The Outsider

by Anthony Franze

  CHAPTER 59

  Gray was relieved when the cab pulled up to the condo building and there were no reporters camped out. The whole morning had a surreal quality. Was this all a bad dream? He paid the cabbie and hurried up to his place. The landline was ringing, and Gray grabbed the receiver.

  “Grayson,” his dad said, “we were worried. We saw the news. Why weren’t you answering your cell phone? Are you okay?”

  “I’m sorry. I was with the FBI all night and then I slept at Sam’s. My phone died, but I should have called.” He pulled the iPhone from his backpack and connected it to the charger on the counter.

  “It’s all right. We’re just glad you’re okay.” Then, in a gentler tone, “I’m so sorry about your friend.”

  Gray swallowed at that one. Despair washed over him. “They’re gonna find her.”

  His father didn’t respond.

  “I need to get to the office,” Gray said. “Tell Mom I’m okay. I’ll call you later once I know more.”

  “I love you, son.”

  “I love you too.”

  In his bedroom, he ripped off the clothing the FBI had given him. He then took a hot shower, breathing in the steam. He tried not to cry, but soon his emotions overcame him. Lauren. After a long while, he turned off the water and tried to pull himself together. He stepped out of the stall and wiped the fog from the mirror with his hand. He looked exhausted, his eyes sunken. He dried his hair with the towel, his head still tender from where he’d been hit.

  He walked barefoot to the bedroom, leaving a trail of wet prints. It was then he noticed something out of the ordinary. In the corner of the room. Two small suitcases. They weren’t his, and he was sure they weren’t there the last time he was in his place. He lifted one of the bags and placed it on the bed. He unzipped the top and looked inside. Women’s clothes. He pulled out some of the garments. “Ouch.” He cut his finger on something sharp inside. A drop of blood hit the hardwood floor. His mind jumped to Lauren’s floor. He needed to beat back the images. He hurried to the bathroom and ran his finger under hot water.

  His iPhone pinged. Then the landline rang. He ran to the kitchen counter and scanned the text on his phone. It was from Sam:

  TV says police think you are involved; looking for you. WTF???

  Then he saw something unsettling in the kitchen sink. Hair. Long, black hair, as if a woman had gotten a haircut in his kitchen. Someone had been in the condo. What the hell was going on? He read Sam’s text again.

  Pain radiated in his chest. He heard a siren and rushed to the window. Several black sedans screeched to a stop in front of the building. That’s when it hit him. The hair. He pictured the woman killed at the convenience store. Her hair cut into a jagged mess.

  He should stay. He had nothing to hide. But then he ran to the bedroom and looked at the suitcases again. The bag in the corner had a luggage tag. He read the name, and the air was pulled from his lungs. Jay Freeman. The FBI agent’s son.

  Gray realized that someone was trying to make it look like he was involved with the murders. He hurriedly put on jeans, a T-shirt, and jacket. A voice in his head kept telling him to stay. The law would protect him. He was innocent. But then Gray thought of Anton Troy and how the law didn’t protect Troy from a state intent on executing him. And what was happening to Gray wasn’t the result of an incompetent justice system. It was an orchestrated plan.

  Gray grabbed some money he kept in a jar in the kitchen and shoved the bills and his iPhone in the backpack. Inside, he saw Lauren’s work file with FILSTEIN written on its cover in Lauren’s meticulous handwriting. He had another stab of sadness. She’s such a hard worker. Even in the midst of chasing down a lead about the murders, she was going to work late on the Filstein case. But why would she be working on Filstein? That was Keir’s case. Gray pulled out the file and opened it. It wasn’t papers relating to Filstein. It was a business-sized envelope. To anyone else it would have looked like an ordinary office envelope. But Gray knew it was far from ordinary. It had a large brown stain.

  Gray didn’t know why Lauren had taken the chief justice’s famous envelope. But he was going to find out.

  CHAPTER 60

  Gray sprinted down the emergency stairwell. At the foot of the stairs were two doors, one that led to the garage, the other outside. He heard the screech of tires coming from the garage, and he watched through the small window on the door. Two sedans pulled behind the empty parking spot reserved for the chief’s Audi. He’d left the car at Lauren’s place last night. Men in blue Windbreakers, obviously federal agents, jumped out of the sedans and started sweeping the area.

