Chapter 7: Orders

Jake looked at the phone. As he stared at it he realized that he was gambling with human life. While he didn't like gambling with his own life, he had done it a thousand times. He knew his hand and he knew how to play it, but he didn't ever want to gamble with someone else's. Beyond the fact that it was wrong to put someone else in danger (for Jake was indeed far beyond that point), he had no idea how the other person would react. He had meet Gabriel Bowman a couple of times and Sara had talked about him a couple of times. Jake was left with the impression that the young man was both smart and brave and opportunistic (he was a dot-commer after all). But how smart, how brave, how keen on opportunities was unknown, at least to Jake. As he stared at the key pad he made a decision.

His palms started sweating when he dialed the direct number the kidnapers had given him and when the familiar girl's voice answered, demanding "Talk," Jake found his mouth suddenly dry.

"Hey," he finally managed to stutter. "It's me, Jake McCarty."

"I know who it is, what do you want?"

"Ah," Jake stuttered. "I've been talking with Sara."

"The mark?"

"Yeah," Jake stuttered, disturbed by the girls choice of words. "She, ah, she thinks you killed him."

"What?" the girl asked, bewildered. "Didn't you see the tape?"

"Yeah, she thought it was a red herring, she thinks you're taunting her."

"Aren't we? Isn't that what you want?"

"What I want," he said, taking a deep breath, "is for Gabriel to call Sara."

"What?"

"I want you to put him on the phone. He should call Sara and tell her he's alive and that, ah, the whole thing's her fault."

"You're kidding."

"No."

"Did you see that tape, he doesn't read from cards."

"Put a gun to his head, he will."

"You know, that doesn't really work. Did you even see the tape?"

"Look, if you want the rest of your money you'll do it."

"Yeah, that brings me to another question, how are you gonna pay us? And when is this job gonna be done?"

"When Sara comes to me and says Gabriel called her, I'll call you and work it out."

"Promise?"

"Yeah," Jake said, again, taken aback by her choice of words. "Call Sara."

He pulled the phone away from his ear and hung up the phone. He was feeling sick again.

***

Sara sat in waiting room outside of Christopher McCann's office. He was taking a very important call and would be with her in a moment. "I'm sure he'll be right with you Miss Pezzini,' the secretary said. "He's on an important call right now, I'll let him know you're here as soon as he hangs up."

"Right," Sara said, sighing and sitting down on the couches across from his door. They felt like cardboard. She considered picking up one of the magazines in the waiting area, but they were mostly about health and fashion, neither were subjects she was particularly interested in, so instead she decided to watch McCann through the fogged glass on his door. He seemed to be very upset at whomever he was talking to, he kept clenching and unclenching his fists and, for some reason, his silhouette gave Sara the impression of a violent man. When he opened the door, after his call was over, his face was very red. "God damn those asses in billing, like it's so hard to find the right New Jersey zip code."

"I don't know," Sara interrupted. "It's been my experience it's hard to find anything in New Jersey."

McCann's red face suddenly became white. He glanced over his shoulder and looked at Sara with something like terror in his eyes.

"Sir," The secretary said nervously. "Miss. Pezzini from the NYPD is here to see you again."

Cautiously, Sara took a step forward, "Are you alright, Mr. McCann?" Sara asked, it was almost an accusation, If he wasn't alright, she wanted to know why. Something in the back of her mind was telling her that she had no real reason to be suspecting him of anything nefarious. Still, every ounce of instinct inside of her told her she had her man. "Is something wrong?"

He looked at her with sharp suspicion, she could almost see the thoughts dancing around in his head: 'Does she know?' 'Will she figure it out?' 'Is there someone else I can blame?'

The man opened his mouth, presumably to lie, but he was interrupted by a ringing on Sara's cell phone. McCann almost smiled, "Perhaps you should answer that," he said with a forced calm. "Please, use my office."

Sara looked at him skeptically, what she wouldn't give now for the Witchblade to give her a flash of insight, a moment of knowledge. But still, her weapon remained silent.

