McCall parked his Jaguar on Crosby Street a couple of blocks from Broome Street and walked back toward Greenwich Village. The convenience store was located on a corner that backed out to a narrow alleyway. The Asian owner and his wife would still be up. But when McCall turned down the street he saw that the shades were pulled down at the windows. It was late, after midnight. McCall thought the convenience store probably closed at eleven o’clock. He had wanted to get there right after it had closed but dealing with Mickey Kostmayer had delayed him. A padlock was on the front door and a sign said: CLOSED. He tried knocking on the glass, but there was no response.
McCall examined the padlock. It had been broken and left on the door. He pushed inside and found the convenience store shrouded in shadows. He paused to look at the alarm panel at one side of the door. It had been bypassed. He heard small sounds coming from upstairs where he knew the old Korean couple lived over the store.
McCall moved through the overlapping shadows to the back staircase. It was narrow, no carpet on it, one wooden handrail. McCall climbed up soundlessly. At the second floor there was a short corridor in darkness that led to a living room. The door was ajar. McCall could see a kitchen off another doorway. There was a door to a very small office space. Someone was searching it. More than one person. There was not a sound from the living room.
McCall moved right up to the ajar door. A young Korean gangbanger was pulling out drawers in a desk, dumping the contents onto the floor. He was dressed in gang colors, wearing sandals on his feet. His cheeks were sunken, his complexion sallow, a chicken neck protruding from his open shirt. His eyes were slits with no color to them. On the other side of the desk, a second gangbanger was throwing books and papers from a floor-to-ceiling bookcase onto the floor. He looked like a carbon-copy of the first hoodlum except he was marginally taller, wearing the same clothes, sandals on his feet, his eyes a dingy dishwater color. McCall had seen them before from when he had lived in the neighborhood. They were members of a Korean street gang called the Yellow Death. Cold, detached, emotionless.
McCall knew exactly what they had been looking for.
The first Korean gangbanger whirled. With no hesitation he leapt right across the desk, kicking out at McCall with lightning martial arts moves. McCall avoided the blows like they were landing in slow-motion, moving under them, then time speeded up again as he grabbed the youth around the throat and snapped his neck. The second gangbanger at the bookcases grabbed a pair of heavy-duty nickel-plated steel scissors from the desk and stabbed at McCall’s eyes. McCall wrenched the scissors out of his hands. His hands wrapped around the gangbanger’s throat. The youth pulled out a Schrade Viper 3 switchblade knife with a black handle which McCall might not have seen except he was looking at a grimy mirror hung on the office door. McCall disarmed the youth who was spitting at him in a frenzy. He broke McCall’s stranglehold. He whirled to gouge his eyes out when McCall brought him down to his knees and broke his neck. He dropped him down beside the other gang member. McCall heard a third assailant pelting down the narrow stairs. He ran to the open office door in time to see the other gang member, dressed in the same clothes, sandals on his feet, turning the corner on the stairs. McCall went after him, but when he reached the turn in the staircase the assailant had thrown open the door to the convenience store and run out into the street. He was carrying nothing with him. McCall did not think he had searched the office or the store as yet. He climbed quickly back up the staircase and ran down the short corridor into the living room.
Kung-Jae and his wife He-Ran were tied up in front of a leather armchair where a television was playing Late Night with Stephen Colbert with the sound muted. McCall turned off the flat-screen television and untied them. He helped up the old Korean woman into the armchair. She was defiant and did not want his help. The old Korean grocer looked at McCall.
“There were three of them,” he said.
“The third one went down the stairs and ran out in the street,” McCall said. “Did recognize them?”
The old Korean shrugged. “I have seen them in the neighborhood. They come in for sodas and ice cream bars. They are animals. I am glad you took care of them.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
McCall felt for He-Ran’s pulse. It was weaker than it should have been, but she did not seem to be in any distress.
“They did not come here to harm us,” Jerry said. “They were looking for maps they thought I had. They did not find them. I have been waiting for you, Mr. McCall.” He turned back to his wife. “We have business to discuss.”
He-Ran just nodded. The old Korean grocer moved out of the room. McCall put a gentle hand on the old woman’s arm. “I am sorry this had to happen to you.”
