Nightcrawler (3 page)

“Well, it sure is coming at a heck of a time for us,” she exhaled tautly. “When are you planning on leaving?”

“I was really thinking about the end of next month. I'd be more than happy and work with Micah Malloy and get him up to speed to replace me, that is, if you don't have anyone else in mind. I'd also love to set up some power lunches and get you out to meet with some of those old fogeys. In my opinion, I think you'll do a great job, and I'm going to do my best to let everyone else know it.”

“I'll be doing my best to make sure you don't go to Florida feeling like you left a train wreck behind you,” she said sweetly.

She was about to wrap it up at the office when she got a call on her cell phone from Hoyt Wexford. Her heart jumped for joy as it was the bright spot in a cloudy day thus far. Jon Aeppli seemed a bit moody, undoubtedly over the discussion they had the other night. Ryan Hoffman also seemed down in the dumps, and that wasn't making his close friend Rick Alfonso very happy.

“Hoyt! How are you!”

“Great. I just thought I'd touch bases, see what your schedule looked like this week.”

“I'd love to go down and meet you tomorrow night,” she replied happily. “It's been kinda stressful around here, and I could really afford to let off some steam.”

“Sounds like a plan. How're things going at the corporate office? I'll bet it's really exciting, being the new CEO of the family company.”

“I'll tell you, Hoyt, it's kinda like jumping out of an airplane wondering if your parachute's gonna work,” she managed a laugh, gazing out the window overlooking the East River from the scenic view along the Staten Island shore. “Say, big guy, I gotta go. I was just getting ready to close it down for the evening. Six o'clock at the YMCA tomorrow?”

“You got it. Just be gentle with me, okay?”

“Not to worry. The gym manager pulled me over after our last workout. No more women rolling around in the YMCA.”

“Good. I've got some forms and technique drills that resemble insanity workouts. See you tomorrow, green eyes.”

“Bye.”

All of a sudden, Hoyt Wexford had her walking on air.

Sabrina met Hoyt at the YMCA the next evening and it was one of the most enjoyable times she had in a long while. They worked out for about an hour, and Hoyt was somewhat surprised that she was able to keep the pace with him. She suspected that he was intensifying the routine to assert himself, but when he realized he wasn't going to wear her out, he settled into a more rhythmic flow. She was concerned that he might feel threatened by her, especially since he was a cop living in an alpha male environment. Yet she sensed a soft and caring side to him, and she hoped to tap into that if anything meaningful developed between them.

“Gee, you're in great shape,” she smiled as she toweled herself off after the workout. “I could barely keep up.”

“Don't blow smoke up my nose,” he scoffed. “You're like a cardiovascular machine. I'd hate to see you on a track, you'd be making Olympic sprinters cry. Tell you what, why don't we go get something to eat so I can load you up on some carbs? Maybe next time I'd have a better chance keeping up with you.”

He met her out in the lobby and was caught off guard as she emerged from the women's locker room. She had her hair pinned up, wearing a dark blue power suit which accentuated her lovely legs, with matching high heels, Gucci purse and a tasteful pearl necklace. It was a far cry from how she dressed as a student at John Jay, and he almost felt self-conscious in his NYPD baseball jacket and hangout clothes.

“Geez, lady, I can't imagine what you look like when you get dressed to go out,” Hoyt managed a laugh.

“Well, I'll take that as a compliment,” she arched an eyebrow. “You think we can go over to my car so I can drop off this gym bag?”

He walked her to the nearby parking garage, admiring the Mercedes-Benz she inherited from her father. They next headed over to the Caracas Arepa Bar on East 7
^th
Street where they opted for the La Vegetariana platter on the Curiaras menu. She found the traditional Spanish décor pleasing and the local ambiance cozy with the college crowd and local professionals that frequented the restaurant.

“So how's that promotion looking for you?” she asked as she savored a bite of her Leek Jardinera
arepa
. She walked around hungry most of the time and depended on her veggie snack bag, vitamins and bottled water to get her through each day. “You haven't said much about it.”

“Well, I'm not sure how it's gonna go down,” he replied as he took a sip of his iced tea. “There's probably a couple hundred guys competing for five open slots. Everybody wants to be on the SWAT team. It's some fierce competition, with all the guys having returned from Iraq and Afghanistan, plus the guys messing with the mixed martial arts. I'm gonna give it my best shot and hope for a miracle or two.”

“Don't think like that,” she insisted. “It can't be all about brute force. Guys who get picked for special units have to be intelligent as well. They've got to be able to think on their feet, they just can't run out there like GI Joe and blow up everything in sight. Look at those fellows who took out Bin Laden. Pulling the trigger must've been the easy part.”