"Thanks," she clipped, as she pulled out her phone and walked into his office, closing the door behind her. What Sara really wanted to do was sit at the keyhole and listen to what McCann did and said. But the phone was ringing and, even though Sara didn't recognize the number, she had a sense that she should answer it.

"Yeah?" she snapped as she kept her eyes on the silhouettes through the fogged glass on the door and her ears strained to hear what was going on in the next room.

"Hey Sara," Gabriel's voice said, soft, strained, and trembling just a little. "How you doin'?"

"Oh my God!" Sara said, quickly forgetting everything around her but his voice. "Gabriel, are you alright, where are you?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, relatively."

"Relatively? Oh God Gabriel, if they've hurt you . . ."

"Sara, Sara, I'm fine, really. I just need you to find me."

"I will, I swear Gabriel. Soon. But I don't know where you are, could you possibly tell me? Anything, anything at all?"

"I don't know Sara," Gabriel said apologetically.

"That's alright," she said, trying to sound as supportive and encouraging. "I'll find you, just sit tight, I will find you."

"Ok," Gabriel said, it sounded to Sara as if he was building up courage, "Pez, I got something to tell you."

"What?" she asked eagerly.

She heard him take a deep breath "One's a man thirty-fiveish, six and change, just over 200 pounds, dirty blond hair. There's a girl late teens, five six, 'bout a 100 pounds, blond . . . . . ." Then there was a sort of thud and clatter, it sounded to Sara like the phone had been knocked out of his hand.

Sara's heart stopped as there was a moment of silence and then started again violently as the familiar voice of the young woman from the video said, "He was lying! He doesn't know what he's talking about!"

"I swear I will hunt you down," Sara said, articulating every word with a precise venom in her voice.

"Ah," the girl whimpered weakly, "bye." and the phone went dead.

"Hello?" Sara demanded into her cell phone, "Hello?" but there was no answer. She lowered it from her ear and looked at it, on the little display screen there was a phone number with a New York area code. Ten damning digits. She knew it was hopelessly foolish to think that she had just found the phone number of the place where Gabriel was, anyone who could hide an eight hundred number couldn't possibly be foolish enough to let run of the mill caller-id identify them. But still, just maybe they could.

Sara quickly jotted down the number on a pad of paper on McCann's desk and then, quickly, called Jake.

"McCartey."

"Hey," Sara said. "I need you to check out a number for me."

"Yeah," Jake sounded hesitant, maybe he was just busy. "'Kay, I've got a pen and paper, shoot."

"Eight, six, one, five, five, five, nine, three, four, two."

"Three, four, two . . ." Jake said slowly. "Got it."

"If it's a building I want you to go there right away, I think it's were they're keeping Gabriel."

"Really?"

"If it's a person get me name, address, work, everything, got it?"

"Sure, Sara," Jake said.

"Thanks," she was about to hang up but he kept talking

"Sara?"

"What?"

"Does this mean you trust me?"

She hesitated on that question, did she trust Jake? She hadn't meant to, she hadn't consciously decided to forgive him for hiring a hit man to abduct her friend. She had called him purely out of instinct, habit, and because, otherwise, she would have no idea who to call.

"No, it means I need you," she said. "As soon as Gabriel's safe we can talk about trust."

"I'm so sorry Sara."

"Then find him," she said hanging up. With a deep breath she put her cell phone in her pocket and ripped the leaf of paper with the kidnappers number off the pad. Folding it in half she put it in the back pocket of her jeans as she walked to the door and opened it. "Thank you for letting me use your office, Mr. McCann," she said politely. She was going to add that the call had been very important police business but when she looked at him she noticed something startling, he was thirty-fiveish, six and change, just over 200 pounds, with dirty blond hair.

"Um," she stuttered quickly, glancing away so that he couldn't see the shock of realization in her eyes. "I just had one quick question for you."

He seemed nervous, "Ask away."

"Any luck finding that number?"

"Ah," he seemed relived, "no, no, sorry."