She nodded again. As if she had no interest in the conversation. She did not turn back on the television. She sat in the leather armchair which completely swallowed her up and stared out at nothing.
McCall walked down the short corridor, past the office door, which Jerry had closed. He climbed down the stairs. The convenience store was still in shadows. The old Korean grocer motioned for him to join him behind the counter. He had moved the lottery tickets to one side. There were several maps he had laid out for McCall to see. They were old and grainy. McCall could see the shape of North Korea on them.
“A friend of mine called me from Kanggye where I was born.” Jerry said. “He still lives there. He sent them to me by fedex. I got them tonight. What are you looking for?”
“An old prison complex that was buried in the forests.”
“There are several prison facilities listed here. Most of them are in the north provinces.”
“I am looking for one in the southern region,” McCall said. “Close to the Yalu River.”
Jerry searched through more faded maps until he came to the one he was looking for. “Here, just outside Yonganp’on. Not far from Donggang across the Chinese border. You can see the outline of the Yalu River snaking through the forests.” Jerry tapped it. “Right here. An old prison facility. It has been abandoned for years.”
“How reliable is this map?”
The old grocer shrugged. “Who knows? Nothing much has changed there. The jungle may have reclaimed it.”
“It’s the closest thing to aerial drone footage that I’ve got, Jerry.”
Before he could say anything more, the first firebomb smashed through the window of the convenience and exploded in a rage of heat. A second and a third Molotov cocktail were lobbed into the store and erupted into flames. McCall grabbed the old Korean grocer, pulled him out from the counter and propelled him toward the shattered front door.
“Get out! I’ll get He-Ran.”
Jerry staggered toward the door which was already buckling in the heat. McCall ran toward the back stairs. Thick black smoke was everywhere. Fire crawled up the stands of cookies and donuts and individual fruit pies. Shelves of bread and croissants were ignited. Another explosion rocked the interior as an old heater erupted, sending more flames shooting through the store.
McCall reached the narrow wooden staircase and ran up it. Two more Molotov cocktails exploded upstairs, one through the study window and one through a bedroom window. By the time McCall reached the living room it was blazing. He staggered through the dense smoke to where he had left the old Korean woman sitting in the leather armchair. She had passed out from smoke inhalation. McCall lifted her up in his arms and ran with her to the living room window. From there a skeletal fire-escape led down to the alley below. McCall reached up and heaved at the window.
It did not budge.
He heaved up one more time, but the window looked as if it had not been lifted since the Korean couple had moved in. McCall turned in the choking smoke, his eyes streaming. Black smoke filled the room. Furnishings were going up and pieces of the ceiling had started to come down. McCall laid the unconscious Asian woman back down on the armchair and picked up a heavy chair from a dining table. He was coughing as the smoke clawed at his lungs. He ran back and threw the chair at the window.
It bounced off.
McCall tried again.
This time the window smashed out.
McCall punched out the glass fragments that had splintered away, then ran back to the old Asian woman. He lifted her onto his shoulder in a fireman’s lift. She was a husk. He did not think she could have weighed more than ninety pounds. He climbed through the shattered window and reached out for the edge of the fire-escape. He caught it, steadying He-Ran in his arms and stepped across the gap between the window and the fire escape. Still holding the fragile Asian woman on his shoulder, McCall went down the fire-escape to the ground floor. He pulled the skeletal ladder down and climbed the rest of the way to the street.
McCall came around the corner to see Kyung-Jae sanding outside his burning convenience store. Flames were shooting through the windows. The interior had been blackened and more smoke was pouring through it. McCall laid the old Asian woman down onto a square of coarse grass and made sure she was breathing. Neighbors had congregated on the sidewalk in their pajamas. The sound of the fire engines was getting closer, sirens wailing. Two of the neighbors rushed over to He-Ran and knelt beside her. Her husband turned to McCall.
“Go now. Before the EMT’s and the fire department get here.”
McCall looked at the conflagration that was engulfing the convenience store.
“This is on me,” he said.
“I am been here long enough,” Jerry said. “You have what you came here for?”