“You're right about that,” he smiled. “Maybe you'll be my lucky charm. With a little brains and a lotta luck, anything can happen.”

“Good,” her eyes sparkled. “I'll give you a picture of me you can carry around like a rabbit's foot.”

“You know, I'd really like that.”

They finished their meal and he walked her back to her car. Most of the NYU students had returned to campus for their night classes, and the lot was fairly deserted.

“So, same place next time?” he sounded hopeful as she cut off the alarm and popped the car door.

“Well, uh, I was wondering,” she was hesitant. “You know, there's this church I go to down on the Bowery, it's about ten minutes from here. They have these lunch fellowships once a month, and they've been inviting me to go for a while now. I was wondering, if you weren't doing anything on Sunday morning, maybe I can meet you out there. The pastor has a great message and the people are friendly. We could go on over and have lunch with the brothers and sisters afterward if you'd like.”

“Go to church?” he was surprised. “I don't know if they'd want me in there, I was raised Catholic. My folks are Irish all the way.”

“They're non-denominational, that means anyone can come,” she said cheerily. “I went through twelve years of parochial school myself.”

“Okay, let me figure this out,” he shook his head. “A beautiful ex-candidate for the police academy, running her own chemical company, and a churchgoer to boot. You're something else, Bree.”

“Well, thanks,” she blushed.

“I'll give you a buzz on your cell phone Saturday, okay?” he patted her shoulder, giving it an affectionate rub before he walked off.

“Sounds great. Be careful,” she called to him, feeling her heart skip a beat as he headed off into the darkness.

The next morning, she arrived at the office and was surprised to see Ryan Hoffman waiting at the receptionist's desk for her. She normally got there an hour early to set a good example for the one hundred employees at the facility. Jon, Ryan and Rick usually arrived a half hour after she did. She felt her gut tighten as she fervently hoped that Ryan was not going to be the next one to announce his resignation.

“Good morning, Miss Brooks,” he seemed ill-at-ease. “Can I have a word with you?”

“Why sure, Ryan. Try Sabrina,” she smiled uncertainly. “C'mon in.”

Ryan took a seat in front of her desk after closing the door behind him. He seemed under a lot of stress and appeared not to have gotten enough sleep.

“I know you went to John Jay for a while and probably made some connections with people in the police department,” he began. “I was kind of wondering if you may have someone you could reach out to with a personal problem.”

“Well, no one anywhere up the ladder, but the guy I'm going to church with carries a badge.”

“Miss Brooks—Sabrina—I've got a problem,” he said hoarsely.

She sat quietly as he told her all about the women who met with him at the Trinity Restaurant. She remained impassive, taking notes as he told her everything that had happened. After he finished, he appeared as if about to cry, and she realized she would have to earn his trust as the first step in resolving the problem.

“First off, I really don't think you're going to have to worry about your wife and kids,” she said reassuringly. “I'd bet the deed to this place that your wife already knows. Females have this thing called intuition that they use a lot. I've been a female all my life, I should know.”

They shared a laugh as Ryan wiped a tear from his eye.

“I'm pretty sure your kids know too. If they've accepted you all your life, they're not gonna stop any time soon. Now, I want you to go back to your desk and write down everything you can remember about the meeting with those two women. Tell me what they looked like, what they sounded like, anything I can use to see if these two have any priors. From what you're telling me, I'll bet you lunch at Mickey D's they do.”

“Thank you, Sabrina,” he managed. “Thank you so much.”

“I wouldn't worry about this place either,” she added. “We've got quite a few gay men working here, and I think they know too. You'll always have a job here.”

He thanked her profusely as he returned to his office, leaving Sabrina wondering how she was going to deal with a problem like this without throwing Ryan Hoffman under a bus.

She got a call later in the day from one of the women at the church, which came as a surprise because no one had ever called from the congregation before. She was in the middle of reviewing Chris Assante's sales assessment and report sheets, trying to figure what would be her best strategy for damage control. She wasn't sure whether her best move would be to kiss the butts of some of her biggest clients and try to keep them in the fold, or take the gamble and reach out to the best prospects and see whether they could help take up the slack. Her gut feeling was to start with a clean slate, but she knew a major exodus of high-paying clients could prove disastrous.

“Miss Brooks?” she recognized the voice. “This is Audrey Smith from church. I really didn't want to bother you, but something's come up and I was just trying to reach out to as many people from the congregation that I could.”

No, no bother at all,” she took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “What's up?”

