The Thomas Blume Series

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The van didn’t seem like any city-issued model I was familiar with, which automatically sent my old police instincts into overdrive. What really screwed with me though, was that Stan and Ollie, the two cops from the airport, had climbed in behind me and were sitting opposite on a bench seat. In the front, a shaven-headed man, bearded, with muscles like a bear glanced back at me through the rearview mirror. Other than my three unlikely companions and myself, the van was empty. I could see no evidence of criminal activity as we rumbled downtown.

“Okay, so who’s going to tell me what this is all about?” I asked. “Because if this is a tour of the city, you guys are missing all the sights.”

No one answered my attempts to lighten the mood. As I looked from one man to the next, I guessed the driver would be the only real threat. Both Stan and Ollie were pushing sixty. While they were both equipped with side arms and cuffs, I was pretty sure that a couple of well-placed right hooks would drop them.

“Is this just how they greet ex-cops back in the Big Apple now?” I joked. “Look, I’m a fan of Broadway as much as the next man, but isn’t this a bit theatrical?”

Still, no response. I stared at one of the cops, waiting to see if I could figure him out. But all the cop did was glower through the windshield, not intimidated, just doing his best to ignore me.

“Tough crowd,” I said and gave up.

These three were not going to give me any information. Whoever had hired them had clearly given them instructions stay tight-lipped. I wasn’t going to get any answers until the van stopped.

Rather than trying to rile these men up in the hopes that they might reveal some information, I relaxed as much as I could and gazed out of the window. The New York City skyline rolled by like it had in so many movies, but as any local knows, movies just can’t capture the majesty of the city as you’re driving into its heart.

Damn, I’d missed this place. For all its flaws, it was my home. Under better circumstances, I would have enjoyed the drive. As it was I sat, awaiting my fate in uncomfortable silence.

I studied the route the driver was taking, and within ten minutes, we were on territory I knew well. Maybe too well. As familiar buildings and street names passed by the window, each landmark churned up a series of memories I had not reflected on in what seemed like forever.

We passed Sumner Street, where I used to hang out with friends at the age of ten or so, buying baseball cards from the mom-and-pop sports collectibles store. Not too far after that, we passed a building that, until about fifteen years ago had been the National Theater, where I had not only seen my first movie but years later also dared to put my hand on a girl’s leg for the first time…and had it slapped away.

The memories scuffled through my mind like drunk wanderers in a strange place—disorganized and chaotic. It was hard to imagine that those things had happened to me. They seemed like events from another life, belonging to someone I had never met.

I was struck by another pang of nostalgia five minutes later as the van drove by the apartment complex Sarah had lived in when we met. As an NYPD detective eager to prove himself, I had stumbled into a case that had almost cost me my life. Instead, I had met an English reporter with a penchant for getting herself into trouble. I had berated her for putting herself at risk, and she had criticized me for being an “over-protective American.”

Three weeks later, we were having dinner twice a week. A month after that we moved in together. Eventually, our son, Tommy, arrived. And after that, it all happened far too quickly…all the way down to their deaths.

Sarah…

I blinked the memories away and pulled myself back into the moment. Knowing it would do no good, I asked again: “Where are we going?”

No one bothered to answer, although I did manage to get a faint smile from the driver. Success, of sorts.

I continued to watch through the window and started to get a very bad feeling. We were in Midtown, a strip called Clinton, a.k.a Hell’s Kitchen. It wasn’t too far away from where I had been raised. A series of thoughts raced through my mind, but before I could sort through any of them, the driver signaled right, pulled into a narrow alleyway, and then came to a stop.

The towering brick walls on either side and at the abandoned alley behind set my mind racing. I could feel the sweat beading on my skin. If this was a hit, it was the perfect place for it.

Shit.

I tensed, ready for my moment. Maybe I would get a chance.

The cops looked to the brawny driver, and all three of them nodded to one another. Oliver pulled the lever in the sliding door and rolled it open. A dingy street and a brick wall greeted us on the other side.

“Get out,” Stan said, his hand resting on the grip of his Glock.

I raised my hands in surrender and stepped out of the cool van into the oppressive humidity once more. I tensed my muscles, ready to fight or run if I had to. Adrenaline filled my body, panic too. I had to act, but how?

I was outnumbered, and if I ran, there was only a dumpster and a few trash bags in sight, not enough cover if my captors decided to open fire. Maybe if I managed to grab one of the men as a hostage—

My breath caught in my throat. Another man stood in the alleyway, in the deep shadow of a doorway, waiting for me. He stood with one hand resting on a pistol, face hidden beneath a hooded sweater. A few inches shorter than me at 5’8” but stocky with a build that showed through his plain clothes. A police badge hung around his neck from a chain.