"That doesn't surprise me," Sara said, trying to make her voice sound light and congenial. "Well, thanks for your time."

McCann looked at her like he expected more, "That's it?"

"That's it."

"Oh," he said, "Well, thank you then, or, you're welcome I guess."

Sara smiled and him as he turned, uncertainly, and backed into his office. Once the door was closed Sara decided to drop her 'friendly' demeanor, she turned to the secretary, Mrs. Tripper, with her usual cool, calculating, cop attitude.

"So," she said, not even pretending to make small talk, "You've worked for him long?"

"Do you suspect him?"

"Maybe. You know anything?"

The secretary sighed and glanced away. She was a house wife type of woman, not thin but not fat either, a nice weight of a woman who's to busy to care about body image. She had thin hands that must have been good at typing and a soft face made softer by the perm in her black hair. Sara got the feeling that Mrs. Tripper didn't want to betray her boss. But Sara also had the feeling that she wanted to be connected with something illegal even less. "I really don't want to . . ."

"Look, I can ask you these questions here or I can ask you them downtown, it makes no difference to me," Sara said. That was a boldfaced lie, but Mrs. Tripper didn't know that, besides it sounded impressive.

Mrs. Tripper seemed to make a decision. "In all honesty, Miss Pezzini," the secretary said softly. "I wouldn't be surprised if he was behind it."

"Really?"

"Toph has this dark side to him, sometimes you can tell something's not quite right."

"Excuse me, what did you just call him?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. McCann."

"No, you used a nickname or something."

"Do you mean Toph?"

"Yes," Sara said her voice cool and restrained, excitement was bubbling up inside her, she kept a lid on it.

"It's short for Christopher, I don't know why he doesn't just go by Chris."

"So he uses that name often?"

"Everybody calls him that."

"Son of a bitch," Sara said under her breath, Jake had been right about the video.

"Excuse me?"

"Is there someone, a girl, younger, named Nat?"

Mrs. Tripper looked uncomfortable, "Do your really need to know this, it's so personal . . ."

"He's suspected of being a kidnaper for hire," Sara said, her voice was hushed and serious. "If you want I could show you the video tape they sent the man's friends. Do you want to see the blood dripping down his face? The look in his eyes when he talks about the gun pointed at his head?"

"His girlfriend's name is Natalie," Mrs. Tripper finally said, her voice was trembling, but behind that there was a sort of defiant boldness. "You're looking for a hidden eight hundred number?" she said hoarsely.

"Yes."

"He could do that, he's probably one of three people in the phone company who could do that."

"Thank you," Sara said earnestly, before she turned around and started to walk out of the building.

"Aren't you going to arrest him?" Mrs. Tripper asked. She seemed nervous, possibly afraid. Sara couldn't help but think that it would be horrible to discover that one's boss was a criminal and then, still have to work for him, still have to pretend everything was alright. Sara herself hadn't been able to do that, she hoped that Mrs. Tripper had more self restraint than she did.

"If I arrest him he could decide not to tell us where the young man is being kept," she said quickly and professionally, she didn't think Mrs. Tripper realized this was an excuse. "I need to follow him to his victim."

"I see," Mrs. Tripper said uncertainly, and quickly added, "Good luck."

Sara smiled at the house-wifey secretary warmly, "Thank you."

She walked quickly out of the little lobby outside of his office and, as soon as she was in New York Bell's white marble main lobby, she pulled out her cell phone.

"McCartey," Jake's voice said crisply as he picked up on the other line.

"You find that phone?" Sara demanded

"Yeah, it's ah, um," he said, she could hear the rustle of papers behind him across the phone line and she could imagine him digging around in a mess of file folders looking for a slip of paper. "A warehouse," he finally said. "Way over on Staton Island. I was just about to leave when Carter came in and . . ."

"Never mind Jake, I need you to do something else for me," Sara said.

"Anything," his voice was eager, hopeful, he wanted to earn some forgiveness. He needn't have bothered with that, Sara didn't have the luxury of being mad, she had to focus on Gabriel.