  He should go talk to them. But he wanted to examine what was inside the envelope. See what Lauren had uncovered. It could provide the answers to everything. His phone chimed in the backpack, but he ignored it. He ran out the door into the rain.

  “Hey!” a voice called out to him.

  Gray turned and saw another agent. He was squinting as the rain blew in his face, and he had a hand on his holster. Gray spied a bike rack next to the door. He started pulling on bikes, each catching on chains or U-locks. He kept tugging, not looking up, but he could hear the footfalls. The agent was yelling something at him now. Gray yanked at another bike, then another. And then a miracle, a mountain bike pulled free. He jumped on the bike and raced on a footpath that led down to the waterfront. He didn’t look back, but the agent got so close that he could hear heavy breaths and the sound of the agent’s strides.

  Gray pedaled furiously, his adrenaline pumping, his body wet with rain and panic sweat. He stopped under the Key Bridge, far enough away that the agent had given up the chase. His phone pinged again. If he was really going to run, they could use it to track him. But was he really going to run? He started to question again if he’d lost his shit. But he could still plausibly say he wasn’t evading capture, that he didn’t know that the guy was an agent. That he was in shock. And, you know what? That wouldn’t necessarily be a lie. He pulled the phone from the bag, and chucked it as far as he could into the Potomac. He then headed for the bike trail, recalling the chief telling him that it went on for more than ten miles.

  He just needed a little time. Time to get out of the rain, time to think, time to review Lauren’s file. He rode for a half hour, the rain lashing his face along the narrow trail lined with woodland. At one of the exit points on the trail, he saw a procession of cars, cherries flashing on their dashes, race past. He decided to get off the trail in case they were planning to box him in. From there, he took the back streets to his old neighborhood. He wanted to talk to his father.

  When he reached Hamilton Heights, he peered around the corner to see if there was any activity outside the pizza shop. He saw nothing. Gray pedaled over and leaned the bike against a lamppost outside the shop. The rain was coming down again, the wind pushing his wet clothes against his skin, though he wasn’t sure if he was shivering from the cold or shock. The breeze carried the smell of rotten something to Gray’s nostrils from the trash bags lined at the curb.

  Gray peered inside the rain-spattered front window of the restaurant. Dad was there, mopping the floor. He took his time, working a grid. Gray had witnessed the scene a thousand times before, but he’d never seen the dignity in it. He was about to go inside when he heard the roar of several vehicles pulling in front of the shop. They’d been waiting for him.

  CHAPTER 61

  Gray ran to the alley next to the shop, jumped a fence, and cut through an overgrown lot. He knew these streets from his boyhood, so he had the advantage. He darted behind a line of row houses and ducked next to some trash bins. A rat, a giant creature, seemed to notice him, but didn’t move from working on a garbage bag that had spilled open. After a few minutes, Gray skulked down the lane, running along a chain-link fence that separated the small back patios and gardens. The homes were a mishmash, some well maintained and landscaped, others weed-filled messes. Gray’s heart jumped when a dog lunged at him from behind a fence. He kept running
until he hit another alleyway.

  He still had the backpack. He wanted so desperately to review its contents—what was in the envelope—but first he needed to get out of there. But where to go? He obviously couldn’t go back to the chief’s condo or his old place. Sam’s loft wasn’t safe either. And he couldn’t bring this mess into his sister and nephew’s lives.

  He debated turning himself in, but he just needed more time. He heard voices and jerked around. Two men, badges dangling on chains around their necks, rushed toward him.

  “You there! Stop!”

  He didn’t look back, just ran as fast as he could. He made it to the steps leading up to Monroe Park.

  The park was empty except for a group of what looked like middle-schoolers huddled at the rotting gazebo. When he approached, they put on a tough front, but he saw fear in their eyes. They had a bottle wrapped in a brown bag, and Gray assumed they were skipping school. They didn’t look like hardened gang members. Several skateboards were propped against the gazebo, and one of the boys was resting his foot on a board.