When he spoke he sounded pissed…but somehow familiar.

“I’ll tell you something, Blume,” the man said, stepping forward. “You sure do have a lot of balls showing up around here again.”

“What can I say,” I quipped, stalling for time. “I missed the New York hospitality.”

He didn’t seem impressed by my comment, and I wracked my brain for the past wrongs I may have done here. Finally, the man slowed his advance, gripping his gun. I stood my ground, well aware that the other cops all around had frozen in place, no doubt waiting to see what happened next.

“Look I don’t know what this is all about but—”

“Enough!” The hooded figure snapped.

The man stopped dead ahead and removed his hood. He wore a cap with dark, curly hair tucked beneath it, reflecting his Latino features. Features I knew well.

Rey Sanchez cracked a smile and broke into uncontrollable laughter. One that was echoed by all the cops around me.

I’d been had.

“You son of a b***h,” I shook my head and allowed myself a wry smile.

“You should have seen your face, man!” Rey howled with laughter before scooping two large breaths and pushing his giggles down.

“Yeah, yeah.” I rolled my eyes. They had gotten me good.

I stepped forward, as did he, and we gave each other the sort of hug old friends share after a long time apart.

He was my friend, after all. And damn, it was good to see him. I hadn’t seen my old partner since I had left for London a year ago.

“How you doing, Rey?” I asked as we broke the hug. I threw a teasing jab at his jaw and he blocked it with his beefy forearm.

“Me, I’m doing fine,” he said. “But I’m always good, as you can tell.”

I turned to the two cops and the driver, gathered together at the hood of the van, and they all gave me a guilty-as-charged look.

“Still an asshole, I see,” I said, smiling.

“Oh, always,” Rey agreed. “But hey, man, I’m glad to see you back in town. It hasn’t been the same here without you. That’s why I arranged the little welcome committee—we couldn’t have you getting a cab now could we?”

“No, that would be far too simple,” I quipped, and Rey struggled to fight off another laughing fit.

“Anyway, welcome to the new HQ,” he managed to say between breaths, stretching an arm out to encompass the building next to us.

Outside the van, I took a better look at my surroundings. The vehicle had pulled into an alley on the other side of the street from the police precinct I had once worked at. This new building next to us was all red brick and glass. I’d been so wrapped up in my trip down nostalgia boulevard I hadn’t even noticed.

“So, let my buddies here take your bags to the station,” Rey said. “You and I have some catching up to do.”

“Sure,” I said. “Thanks, guys.”

One of the officers took my bags from the van and started for the street entrance. I followed his direction and saw the old familiar station on the other side of the street. It looked exactly the same, except that it was clearly closed down in favor of the new building. I was expecting a bigger pang of sentimentality but didn’t get one.

“Good flight?” Rey asked.

“As far as flights go,” I said, “I might have had a few drinks.”

“Blume, it’s not even noon yet.”

“Yeah, but I’m still on London time. It’s after three o’ clock there.”

“Right, right. It’s always happy hour somewhere, huh?”

I shrugged. “So…other than scaring the hell out of old friends, what else have you been up to?”

“Same s**t, different days, different location. You know how it is. Wrapped up a multiple homicide case last week and just started the legwork on what looks to be a serial rapist case.”

“Ah, the glamorous life of the New York cop.”

Police work is a little like sweeping the streets. No matter how much filth you clean up, there’s always more s**t to shovel.

“How about you?” he asked.

“Up and down,” I answered, waving a dismissive hand. “In London, I was lucky to knock my first big job out of the park and made it into some of the papers. It’s a small country and a little recognition helps cut advertising costs. I’m booked solid for the next couple of months at least, but it’s not always easy.”

“Ah, the big shot P.I.,” Rey teased. “Better than stale donuts and paperwork, huh?”

“I do plenty of paperwork. Invoices, bookwork. Never ending. The Brits love shuffling papers from one desk to another.”

“Sounds real tough.”

“Yeah, it’s a breeze,” I said, rolling up my sleeve to show him the long scar on my forearm. “A souvenir from the life of a big shot P.I.”

“Ouch.” He frowned. “Should I ask?”

“Probably not,” I replied.

“So how are you finding the time to come to New York? What is this…like a vacation?”

“Far from it,” I said.

Rey was apparently waiting for a punch line. We used to joke about everything, but things were different now. I was different. When my face remained stone, he frowned. “Sounds serious. Come on, man. Let’s head inside, and you can tell me about it. Sound good?”

“Sure,” I said as we headed down the alley and toward the streets I’d cut my cop teeth on. “But I really just need to speak to the Captain.”

Rey glanced sideways at me as we pushed into the entrance. “Ah, there might be a problem with that.”