by J. R. Tate
"I just can't stop worrying. Not until he's safe at home."
"No one expects you to stop worrying, Eva. That's impossible. What I'm saying is have faith. He's innocent. Justice has to prevail, otherwise, what's the point of being an American? I know this is not what you want to hear right now, but try to calm down. If not for you, for the baby. You need to stay healthy."
Eva nodded. "I appreciate you two letting me come over. I can't go through this alone."
"And we won't let you. He's special to all three of us," Casey said. "The door is always open. With everything Mikey has done for me, this is the least we can do for both of you."
***
Michael shifted his weight and his body screamed out in pain. He was confused. Where the hell was he? As he came to, he realized he was in the abandoned building he had sought refuge in from the cops. Leaning against the wall, he shivered under his damp hoodie. It had been raining, and though he had gotten somewhat wet from the weather, at least he had better shelter than out on the streets.
According to his watch, an hour had passed. He felt so weak that he wasn't sure if he'd have the energy to outrun another cop if he was spotted again. It didn't matter. He had to find something to eat. He was shaky and some of his exhaustion probably stemmed from not having anything in his system.
Forcing himself to a standing position, he let out a deep groan. He edged his way to the front exit of the building, taking a long glance outside to make sure there were no cops around. His eyes scanned for any out of place vehicle or person who might be undercover.
The sun had set and the street lights were flickering on. Michael made it a point to walk in the shadows, using the darkness as another way of staying hidden. He pulled his hood on and buried his hands in his pockets. There were other people fitting the same description as him out and about. At least his behavior didn't seem too out of the ordinary for the neighborhood he was in.
He felt his phone in his pocket, still hesitant to turn it on. He needed to preserve the battery life for as long as possible, just in case he needed it. He also had some cash in his pocket. It wasn't much, but it would be enough to get him something to calm his hunger pangs. The only issue was where he could go without getting spotted. Due to no access to TV's, he wasn't sure how much the news had been reporting about it. Since it was like hitting oil to the media, he would lean toward the fact that they were reporting on it like it was top notch news.
Michael scrubbed his hand down the side of his face. With the way his facial hair was growing in, there was a chance it would play in his favor. For once he was thankful for the fact that he had to shave daily or look like a hobo.
The only options he spotted to get food were bars. Bars on every corner, bars everywhere he looked. The heavy scent of burgers, fries, and junk food hovered around him, making his stomach growl even louder than before. He could be resilient. Just go in, eat quickly, and run out. Don't even consider a drink. Don't even allow a drink menu to get close. Taking a deep breath, he ducked inside the next bar he came across, his nerves relaxing when everyone seemed to be minding their own business. No one stopped and stared at him like in the movies. No one yelled out that he was the man the NYPD was looking for. Nope. Each and every person was engrossed in their own lives. A bar was probably the best place he could be, or at least he hoped.
Sitting at the far end, he caught the female bartender's attention right off. A flirtatious smile parted her lips and she leaned in close, her shirt cut low with every intention of showing off her cleavage. Michael pushed away, avoiding her advances. He was in no mood.
"What can I get for you, hon?" she asked, her long fingernails tapping at the surface of the bar.
"A burger and fries."
"And to drink? You look like a whiskey man."
"Pepsi."
"You're kidding, right?"
Michael arched his eyebrow, his patience gone before he ever tried to stay calm. "Do I look like I'm kidding?"
She backed away from the bar and forced a laugh. "It's just... people don't generally come here for the food, if you know what I mean. And you, mister, look like you've had a hell of a day. A nice shot of whiskey might take the sting off."
He shook his head. She was good at reading him. "You have a keen eye for spotting things."
She edged the soda toward him, another smile on her face, this time more genuine and true. "I work this bar six days a week. I deal with a lot of people. Not sure what it is, but they love to pour their heart and soul out sitting right there where you are."
He drank down over half of the glass, savoring the instant sugar rush his body was craving. "Well you won't get that from me. Whatever people tell you, I'm sure my story is something you've never come across."
She folded her arms over her chest. "Try me."
"I think it'll do us both some good if I don't."
"I don't know, stranger. There's something about you that's alluring. You seem to have some mystery to you." She began to walk away and looked over her shoulder. "Maybe it's those green eyes against that darkness. Kinda like a little boy who is in trouble." She took a few more steps. "I'm gonna go check on your food. Our cook is pretty fast."
He didn't know who this girl was, but maybe she was right. Her job involved studying people, even if it was serving drinks. A lot could be told about a person by what he had in his glass. Looking around the room, he did some observing of his own. There were several groups of people here and there, all having a good time, oblivious to the fact that a wanted man was just a few feet away.
"Here's your burger. I'll leave you alone. Holler at me if you need anything. My name is Crystal."
"Thank you, Crystal." He wasted no time, digging into the food like it was a delicacy. The way he saw it, it was. It was the first meal he had since being on the run. He took heaving bites, savoring the juicy meat and crisp French fries. He didn't give Crystal another chance to come talk to him. If she continued her observation of him, she might reveal the truth. He left her money to pay for the meal and a good tip, and ducked back out into the street, leaving fast in the hopes that he didn't make a lasting impression on her. The less people saw him, the better.