"You've gotta come here, to the telephone building, and track Christopher McCann, he's our kidnaper."

"Don't you want to do that?" he didn't even ask how she knew, he was too desperate for absolution.

"I can't," Sara said bitterly, "I don't have a bike, remember?"

Jake remembered all too well, "Sure," He said almost apologetically, "no problem. But what about the warehouse?"

"Give me the number, I'll find it."

"Right," Jake sighed, before reading off the address.

"Thanks," Sara snapped, really meaning 'goodbye.'

"Hey Pez," Jake said, before she could hang up.

"Yeah?"

"Are we cool?"

It took her a moment to register the question. Her focus was Gabriel, his focus should have been Gabriel too. How could he even think of their relationship when an innocent victim was in such dire trouble? "Jake," she said angrily, "You follow this jackass McCann and you find Gabriel and you get him back safely and then I'll decide whether or not we're cool." She said angrily. She pulled the phone away from her ear violently and stabbed her finger on the 'off button.' Then, with a disgusted sigh, started heading west, towards Staton Island and Gabriel.

***

Jake slowly lowered the phone. He shouldn't have asked her and he knew it, and he had known that asking her would only upset her, but he had, for some inconceivable reason, asked her anyway.

He suddenly felt the way Sara had appeared last night; beside himself with helplessness as someone he loved went through hell.

Jake took a deep breath and set himself to the task. He grabbed his coat and started making his way through the bull pin. He was hoping to slip out without anyone's notice, but as he walked casually past Captain Dante's office his hopes were dashed.

"McCartey," Dante barked, "Come in here, I wanna talk to you."

Jake walked up to the door and leaned in, his very stance screaming that he had someplace to go, something important to do that really couldn't wait. "Yeah?"

Dante looked at his protege suspiciously, "Goin' somewhere?"

"Gotta go check up on a suspect."

"Really?" Dante seemed interested, which was odd, considering checking up on suspects was a routine, often uninteresting, task in police work. "Isn't this your day off?"

"Yeah," Jake said slowly. "But, ah, he's gonna rabbit if I wait any longer."

"Who is this suspect?"

Jake's back was beginning to hurt and it was becoming obvious that Dante had no intention of letting him speed off. The detective took a step forward so that he was fully in the doorway and then leaned coolly against the frame. "His name is Christopher McCann."

"And who do you think Mr. McCann killed?"

"Nobody, Sir."

"McCartey need I remind you, you are a homicide detective."

"He's the guy from the magazine, Cap," Jake said, deciding that, if he wasn't stealthy enough to help her directly, he might be able to help her indirectly by keeping Dante the hell away from her. He walked fully into his bosses office and leaned over the Captain's desk. "I think I've got 'im."

What Dante had been expecting to hear, Jake didn't know. But he sure hadn't been expecting that, he leaned backwards in his chair, eyes wide, before cracking a sort of crooked smile. "Is that so?"

"I'm pretty damn sure."

"And Pezzini?"

"She is so freaked."

There was a wicked light behind his eyes, "They get her?"

Jake hesitated, "Well, ah, not quite."

"Not quite?"

"The guy's sick, sir. I asked him to get her and instead he kidnaped her best friend."

"That doesn't sound sick, McCartey, that just sounds stupid."

"She's still a mess though, sir," Jake quickly added.

"Well," Dante sighed, "I guess that's something." The captain pushed his chair back and started to get up.

"Sir, what are you doing?"

"I'm coming with you McCartey," Dante said, as if that would be the only logical thing for him to do. "This was my idea after all."

Jake stared at the captain, blankly.

"Anything wrong detective?"

"No sir," Jake stuttered. "I'm just not used to you, ah, taking initiative like this sir."

"You know something, McCartey," Dante said as he started putting on his coat. "This is my baby, I'm gonna see it through."

Which meant, he'd push it until Sara died. "Alright sir," Jake said, nodding in what he hoped was his best dutiful-son smile. He suddenly felt a deep kinship with Brutus. "Let's go."