Chapter 6: A Dangerous Encounter

The Bronx was a graveyard of ambition, and the wind whipping through the skeletal remains of the industrial district carried the scent of wet asphalt and regret. Dap tightened his trench coat, his eyes scanning the gloom as he ushered Maya into the narrow mouth of an alleyway. They had barely put three blocks between themselves and the ransacked warehouse when the silhouette of a man detached itself from a brick wall.

The stranger was dressed in a suit that cost more than a month of Dap’s rent, though it was currently dusted with the fine, gray grit of the neighborhood. He stood with his hands tucked into his pockets, his posture relaxed in a way that screamed professional training.

“You’re a hard man to track, Slade,” the stranger said. His voice was smooth, like oil poured over gravel. “I’ve been checking the usual haunts. The office on 42nd Street was empty, and your secretary is as tight-lipped as a tomb.”

Dap pushed Maya slightly behind him, his hand drifting toward the weight tucked into his waistband. “I don’t recall inviting company, and I certainly don’t recognize your face. Who’s asking?”

The man stepped into the pale yellow light of a flickering streetlamp. He had a thin mustache and eyes that darted around like trapped insects. “The name is Vane. I’m an investigator, same as you. I was hired by the same client, the girl’s mother, before she went missing. I’ve been tracking the logistics side of this mess for weeks.”

Maya stepped forward, her face a mask of hope and desperation. “You know where she is? My mother?”

Vane offered a sympathetic, lopsided grin. “I have a lead. A solid one. There’s a staging area just two blocks over, near the rail yard. It matches the movement patterns in the ledger you swiped from that diner. I saw your mother being moved there an hour ago. If we move now, we can get to her before the transport leaves for the upstate facility.”

Dap didn’t move. He felt the familiar, cold prickle at the back of his neck, the same sensation he got right before a floorboard gave way or a gun barrel poked through a curtain. The timing was too clean. The information was too convenient. Vane was offering a solution on a silver platter, but in this city, silver platters usually held nothing but a severed head.