Another hour had passed since he had turned his phone off. Flipping it open, he would do a quick check for messages and updates from Casey and then turn it off again. Hoping for something, his stomach did a back flip when he saw he had a voicemail. He stood in the dark shadow of an alleyway and paced, wondering what the message was, hoping for good news.
"Mikey McGinnis, this is your old pal Gregg Walsh. Man, you're famous here in New York now. Your face is painted all over the news. The cops want you back in their custody. How stupid was it to go torch another building once you were released? Or are you that crazy? Anyway, you and I both know the truth and it's time we end this once and for all. Call me when you get this. We have things to talk about."
Michael looked down at his phone, his gut reaction to throw it against the brick wall behind him. Gripping it tightly, he replayed the message as if he had missed some hidden meaning within it. Instead, Gregg's voice just sounded more evil, his laughter like nails on a chalk board. He hit the option to save it. Even though he didn't admit anything, it still could be considered evidence.
He had to keep his cool and not panic. Would it be stupid to call back? What if this was a trap?
***
Detective Reynolds stared at the case reports on her desk. A cop had reported that earlier he had seen McGinnis at Gregg Walsh's apartment. They chased him several blocks and even got out on foot to pursue him. As luck would have it, he had slipped through their hands and turned out to be a much quicker sprinter than the officer who was chasing him.
She sipped on her coffee, wincing at the sludge they thought they could pass off as drinkable. At least it was caffeine - something she desperately needed right now. Tossing the file aside, she buried her face in her hands and rubbed her temples. Her pounding headache seemed worse as each second passed. They
had to catch him. It wasn't a murder or an assault, but he was a firefighter and she had the police commissioner and head of the FDNY breathing down her neck. The commissioner firmly believed he did it and wanted him off of the street. FDNY wanted his innocence proven. As much as she stared at hers and Detective Vasquez's notes, she was starting to doubt everything.
"What's wrong, Reynolds? You look like you could sleep for days." Detective Vasquez sat across from her, dunking a jelly filled donut into his coffee.
"A little late for a donut?"
"You kidding? As long as they supply them, I'll eat them."
"Which explains that ever growing gut that's now hanging over your belt." She opened the file up again, not sure why. She could recite it all, word for word. "Just looking over things. We were so close to catching him today. Maybe if they'd cut out those damn donuts the cop could've caught him."
Vasquez shook his head. "We'll get him. He's gonna get tired and make a mistake."
"You think that maybe..." she cut herself off, knowing good and well that Vasquez wouldn't agree with what she was about to say.
"What? Spill it. You can't start something and not finish."
"You think McGinnis might not be guilty?"
His eyes widened and he laughed. "Seriously? What in the hell is making you have doubts so far into this?"
Reynolds shrugged and leaned back in her chair. "McGinnis said during one of his interrogations that we are really quick to find a suspect rather than the truth. What if what we've found against him is circumstantial? We moved fast and now I'm wondering if we moved too fast."
Vasquez finished off his donut, his expression skeptical. "His badge was at the scene. You know how those FDNY guys are. Stuff like that is sacred. He'd be a fool to let anyone have access to that. And none of this is circumstantial, or we would've never been able to get an arrest warrant and charge him for the crime."
She folded her arms over her chest. "I don't know, I guess I'm just over thinking things. He just doesn't seem like the type."
"One more thing for you to consider, Reynolds. If he wasn't guilty, why in the hell is he running? Huh?" Vasquez arched his eyebrow, flashing a sideways grin. "You're just tired. This will all be over soon and we'll have McGinnis in our custody."
Reynolds stood up and holstered her firearm. "I guess we better get out there. Start turning over some rocks. Otherwise, lord knows what'll happen."
It was a chilly night out. The streets were wet from the rain and if she wasn't mistaken, small flurries of snow were falling. The thought of McGinnis out on the street with no safe haven made her sympathize, but from a cop's point of view, made her realize that the weather would actually be on their side. He'd get desperate, and as Vasquez had said, would start making mistakes.
"Where we headed?"
She put the car into gear and merged out onto the street. "Down to the neighborhood he was last seen. The only reports we've really gotten about his whereabouts are from other cops. I'm surprised we haven't heard from any civilians."
"Consider the area we are going to, Reynolds. Not exactly a neighborhood where people pick up the phone to call us. They grow up being taught you don't tell us a damn thing, regardless of the situation."
"True, but just gauging their reactions to the questions will speak volumes."
She parked the car on the curb, her game plan to knock on doors and check local businesses. There were several bodegas and convenience stores that lined the street and she hoped that he had stopped off in one of them. It had been two days now, he was bound to get hungry and thirsty.
"I'll take this side of the street, you take the other." She pushed the door open to one of the stores, the bells above jingling to let the attendant know someone was there. He was an Indian man and a look of relief flashed across his face when he saw her badge. It was an odd reaction, but Reynolds had to assume he probably had a lot of bad things go on.
"I'm Detective Reynolds with the NYPD. Do you have time for a few questions?"
He shook his head. "Regarding?"
"Michael McGinnis, the firefighter who is on the run and accused of arson. Have you heard about it?"