  Gray looked back at the entrance to the park. The agents hadn’t made their way up. He had a feeling that they weren’t storming in because they were building a perimeter. Trapping him.

  He turned to the boys. “How would you guys like to earn a hundred bucks?”

  The boys darted looks at one another, skeptical. “Doing what?” one of the boys said. He was the oldest, the leader.

  “Lend me one of your boards. And ride with me out of here.” Gray pulled out the money from his backpack.

  The boys looked at one another again. After a moment, the leader said, “That’s it, we ride with you outta the park, nothing else?”

  “Nothing else. An easy hundred.”

  The older boy looked at his friends who were nodding. “Make it two hundred.”

  Gray couldn’t help but smile. He handed the kid the wad of bills. “This is all I’ve got. But I want that hat too.” He pointed to one of the boys, a stocky kid who wore one of those snapbacks.

  And so there Gray was, jetting down the steep incline of Monroe Street, hunched over in the middle of a group of school kids. Eluding federal agents—via skateboard. He could see agents at the entrance of the park, talking into radios, two cars parked at the curb. None of the agents gave the young skateboarders a second look.

  The rain had turned to mist, and they sped down the hill, splashing through puddles, the rhythmic clunk-clunk, clunk-clunk of the wheels going over gaps in the sidewalk. Gray crouched low in the middle of the group. They crossed the street and skidded to a stop. Gray looked up the hill. No one had followed. He’d made it. But he still had the same problem: where to go? He removed the hat and handed the oldest kid the board. The other boys were smiling, giving high fives. They waited for their friend, whose board Gray had borrowed, to come jogging down the hill. The kid gave a thumbs-up.

  “You can take a board if you want.” The older boy gestured to the beat-up skateboard Gray had borrowed for his escape. Gray smiled at the ridiculousness of it all.

  “Thanks. But I’ll be okay.” He tossed the kid the hat.

  “At least take this,” the kid slapped two twenties in Gray’s hand. “Think you’ll need it more than us.”

  Gray gave an appreciative nod.

  “Where you gonna go?” another boy asked.

  Gray needed somewhere safe. Somewhere he could review Lauren’s file. Somewhere police wouldn’t track him. At that moment, he realized where.

  “Not far,” he said.

  CHAPTER 62

  Gray made his way into the bowels of Madison Towers public housing complex. The projects were forbidden territory when he was a kid, and he now understood why. The halls smelled of piss and vomit. Patches of mold spotted the walls, and figures, drug-addled hall dwellers, lurked in the shadows. He rushed through the maze and outside onto a center courtyard. The rain had stopped, but the sky remained dark, large brown puddles flooding the yard.

  At the entrance to a second building stood two imposing men. Oversized baseball shirts, bald heads, tattoos.

  The giants looked down at him, arms folded, their expressions half menacing, half amused.

  “I need to see your boss.” Gray looked up at the security camera mounted above the door.

  “I don’t see you in the appointment book,” one of the men said, grunting a laugh, proud of himself.

  “Look, I don’t have time to fuck around, I don’t—” Gray stopped at the sight of the gun. The guy held it sideways, pointed at Gray’s chest. “He’ll want to see me.” It took more convincing, but the other giant finally put a cell phone to his ear and turned away. The camera mounted above the door then rotated, stopping when the lens was directed at Gray. The man with the phone then nodded, clicked off, and gestured for the other guy to lower the gun. He then led Gray up two flights of stairs. The stairwells made the hallways seem lavish. Gray held his breath until they ducked into a service elevator.

  The guy pulled out a key card and stuck it in the slot. Not something you’d expect in a run-down housing complex. Gray watched the numbers above the door light up until they reached the top floor. But the elevator didn’t stop. That was weird. Then he realized that the elevator was rigged—it was the illusion of only eleven floors, but there were twelve. The doors slid open, and there was more muscle stationed at the door of an apartment. The men stepped aside, and Gray walked in. For a moment he wondered if he was seeing things. The place looked like a Manhattan penthouse, not Section 8 housing. It had high ceilings, an open floor plan. Music blared from an elaborate sound system. Mounted on the wall, a massive television. The screen showed a newscaster talking into the camera, then a photograph of Gray.

