Free Innocent Monster by Reed Farrel Coleman Page B

took some air out of my balloon, but not all of it. I was just as interested in the crazies who visited Martyr’s website and blog as I was in Martyr himself.
    “He’s got an alibi, good. Then, when I go up, Martyr and I can talk of Michelangelo,” I said. “You gonna ring him or what?”
    The doorman pulled the phone off its wall cradle and punched in 6E.
    “Yes, Mr. Martyr, there’s an ex-cop here to see you... Moe Prager... about the missing Bluntstone kid... yes, sir, I told him... very good, Mr. Martyr.” He replaced the phone. “He doesn’t want to see you.”
    “Those his words?”
    “No, Prager. His words were ‘Fuck him! Tell him to get the fuck out of here.’”
    “Nice guy.”
    “A real charmer,” the doorman confessed. “Personally, I think he’s the biggest dick I ever met, but he’s the boss in this, so it’s time for you to hit the road.”
    “So you vouched for him for the day Sashi Bluntstone went missing?”
    “I did. He went out for breakfast. Came back in here about ten thirty and didn’t leave for the rest of the day.”
    “No offense, but how can you be so sure he didn’t slip past you or go out through another entrance?”
    He waved me over to his desk and gestured for me to take a gander. There, hidden behind the wall of the desk, were eight video screens, one of which was currently featuring a shot of my thinning hair.
    “Even if I’m away from my desk to drain the dragon, everything is kept on tape for review and it’s digital. The minute I get back, I review all the camera footage from the time I was away. Martyr was in his loft from the time he came back from breakfast to the time I got off shift.”
    “Thanks, I appreciate the help.”
    I turned and left. Oh, I was going to come back, but there was no need to piss anyone off or to get any more unwanted attention.
    I sat outside the place in my car, hoping Martyr might leave the building to score some drugs. While I didn’t know what he looked like, I did know what drug-sick junkies looked like. I decided to take my chances with that. After about an hour and a half, I’d had enough. Truth be told, I was getting too old and impatient for this shit, though not nearly as impatient as my bladder. Sitting down the block from the Bluntstones for ten minutes was one thing. This was something else. I put the car in drive and set out for the nearest bar. Unlike almost every other kind of business establishment in the five boroughs of New York City, bars tended not to bust your balls for wanting to use their restrooms. More often than not, they figured you’d wind up buying a drink anyway.
    Down the block from Grimaldi’s Pizza and in the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge, I found a bar. I was so happy, I nearly got religion. It didn’t last. Just as I parked the car and reached to open my door, there was a bang and my car lurched forward.
    Fuck!
    I got out of my car ready to take a swing at the idiot who’d just rear-ended me. Much easier to take a swing when you have a gun on you... just in case. I don’t know, I guess maybe I was a little more frustrated at not making immediate headway in finding Sashi. It had begun to sink in while I was parked outside Martyr’s building that I was further behind than I imagined, that three weeks in a missing child case was an eternity and that if I ever did catch up, it would be far too late. My fists were clenched when I turned around and saw her standing there.
    “Oh, my god. I’m so sorry. I don’t think I did any damage to your car,” she said, her voice raspy and on the deep side. She pronounced car and god like a New Englander.
    She wasn’t beautiful, but not by much. Forty, give or take, she possessed that deadly combination of dark blue eyes and black hair. Forty! Christ, I remember when I thought forty was old. I remember when I thought it was ancient. Now I felt ancient and forty seemed as far past me as fifteen. Her hair was bob cut and had some gray filtering through it.