“I think you may have heard about the support group we were trying to organize for some of the at-risk teenagers in some of our families,” Audrey replied. “It's just not happening quickly enough for some of them. I'm sure you've heard about the crack epidemic that's been plaguing our community. A lot of the young girls and unwed mothers are being victimized by drug addicts trying to get money to support their habits. Lots of these guys are resorting to violence, and it's getting completely out of control. Some of the girls are having to leave their homes and have no place to stay. We were thinking that maybe if we put our heads together, we can figure out a way to help some of them.”

“All right, I'll be leaving here in an hour or so, I'm at the office right now. I can meet with you at the church about six-thirty.”

She slumped back in her overstuffed swivel chair, kicking her stockinged heels against the carpet in exasperation. She had so much to do to keep the company afloat, she felt as if she was the one who was drowning. She had agreed to lend a hand with the outreach program at the church, but this was coming at an inopportune time. Yet she did not want to let the congregation down, and was starting to feel as if her obligation to the church was becoming the most important in her life. Her father's company was the most important thing in her world, but she knew her relationship to God was bigger than her world.

It was with that in mind that she drove down to the church, where Pastor Mitchell and twelve of the women of the church awaited. She found out that there were six young girls who were relatives of church members who were in desperate need of emergency shelter. The Pastor had arranged for lodging for three of them, and two would be allowed to spend the night here at the church with their infants. One of them was placed in lockdown by her crack addict boyfriend, and he was holding her incommunicado after severely beating her the night before.

“She refuses to press charges, and her six-year-old son is too afraid for her to say anything to the police or the social workers,” the pastor explained. “The man of the house in belligerent and violent, and her aunt believes he's trying to get her to sign over her savings she's set aside to care for the boy. He sells their benefit cards and uses whatever's left of their welfare money on crack.”

“Okay,” Sabrina exhaled. “I'll go over with sister Rita and see if we can get him to let her have medical treatment.”

“Please be careful,” he insisted. “I'd go with you but the girls who are staying here are very afraid that the men may be coming after them over here. The police are being very cooperative but they don't have the resources to leave a patrol car out here.”

Rita Hunt was a tall, attractive woman standing 5'6” and weighing 130, with shoulder length chestnut hair and a pretty Scottish face. She and Sabrina had chatted numerous times after services and hit it off well, though she was ten years older than Sabrina at thirty-four. She was unhappily married, had a daughter, and relied on God and the church as her place of refuge. The abused girl, Emma, was a great-niece who she had only seen a couple of times over the past five years. The family turned to Rita in desperation and she, in turn, turned to the church.

Hijo Shabazz had been in prison for over a dozen assaults and robberies, and was in and out of treatment for crack addiction. He met Emma in Alphabet City in the Bowery near Avenue A and East 7
^th
Street, and moved in with her in exchange for free crack. Once he got her addicted, he began having sex with her and began presenting himself to neighbors as her boyfriend. Shabazz stood 6'3” and weighed 200 pounds, and had little problem physically controlling the 5'2”, 110 pound girl. He ruled her three-year-old son Bobby with an iron hand, and beat Emma unmercifully when he did not get his way.

The women pulled up in Sabrina's black Porsche, which she alternated with her Dad's Mercedes Benz during the week for variety. They walked into the three-story brownstone and wrinkled their noses at the strong odor of urine and used diapers in the vestibule. The doorbell did not work and the front door was broken open, so they walked to the rear of the grungy hall and knocked on the door of apartment 1-B.

“Hello?” tiny Bobby appeared in the doorway.

“Hi, Bobby, I'm your Aunt Rita, remember me? Can I speak to your Mommy?”

“What the hell you opening that door for!” they heard a monstrous voice roar from inside. “Get your little butt back here!”

“But it's my Aunt Rita!” the little boy was frightened.

“I don't care if it's Barack Obama! Get your ass in here!”

At once the women were taken aback by the ferocious-looking black man appearing in the doorway, wearing a stained, sleeveless T-shirt over his tattooed body and cornrows in his hair. His eyes bulged with rage and his giant lips bared to reveal gold-capped teeth.

“What the hell you women want?” he demanded.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” Rita was appalled. “I'm Emma Hunt's great-aunt. The family was notified after she was taken to the hospital the other day. Her mama lives in Kentucky, and they asked me to come out and make arrangements for her and the little boy to go down and visit until she gets to feeling better.”

“She ain't going nowhere!” he snarled. “I takes care of her right here, and she be fine!”

“Sir, I'd like to speak with her and have her tell me it's fine with her.”

“Look, she ain't feelin' well and she ain't takin' no visitors! Now get your white asses out my doorway and I'll have her call you.”

“Sir, there is no reason to have an attitude towards me,” Rita insisted, stepping towards the doorway. “I insist on seeing if my niece is okay!”

“And I told you she ain't seeing no one!” he feinted towards her, causing her to nearly stumble backwards.