McCall felt in the inner pocket of his jacket for the folded maps he had taken from the old Korean man’s counter. “I’ve got them. The firefighters and the police will find two charred bodies in your study.”
“They were there to rob me. I did not see their faces. I managed to free myself and my wife and came down the stairs. We ran outside as the fire started. I hope you got what you needed, Mr. McCall.”
He extended a limp hand and McCall took it. There was not time for anything more. McCall crossed the street just as the first fire engine pulled up. By the time he had run down to his Jaguar, the fire truck had been joined by two police cars and more were on their way. McCall jumped into his car and pulled away.
McCall would find a way to thank the old Korean couple.
Right now, they had given him hope.
Alexa Kokinas liked the bar she had found on the Lower East Side. It had wooden booths and a long mahogany bar with brass trimmings and bottles stacked up in front of a gilt mirror. The place was called O’Grady’s Saloon and served pub-style food with the specials being traditional Irish Beef & Guinness Stew and Dublin Bay Prawn Bisque. It was always packed to the rafters, but inside Alexa’s cone of silence the raucous ambience meant nothing. There were four pool tables laid out in the bar. Alexa was prowling around one of them with a cop from the 16th Precinct in Manhattan named Pete Hightower. He was a tough, no-nonsense Officer with a reputation for never cracking a smile, on or off-duty. Which suited Alexa Kokinas just fine. She was not looking for validation or for a buddy on the force.
She was also creaming his ass.
She had four shots lined up that were winners. She just had to give Hightower time to show her what a hot shot he was before she performed the coup de grass that sent him reeling. She had a cheering section around the table. Her biggest champion was a powerfully built, stocky cop named Frank Macamber, also from the 16th Precinct, a Detective First Grade who was the unofficial leader of the squad. They called themselves The Elite, a nickname they had had since they graduated from the Police Academy. Alexa thought it was an anomaly that the members of The Elite all had found themselves at the 16th Precinct in Manhattan as detectives. She figured some strings had been pulled, but it did not matter to her. She was a rookie cop. They had made her feel welcome at their precinct house. Frank Macamber was encouraging her to “put Hightower away”, although she was not catching all of his banter because his voice came through only sporadically. She kept looking to see if his mouth was moving, and right now she had other things on her mind. Like how she was to humiliate Pete Hightower and beat him into submission.
Hightower missed his next shot. That sent up another cheer from the amassed police officers, although she really did not hear it, just the vibrations it sent up. Alexa took a hefty swig from the Corona bottle she had in one hand. She set it down, picked up her pool cue, came around the table, lined up her shots and just like that, the balls rocketed into the pockets. When the last one disappeared, she held up a clenched fist. Now there was no mistaking the cheer that went up from the patrons who had been following the game. Alexa held out her hand, palm up. Pete Hightower had a wry expression on his face.
“You sure you’re not a pool hustler, patrolman?”
Frank Macamber moved over to him and pummeled him on the back. “She beat you until your eyes bled. Pay up, Hightower.”
The Officer peeled off some dollar bills and dropped them into Alexa’s hand. She felt another cheer go up. Macamber took Alexa’s arm, still grinning, and propelled her through the tables toward the bar. She caught sight of a lanky, raw-boned cop she had not met yet, Jerry Kilpatrick, who was also a member of the Elite. He had just transferred from another precinct. He was a good-looking Police Officer with close-cropped blonde hair. Alexa thought he was watching Macamber with an intensity that she found momentarily unnerving. Then Jerry picked up a Samuel Adams Boston Ale by the bottle and moved to where Hightower was sitting at one of the booths. His fellow Elite cops were Tom Graves and Saul Cooper. Alexa could not remember the name of the last Police Officer, but she knew he was nicknamed “Moose” because of his size and weight. When Alexa reached the bar, Macamber remembered to turn fully around to her, which she appreciated.
“What can I get you?”
Alexa used a mixture of sign language and her own voice. “Corona. Bottle is good.”
Macamber signaled to the bartender. “How are you adjusting to the precinct?”
“Fine.”
The bartender brought over the Corona. Alexa picked it up, expertly flipped off the bottle cap and took a swig. Macamber glanced over at Pete Hightower who was deep in conversation with the other members of the squad, glancing a couple of times over at Alexa with unconcealed scorn.
