around to the back door and plunged his knife between the door and door frame. At that moment, his cellphone began to vibrate.
Cursing the distraction, he reached in and pulled out a flashing device.
KEVIN STEEN CALLING.
Wow, the rat bastard finally escaped from jail. How about that? Perfect. He’d make a good number five. He ignored the call, focusing on the task at hand.
But the old thief was relentless. His phone vibrated non-stop, call after call, crushing the man’s concentration levels. When he looked at his screen again, he saw a message.
CALL ME IMMEDIATELY. THEY ARE ON TO YOU.
Curiosity and fear double-up inside of him. Who? Who was on to him? How could anyone know? He’d been meticulous in his planning, precise in his execution. No one could know about him, least of all Kevin Steen.
KEVIN STEEN CALLING, this time for the sixth time in two minutes. He let go of his knife, clicked the answer button, and spoke in a whisper.
“Hello?”
“Hey, is that L’s son? Do I have the right number?”
Kevin’s gravelly voice, as unmistakable as ever. “Yes. Kevin, what’s wrong?”
“Are you at home right now?”
“No. I’m out.”
“Where at?”
“None of your business.”
“Alright. Look, I just wanted to say I’m sorry to hear about your old man. I have something for you. Where can I meet you to hand it over?”
Something didn’t seem right about this. Kevin Steen was a scumbag of the highest order, and here he was being friendly? “Kevin, you said they’re onto me. Who’s onto me?”
“You never heard of a rib, buddy? It’s just a little trick to get you to pick up the damn phone.”
“You’re an asshole. I’m going.”
“Wait up. You in town? You want to get a…”
The line went dead.
Something was going on. That call was suspicious. It was too specific. Why did he call right now, of all times?
He had to get this over with quickly. He picked up his knife and jammed it back into the door frame.
***
Ella was out of the holding cells, out of the precinct and into her car. The phone call between Jimmy and this nameless suspect had lasted less than a minute, but it was enough to get a rough estimate of where the caller might be located. Right now, all she knew was that it was within a five-mile radius of the city center, and that was where she was headed. Back at the precinct, a member of the tech team was triangulating it down to a more specific area, but it would take time.