"Of course. It's all over the newspaper. I don't watch much TV, but I have read about it."
At least the media was somewhat helpful, even if most of their articles were opinion. "Have you seen him? Has he come in here?"
The man looked up as if he were trying to remember. "I don't recall. I get a lot of customers, but I'd like to think I'd remember him if he did."
"Can I have your name?"
"Why? You think I'm harboring him?"
"No, of course not. I'm just taking notes so we can document everywhere we've been. It'll help me make a map of where he might be. He was spotted near here earlier so I'm just trying to grasp my bearings on it all."
"Abdul Azeez. Is this man dangerous?"
Reynolds clicked her pen shut. "That's a good question. I can't give an honest answer. Listen, if you do see him or even think you see him, please call me. This is my card." She handed it to him, taking note to all of the locations of cameras in the cramped store. It was likely they didn't work, but if she needed to, she'd get them subpoenaed. They weren't to that point, but at least she had options. "Have a good evening."
She walked back out to the sidewalk, noticing that Vasquez was already half way down the block. Damn it. Hopefully he was being thorough, but it could also mean no one was answering their doors. It was more residential on that side.
Going into the next business, she jotted down that it was a hole in the wall bar. There was a pretty bartender, multitasking as several patrons were lined up, yelling out their drink orders. The woman was all smiles, not even showing an ounce of distress at the sudden wave of people needing her assistance. Reynolds stayed back until the crowd cleared, wanting her full attention. Sometimes bartenders were the best people to get information from, and she remembered from her notes that McGinnis loved his booze, even if he was in recovery. A situation like this could easily have jolted him off of the wagon.
"I'm Detective Reynolds with the NYPD. Do you have a minute?"
The girl continued to wipe down the counter. "I'm Crystal. Good to meet you. I guess I have a second, but as you can see, the place is pumping tonight. What can I do for you?"
"Are you aware of the arson case that's going on? Firefighter on the loose accused of them?"
Crystal looked up. "No, why?"
"Maybe this will help you." She pulled out a picture of McGinnis and scooted it across the bar toward her. "Have you seen this man?" She watched closely, trying to hone in on Crystal's gut reaction.
She eyed the picture for a second, her eyes telling Reynolds that she recognized him. She backed away for a second, but went back to her task of cleaning. "Can't say that I have, Detective."
"Why did you hesitate?"
"Excuse me?"
"You looked at the picture and hesitated. You've seen him before, haven't you?"
Crystal poured a shot for someone at the bar and winked at them. "That's for you, baby." She turned back to Reynolds, her flirty demeanor fading quickly. "I see thousands of people come and go from here. Some needing a quick drink, some staying hours. Their faces start to run together."
"So it's possible he could've been in here tonight?"
"No."
"And how can you be so certain after the statement you just made to me?"
Crystal rested the rag on her shoulder, leaning in close. "Because if a good looking man like that came in here, I would definitely remember him."
"I think you're not telling me the complete truth, Crystal."
The bartender scoffed. "I've got another line going. I gotta get back to work."
"I'll be back when you have more time, Crystal."
When Reynolds went outside, Vasquez was waiting for her. "Any luck?"
"Nope," she replied. "You?"
"So far I've only had like two people answer their doors. And out of those two, I got
a fuck you and a go to hell. How about you?"
Reynolds couldn't help but smile at that. Should they have expected anything more? She was a fool for thinking so. "I think he's been at this bar."
"What makes you so sure?"
"Talked to the bartender. Might I add that she's female. Just something about her expression when she saw his picture. Almost like a moment of scintillating clarity. She's not admitting to it though, and I can't figure that out for the life of me. Why cover for him?"
"Maybe he took her to the back and banged her and she's scared she'll be in trouble if she admits that. You're a woman. You can't tell me you haven't noticed McGinnis and his Irish charm." He let out a raspy laugh and Reynolds knew he was just stirring the pot. It's what he did to try and be funny.
"You're kidding me, right Vasquez? I don't view my perps that way. And besides, he's completely devoted to Eva. I don't think he'd ever cheat on her."
"Just like everyone that knows him thought he'd never set fire to a building."
"It's beside the point. It doesn't matter if he had sex with that girl or not. You just don't like him. She's probably lying because of where we are. Like you said, they don't talk to cops here. Even if he did come here, I guess it doesn't matter. Obviously he's long gone by now."
Vasquez lit a cigarette and took a long drag. "So what next?"
"We keep looking. Maybe he'll think we've calmed down for the night and come out from hiding."
It was a stretch, but it was all Reynolds had at the moment. It was like the childhood game of hot and cold. They were hot right now, close to boiling, and if they let up, they'd be back at square one again.
Chapter Twenty
Michael ducked back into the alley when he saw a cop car down the block. Gregg wanted to meet him, but he was still contemplating on whether or not to call. A part of him wondered if it was a trap. What if Gregg was going to set him up and pin more evidence on him? What if the cops were tapped into his phone and they could locate Michael that way? He stared down at the option on his phone to replay the voicemail. Deciding not to, he pocketed the phone and went back toward the street, paranoid and looking over his shoulder the whole time.
