18. Scott #2
He folds his arms. “I’ll be right here, exactly where you left me.”
I hesitate anyway. “Naz–”
“I know, Scott. I’m fine, just go get this over with so you can tell me what the fuck we’ve actually been doing all day.”
“It shouldn’t take long.” At least I hope it won’t.
Turning to the entrance, I walk away from Naz with an uneasy feeling in my gut.
Inside, the locker facility is lit with fluorescent lights glaring off rows of lockers. It’s cool and dry compared to the muggy gray afternoon outside. A few people come in and out, but overall it’s not very busy. I look back at Naz once. He rolls his eyes dramatically and waves me on.
Might as well get this over with.
It takes less than a minute to find the correct aisle of lockers, but it’s on the opposite side and farther down, making me lose sight of Naz in the window.
Quickly, I key in the access code I was given. The door clicks open, and I breathe a sigh of relief when it’s empty inside. The thought had presented itself that this could be a trap and I could be walking into another explosive situation. Which is why I left Naz outside.
As instructed, I slide the backpack with Blake’s laptop and badge inside and close the door. The latch catches. And that’s it. Right?
I pull out my phone.
Scott: It’s done.
The vibration and shrill sound of my phone ringing almost makes me drop it.
Unknown Number Calling
For a second, I simply stare at it. They’ve never called me before. I’m not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing.
“Hello?”
A man’s voice greets me, slightly nasally and high-pitched, but calm enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“You failed me, Scott.”
I frown. “Now, hold on. That’s not fair. I did everything you asked.”
“I certainly didn’t tell you to bring him.”
My veins turn to ice, the heavy weight I carried in here dropping to the bottom of my stomach.
“He caught me swiping the laptop. I had to bring him. He won’t tell anyone, I promise. He trusts me… I trust him.”
The man scoffs. “You’re even more of an idiot than I thought you were.”
I look around, staring at the few people sharing the aisle with me. None of them are on their phones or remotely paying attention to me. Keeping my phone pressed to my ear, I quickly walk down the middle aisle, searching for anyone on their phone.
“You might be trustworthy, but those people you work for aren’t, Scott. They’re over-coddled, self-important, spoiled brats who think the world exists to cater to them. They ruin lives for their own entertainment and never lose a second of sleep over it.”
In the corner, there’s a curved mirror that allows you to see around the corner. There’s someone, a figure at the edge of the room where the light doesn’t quite reach well enough. The silhouette suggests they’re wearing a long coat, their arm bent like they’re holding a phone to their ear. Bingo.
In my haste to get to that part of the room, I nearly trip over a stack of boxes that doesn’t quite come up to my knee. The guy crouched at a lower locker curses and shouts at me to watch where I’m going, but I don’t stop.
By the time I round the corner, the figure is gone.
“Naz isn’t like that.”
I don’t think any of the guys are like that, actually. But right now I need to keep this guy talking while I make my way back to Naz, looking for my caller all the while.
“I told you this before,” he says, his voice growing agitated. “They don’t care about anyone but themselves. Certainly not some dumb meathead security guard.”
The moment the front window is in view, I stop in my tracks. I search every visible inch of the sidewalk outside the window. My eyes keep going back to the spot where I left him.
He isn’t there.
People stream past the windows carrying coffee and shopping bags. A few people enter the locker facility with their umbrellas dripping onto the polished concrete floor, but Naz is nowhere to be seen. I blink several times and look again. Nothing.
While the man continues to talk trash, all I can process is Naz not being in my line of sight. My pulse slams against my ribs, and I forget about looking for my caller. I push my way past a few people clogging up the entryway and make my way onto the sidewalk.
Rain hits my face, but I barely notice. I turn in a slow circle, searching every direction for his familiar face. His silhouette. The stupid I Heart NYC umbrella. His black t-shirt with the cuffs rolled. His ripped dark grey jeans. His black boots with faded dark pink flowers.
My eyes trace over the sidewalk, every nearby storefront, the crosswalk, the coffee stand across the street. There’s nothing.
Where is he? Where is he? He promised he wouldn’t move. He promised.
“As soon as you’re no longer useful, or make even the smallest mistake, they’ll throw you away. One mistake, one wrong word and you’ll be thrown out with yesterday’s liquor bottles.”
“You’re wrong.” I barely heard a word he said, only responding on instinct. I’m too busy focusing on moving. I cut around the side of the building, scanning every face I pass.
I call out, “Naz!” But there’s no answer, no sexy drummer waving me down or walking my way. He’s just… gone.
“I’ll prove it to you,” the man says almost cheerfully.
I stop. “What?”
“I’m going to prove how little you mean to them. I’ll show you exactly how little your pretentious, know-it-all little drummer boy cares.”
A cold weight settles in the pit of my stomach.
“You know what, do whatever you want,” I snap, breaking into a jog. “I’m done helping you.”
The man laughs. It’s a thin, nasally sound that somehow manages to sound both amused and disgusted. “Oh, you poor, simple man. You already gave me everything I need.”
The line goes dead.
Not bothering to spare the call another thought until I find Naz, I start to run. I double back to the front entrance, searching every bench, every storefront, every cluster of people standing huddled under awnings or umbrellas.
“Naz!” I yell, louder than before. Still nothing.
My hands are shaking by the time I pull the burner phone from my pocket and hit Cory’s number.
He answers on the first ring. “This is Cory.”
“Naz is gone,” I say quickly.
“What?”
“Naz is gone. The drop was a bust, and Naz… he just… disappeared.”
“Okay, hold on,” he says calmly. There’s a short pause, and then he’s back. “Looks like he saw something on the side of the building and took off towards the plaza.”
I stop and turn around so abruptly I nearly mow down a man carrying so many bags it looks like he might fall over. He mutters under his breath as he steps around me, and I keep weaving through people. Why are there so many fucking people?
“I’ve got eyes on the drop in case somebody decides to collect the bag. Touch base when you find Naz and then take him back to the condo. We’ll regroup and debrief later.”
Once I’m back around to the side of the building where I left Naz, I stop short when I make it just a few paces past where he was supposed to be.
A white umbrella with a red “I Heart NYC” logo on the side rolls on the ground, spurred on by a gentle wind and the rain that is still falling. Picking up speed, I sprint in the direction Cory mentioned, hoping against hope that Naz is just stupid and not hurt. Or worse.