FOURTEEN
STEVE ARKIN swiftly descended upon a brick tenement building on the north end of Manhattan. He set down on a balcony. Peeking inside, the room was a disheveled mess, objects smashed and thrown everywhere. The glass balcony door had shattered.
He cautiously entered and flicked on a light to search through an overturned pile of video production equipment. A photo on a bookshelf showed that journalist, Rick Jenkins, alongside some African villagers. Steve raised it to examine.
From room to room, the apartment was left ransacked.
Steve felt his anger rise.
Memories flooded back from nowhere.
From the living room, Cathy screamed out, “Oww! Steve!”
He ran inside, looking around frantically. “What? What?”
Cathy held her hand over her eye, jumping about. “He hit me in the eye thi
