Twenty-eight
STYX.
Not the “Come Sail Away” retro rock band Styx or the River Styx of Greek mythology. This Styx was a dangerous new recreational drug. Chemists called it by its long, technical name. Law enforcement described it as a synthetic opioid, one that gave users a floating high like heroin.
Styx was so new that none of Mike’s regular informants had a clue about it. The drug wasn’t being distributed on street corners or through Internet sites. Yet it was showing up in clubs and bars, and no one seemed to know how it got there. “I bought it from a guy who bought it from a girl” was the typical story. Its popularity was spreading fast; sadly, so were the overdoses.
“They’re off to the underworld,” was how Franco put it.
Since the discovery of Styx, the OD Squad even nicknamed their naloxone kits “Hercules.” Fitting enough, given their goal of dragging lost souls back to the land of the living.
Styx was particularly alarming because it came in powder form and was being sold like old-fashioned Pixy Stix candies in a rainbow of straw-shaped wrappers. It hadn’t reached the school yards yet, but Mike feared it would—and that fear is what fueled his overtime.
Every day now, Mike was camped out at One Police Plaza, working with the NYPD’s database to get a picture of sale and usage via reports filed by the city’s narcotics, gang, and precinct detectives. The port of entry for this drug appeared to be New York, and he’d been poring over toxicology reports, consulting with the DEA, and conducting conference calls with his counterparts across the Northeast.
In the meantime, Sergeant Franco had been taking care of the day-to-day aspects of the OD Squad, including stakeout operations and stings. His dedication had freed up Mike to work on the larger, regional investigation—putting pieces together to get a bigger picture of the problem and form a strategy to solve it.
“Thank goodness for Franco,” Mike said. “I’ll head over to find out more directly. But it looks like we’ve got a genuine crack in the case.”
“I hope you do—and I’m happy to hear Franco’s promotion is working out so well.”
“He’s become my right-hand man, and he’s been doing an outstanding job.”
“I’m not surprised. Despite what Matt thinks of him, I’m relieved he and Joy are a couple. I think Franco will make a great husband.”
“Hypothetically,” Mike said.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
I narrowed my gaze. “You have something on your mind? Or is there something you know that I don’t? Come on, spill it.”
“I just think . . .” Mike shrugged, his expression looking far too skeptical. “The issue with your ex disliking him—and that’s an understatement—isn’t going to make life peachy for them as a couple. And living in different cities isn’t easy on any relationship.”
“We managed it.”
“We’re older.”
“Please!” I held up my hand, Esther-style. “Do not mess with my mother-of-the-bride fantasy of seeing my daughter married to a good man like Franco. I’m sorry, but I’d like to think of her as settling down soon. If she were unattached and using those dating apps, I’d worry myself sick, especially after that dream of mine. Did I tell you about it?”
“Just the swimming part.”
“Well, before I ended up in the river, Joy was dressed like Gun Girl—same blouse and skirt—and pretending to shoot the sky in Hudson River Park.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish!” I went on to describe the rest of the dream. “Mostly, I was trying to save my daughter from running off with Richard Crest, descending into an East Village basement, or drowning in the Hudson. It was horrible.”
Mike rubbed his chin. “Mmm.”
“What?”
“Just that . . . it’s not helpful to your peace of mind to see your daughter in these victims—or these victims as your daughter.”
“But that kind of thinking is natural for any parent. When you work so hard to get drugs off the street, aren’t you thinking of Jeremy and Molly? There, but for the grace of guardian angels, goes my baby.”
“Except Joy has a mother who’s fiercer than St. Michael when it comes to protecting her child.”
“I wish I could protect her—and all of these young women. But our world is far from a Garden of Eden; that’s how Madame put it. These days, I think we’re closer to that concrete Habitat Garden, filled with bizarre man-made structures of social interaction. And someone is always lurking in the shadows with dark intentions.”
“Like our mugger?”
“Like the killers in that boiler room. Or Richard Crest.”
“Even so, Clare, you can’t let your fears shake you.” Mike pulled his patron saint medal from his pocket and held it up. “Do you remember how that little prayer goes?”
“What prayer?”
Mike smiled. “‘Angel of God, my guardian dear. To whom God’s love commits me here. Ever this night, be at my side . . . ’”
I hesitated then finished— “‘To light, to guard, to rule, and guide.’ Yeah, I guess I do remember.”
“So there you go. You’re not alone. Not even when you face those dark nights of the soul.”
“And what about dark souls? What do you do when you have to face them?”
He dropped St. Michael back in his pocket. “Sometimes you have to fight them, before you can help them.”
AFTER one more pot of coffee, Mike was kissing me good-bye. When he headed for the door, I heard his phone going off again.
Suddenly, he was back.
“What is it?” I asked, worried.
“Another text from Emmanuel Franco—about you.”
“Me?”
“Take a look . . .”
Tell the Coffee Lady to turn on her phone.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve got to run—” Mike tapped his watch. “Maybe you should take his advice.”
The moment I powered my smartphone back on, it vibrated like crazy. I checked the caller ID—my daughter! She was trying to reach me.
“Joy, what’s the matter? Are you okay?”
“That’s my question for you, Mom. Manny swore to me that you were fine, but I just saw the video of you and that girl with the gun—and I’m freaking!”
“I’m okay, honey. Calm down. Did you see it on Chatter?”
“No, on cable news! All the networks are playing it, every one!”
For a moment, I was speechless.
I’d expected that video to be history by now. But it wasn’t, which meant the Village Blend hadn’t dodged this bullet. The shot was simply delayed. Now it was headed straight for the heart of my beloved coffeehouse.