New York City
April 24
Later that morning, Tox emerged from his building and found Foxy preparing to call it a day. Well, call it a night since it was 8 a.m. He scanned the familiar surroundings and again spotted the homeless man asleep in the recessed doorway of the building across the street.
“Who’s the new neighbor?” Tox inquired.
“Name’s Barrow. He’s not very chatty. I haven’t taken him cookies yet to welcome him to the neighborhood,” Foxy replied with her trademark snark.
“He a vet?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say. Can’t tell much about him really. Although, he is sporting some pretty nice kicks, so maybe he was at a shelter recently.”
“Let’s keep an eye on him.”
“I always do, baby.”
“I had another bed moved into the first floor. Oh, and the hot water’s fixed, so the shower should be good to go.”
“Music to my ears, sugar. I need both of those things right about now.”
Tox had an arrangement with Foxy. She and the friends she vouched for could use the first floor of the building to sleep, shower, and eat, but no business of any kind was to be conducted there or the deal was off. Foxy understood the act of kindness for what it was and never violated the terms. It was a bare warehouse with concrete floors, an open shower, and a couple of hot plates, but the five thousand square feet of secure space made Foxy feel like a queen.
“Later.” Tox turned and headed up the street.
Barrow, aka Caleb Cain, watched Tox prowl down the street to the F train. The uneven concrete of the recessed doorway was hell on his back, but this was the easiest way to both seize an opportunity to snatch the tube and monitor Miller “Tox” Buchanan. He busied himself poking through the trash can on the corner and muttering until Foxy seemed convinced of his act and retreated inside. Of all things, that dumb dog had almost blown his cover. The rottweiler clearly knew the scent of the man who had given her the big chew bone when Caleb had searched Calliope’s brownstone. Thankfully, the dog was friendly, so her enthusiasm for the homeless man didn’t arouse suspicion.
He made his way around to the back of the old building. The fire escape was detached from the brick in places, practically dangling at the bottom, but when he yanked on the old ladder it descended, the noise of the city masking the clatter. Carefully, he made his way up to the open window on the top floor.
Miller’s living space had no security whatsoever. Some of the windows didn’t even have hardware. Caleb stood in the vast open room and quickly squelched a foreign feeling of remorse. The place wasn’t unclean, quite the opposite. The cement floors were washed and swept. The industrial sink in the makeshift kitchen was devoid of dishes, the bed neatly made. The place seemed like it had a lot of potential; it seemed like it could be a cool place to live. What it didn’t seem like was a home.
He kept his observations clinical as he examined the space. He didn’t know when Tox would return but the groan of the industrial elevator would give him ample time to clear out. He moved about the room efficiently, sparing a cursory glance to unlikely locations. The neatly made bed, the organized clothes and shoes, the bedside table with a lamp, a phone charger, and a worn copy of an old Ludlum novel, a particularly good one as he recalled. The dresser was bare but for three framed photos: two young boys in the middle of a colorful leaf pile, eight guys in BDUs in front of a Blackhawk, an older couple decorating a Christmas tree. He stared at the photos, momentarily blindsided by the odd conflation of emotions they evoked. He turned away from the dresser. Focus. Job.
Then Caleb spotted the leaky pipe Calliope Garland had mentioned when he posed as Detective Costello. In the ceiling of the kitchen area, a poorly fitted and no doubt jerry-rigged PVC pipe leaked steadily into a saucepan on the counter. At least Miller hadn’t attempted the repair yet. That was something. He examined the space, looking in the three metal cabinets that at one time probably housed industrial supplies. They now contained a half-full box of Fruit Loops, an unopened bag of pretzels, and a couple of pots and pans. Under the sink were a plunger, some dish soap, a package of sponges, and an old cookbook.
Caleb took a moment to cork his frustration when something caught his eye. Next to the cleaning items was a small circular watermark where something cylindrical might have stood. He stared at the leaky pipe above him then the void in the cabinet below. It would have been a logical place to set his tube. He ran a hand down his face. Logical or not, it didn’t really matter. What mattered was that it wasn’t there now.
Caleb didn’t allow himself to be mired in what-ifs—years of practice had honed the skill—so he made his way toward the fire escape and contemplated his options. There were always options.