“Don’t pay any attention to Hightower,” Macamber said. “He can be an asshole, but he’s a good cop. You humiliated him in front of his guys and that won’t sit well with him.”
Alexa shrugged and took another swallow of the Corona. Macamber looked around the raucous bar. “Where’s your partner? What is his name again?”
“Palmer.”
“Yeah, right, I’ve seen him around the stationhouse. Good guy?”
“The best.”
“It’s important to trust your partner on the streets. He couldn’t be here tonight?”
Alexa signed a little more frenetically, punctuating it with a few words: “Home problems. His wife. Going through a divorce.”
“I think I got most of that!” Macamber said, grinning. “Your signing is too fast for me! But I will catch on if you give me the chance. It is really amazing what you have accomplished. You are the first patrolman who has ever been assigned to the NYPD. Are there other Peace Officers in the country like you?”
“Deputy Sheriff in Arizona,” Alexa said.
“Is that right? So, just the two of you? Outstanding. How to do cope with the silence? The Lieutenant at the 16th Precinct said you can hear some sounds and speech.”
Alexa waggled her hand, come se come sa. She indicated the booth where Jerry Kilpatrick and joined the Elite group of Pete Hightower, Tom Graves and Saul Cooper.
“Who is he?”
Macamber followed her gaze. “Jerry Kilpatrick. Transferred to the 16th Precinct about six months ago. Comes from a family of cops. The jury’s still out on him. He does not fit in, but maybe he will come around. The other guys at the booth are Saul Cooper, been at the 16th the longest, a good guy, Tom Graves, I call him the Rat Catcher cause he knows where to find the rats that crawl out of the sewers, and the big one on the end is Detective Rabinski, we call him the ‘Moose’. If you are a perp, you don’t want to tangle with the ‘Moose.’.”
Alexa signed again, slowing her hand gestures significantly. “You all graduated from the Police Academy at the same time?”
“Yeah. It just worked out that way. All of us wanted to be assigned to the NYPD. I was the first on the squad, then Hightower and Saul Cooper got transferred to the 16th Precinct. Tom Graves, the Rat Catcher, had been a uniformed patrolman for four years, but then he got moved up to detective. Moose just got his promotion and his shield last week.”
“The six of you are detectives?”
“That’s right. I’m a Detective First Grade,” Frank Macamber said. “Hightower is a Detective Second Grade and so is Saul Cooper and Tom Graves. Tell me, when you look around at this bar, what can you hear?”
Alexa shrugged. “Noise. Like white static.”
Macamber nodded. “Okay, I got that! You can hear people when they are talking right at you. That is outstanding.”
Alexa shrugged.
“If I have not said it before,” Macamber said, “welcome to the 16th squad, Alexa.”
She smiled and took another swig of the Corona. One of the patrons had racked up the balls on the pool table nearest to the bar. He called out to Alexa, but she could not hear him. Macamber gently touched Alexa’s arm.
“Guy at the pool table wants to tango with you.” Alexa turned and followed Macamber’s gaze. The pool player, a heavyset, bearded guy, shouted at her. Macamber took a step forward. “Doesn’t that asshole know you can’t hear him?”
Alexa put a retraining hand on Macamber’s arm. She signed for him. “Not everyone in here knows I am hearing impaired.”
Macamber said: “I don’t think this asshole knows who he’s dealing with!”
Alexa grinned, stepped away from the bar and moved to the pool table, her Corona in her hand. In the noisy ambiance the bartender brought Macamber another Bud Light. He shouted: “You’re going to have your balls handed back to you, buddy!”
Alexa put her beer on an empty table and picked up one of the pool cues.
At the back booth where the Elite were sitting, Detective Jerry Kilpatrick was watching Frank Macamber. Something in the way he was checking out Alexa Kokinas bothered him. He had been wary of the man ever since he had been introduced to him at the 16th Precinct.
Alexa broke apart the balls which skittered across the pool table.
Jerry Kilpatrick watched Frank Macamber gazing at Alexa Kokinas as he drank his Bud Light at the bar. His look to her was almost predatory.