  On a large sofa, next to two women, sat the boss. The crime lord Gray had come to see. Gray’s eyes couldn’t help but lock on the gun and white powder on the coffee table. The man took a swig from a bottle of beer. He looked at the television, which still had Gray on the screen.

  “Ponyboy, I wondered when you’d show up.”

  CHAPTER 63

  Arturo gave Gray one of the spare bedrooms at the end of a long corridor. The apartment took up the entire floor of the building. It was a remarkable operation Arturo had going on up there: drugs, gambling, loans. Rooms for Arturo’s inner circle and guests. And with the network of lookouts and escape routes, Arturo assured Gray that he would be safe.

  “Why all the security?” Gray asked. “Cops?”

  Arturo chuckled. “D.C. Metro guys make twenty-eight K a year, they’re an easy problem to fix.” He waited a beat, and explained the security precautions with a single word: “Ortiz.” The name still sent a chill up Gray’s back. The sound of Angel Ortiz’s skull cracking on pavement.

  Gray had replayed the incident over and over in his head. He didn’t think Arturo had intended to kill Angel. But then Angel’s two friends, the witnesses, turned up dead. Shot execution-style in an alley near the high school. Gray didn’t know if Arturo was behind it, cleaning up loose ends, and he’d never asked. But the demise of Angel Ortiz and Company was the end of their friendship. It was also the start of a war between Arturo’s set and the Ortiz clan, including Ortiz’s younger brother, Ramon “Razor” Ortiz. Gray thought back to Razor’s sinister smile that night with Lauren. Arturo to the rescue again. Gray wondered momentarily whether Razor could be behind Lauren’s abduction. But that didn’t make sense. It was someone connected to the Supreme Court. And Razor wasn’t one for subtlety, so the mysterious messages left at the crime scenes didn’t fit.

  Gray pulled Lauren’s Filstein file from his backpack. It was damp from the rain. He removed the envelope and pulled out the papers. Why had she taken the envelope? The first sheaf was stapled, though the corners were ripped, like the sheets had been ripped from a larger batch. On each page, a message.

  The first: THE GREAT DISSENTER

  The next page: THE WORST SCOTUS DECISION EVER

  The next: THE 37TH LAW CLERK

  Th
e last: FILSTEIN SWING VOTE. WEDNESDAY. A RACE. FIRST THERE WINS. LEAVE 1FS @ 7PM.

  The file also contained Westlaw printouts of old newspaper stories about Justice Wall’s confirmation hearing.

  Gray thought back to the first time the chief had given him envelope duty after he’d run down Justice Cutler in the hallway. How proud he was. Why would the envelope contain cryptic messages? Was this really the envelope the chief justice used to communicate with the justices, or did it just look like it? Maybe it wasn’t real. No, the envelope and the papers had a similar brown stain. He recalled New Year’s Eve when he’d playfully pulled Lauren into his lap, spilling his coffee. He felt another piercing pain in his chest. He needed to focus. Then he saw something scribbled inside the folder that held the envelope. In Lauren’s handwriting: A GAME?

  CHAPTER 64

  “You’re on the TV again, yo,” Arturo said, poking his head into Gray’s room. Gray pointed the remote at the set mounted on the bedroom wall and clicked it on. The room had a built-in headboard, sleek dresser, glass-topped desk. Arturo even brought in a laptop and portable printer. Gray marveled again at the balls it took to set up the top floor of a public housing complex like a pricey condo.

  On the screen, the chief justice was standing in front of a bevy of microphones in the East Conference Room of the Supreme Court. The ornate, portrait-filled room was jammed with reporters. The chief must have been livid about the need to face the press like a lowly politician. Douglas wouldn’t answer questions shouted at him. He just read from a prepared statement that said the justices were devastated about Lauren’s abduction and the court was working with authorities to help find her. As for Gray, the chief said Gray was hired as a clerk after an incident that they now were investigating as possibly orchestrated. The suggestion being that Gray had somehow been involved in the attack on the chief justice in the garage.