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The heavy knocking came at the door again and Crowley tried to think fast. No exit, no way of knowing who they were or what they wanted. One thing was certain – there was no situation where he should be inside Jazz’s apartment. Whoever it was wouldn’t be happy to see him. He ran to the kitchenette and pulled the biggest knife from a wooden block next to the microwave. It was a decent-sized carving knife, a broad eight inches of sharp steel. Then moving on soft feet, he crept up to the door and chanced a glimpse through the peephole. A large man stood outside, his face dark. Crowley ducked back, mind racing. He knew that guy. Where had he seen him before?
“Come on, come on!” Crowley whispered to himself. “Who is that guy?” It seemed important.
Then it came to him. The broad-shouldered and thick-limbed fellow was even still wearing the same charcoal suit, but he’d taken off the dark sunglasses. His mop of dark brown curls and pale skin were unmistakable though. It was the same man Crowley had spotted in Washington Square Park after they first discovered the mass burial site. The one who had surreptitiously snapped a photo of Rose and Jazz. And now here he was, outside Jazz’s apartment. Could he even be the killer, returning to the scene of the crime? But why?
Initially Crowley had hoped that whoever was knocking would go away, but now he thought maybe he needed to have a chat with this guy. But a big, angry dude like that? It wouldn’t be easy.
Crowley moved to take another look out the peephole and saw the man back up a couple of steps and drop his right shoulder. He was about to barge the door and ram it in. Subtlety was clearly not this guy’s style.
Crowley quickly reached out and turned the doorknob just as the big man ran, then whipped the door open. He stuck his foot out as the poor fellow barreled at full speed into nothing and over he went, crashing hard into the floor and sliding up against Jazz’s bed. The crash was enough to shake the entire studio and Crowley winced at the thought of how that impact must have felt. The man deserved credit, he was rolling and almost up onto his knees before he’d stopped sliding, but Crowley was quicker. He dropped to one knee, cracked an elbow into the man’s temple to stun him, then grabbed him from behind, one arm across his chest, the other holding the knife blade against the thick meat of the man’s neck.
“Don’t move, or you’ll slit your throat!”
“What the hell?” the guy asked in a tight voice, frozen still against the blade. “Who are you?”
Crowley laughed. “I’ll ask the questions. First of all, hands behind your back.”
Grudgingly, the man complied. Crowley grabbed a bedside lamp, cut the lamp from the cord with the sharp knife, and used it to tie the man’s hands together securely at the wrist. He pulled it painfully tight, but he wasn’t about to take any chances.
“Back against the bed.”
“You’ll get nothing out of me!”
“We’ll see.” Crowley remembered a pair of pantyhose were in the laundry basket, so he grabbed those and tied the man’s feet together, again pulling the knot as tight as he could. “What’s your name?” he asked.
The man used a colorful word that certainly wasn’t a name.
Crowley smiled. “Fair enough. I’m going to call you Jerkwad. Feel free to correct me any time. So, Jerkwad, what are you doing here?”
Jerkwad kept his mouth closed, tipped his head and kept a disdainful expression in his face. His eyes betrayed the speed of this thoughts as he seemed to be sizing up his options for escape.
Crowley wasn’t about to give him time or opportunity. “Silent type, eh? I saw you in Washington Square Park, and I saw you take a picture.” The man’s cheeks twitched as he ground his teeth. “Why are you following Jasmine Richards?”
The man’s eyebrows twitched slightly this time, relaying an altogether different emotion. First it had been anger, now it was surprise.
“Did you not know her name? Or were you not following her? Were you following me, Jerkwad? Or my friend?” He was careful not to mention his or Rose’s name. He could hope this guy and whoever he worked for didn’t know yet who they were, though maybe that was naïve. And he was sure this fool worked for someone else. He had the look of a minion, not the brains of an operation.
“Okay, Jerkwad, let’s see what your pockets tell me.”
Crowley reached forward and the big man thrashed, tries to head-butt forward. But he was big and slow and tied up, and Crowley was no mug. He sent a pair of knuckles in a swift clip across the point of Jerkwad’s chin and the big man grunted and went partially limp, eyes crossing. Not out cold, but disoriented. He dragged in breath, getting his equilibrium back as Crowley rifled through his suit pockets. He found a set of car keys and a phone.
He put the keys aside and held up the phone. “What have we here?”
“I ain’t giving you the passcode.” The man sneered, one side of his mouth curving up, pleased with himself.
“I probably won’t need it. The facial recognition feature on these new gadgets was a big mistake, don’t you think?” He held the phone in front of the man’s face, but nothing happened.
Jerkwad grinned, but Crowley wasn’t finished. He stood up and drove a knee into the big man’s shoulder, tipping him over sideways. Then he grabbed the meaty tied hands and pressed one thumb pad to the home button on the phone. This time it opened right up.
“There we go,” Crowley said. “When one technology fails, there’s always another to try.”
Jerkwad said some unkind things about Crowley’s mother. Crowley ignored him and had a quick look through the phone, quickly realizing it was must be all business. “All the calls to a single number, all the emails to the same address, eh?” he said. “This is clearly your boss you’re talking to. I knew you had to be a monkey, not an organ grinder.” He went into settings and changed the passcode. Much easier than cutting the guy’s thumb off and carrying it around with him. “I can see from a quick scan that there’s enough dirt here for me to easily convince your big boss that you’ve betrayed him.”
Jerkwad’s eyes went wide.
“Oh yeah,” Crowley said. “I play dirty. I’ll set it up so your boss will have you wiped out in no time at all. I imagine he’s known for that.” It was a gamble, but a fairly safe one, Crowley thought.
“Don’t do that, man! I’m just trying to get by, right? You know how it is, don’tcha?”
“So now you’re more talkative,” Crowley said. “Well, fine by me. Tell me everything you can about the man you work for.”