Free Missing Brandy (A Fina Fitzgibbons Brooklyn Mystery Book 2) by Susan Russo Anderson

and into the Audi.”
    “And what about the van?”
    Henry blew out air and told himself to be patient. “It stays inside the container.”
    Ben rolled his pick and nodded. “Your loss.”
    “I sold it for decent money.” Henry watched Ben’s hair, like streaks of light on the edge of his vision. He must remain calm.
    “What do you mean, ‘for decent money’?”
    “That’s my business.”
    “You sold it for scrap, you mean.”
    “What do you care? Best way to get rid of it.”
    “And the container?”
    “It’ll be loaded onto a ship bound for Odessa. Nothing can go wrong. We’ll be far away from the scene, and there’ll be no trace of the van.”
    “So your van will be used by terrorists in some godforsaken country I can’t even spell.” Ben chewed on his toothpick. “What if we can’t open the container and get the girl out?”
    Henry shook his head. “It’s all arranged. My Audi is parked alongside the float facility. We’ll transfer my belongings from the van to the car. That includes the girl in the tarpaulin.”
    “If you say so.”
    Ben was silent.
    Traffic was moving. They were close to Sunset Park.
    Henry glanced at Ben, who held up a needle and turned toward the backseat. “You can’t give her another dose so soon. It’s too risky.”
    “I think we should have gone the usual way. Turn around and drive across the bridge to the Turnpike.”
    Henry breathed in and out. He tried to explain one more time why it was too risky to drive across the bridge. What if someone had seen the van parked on Joralemon and somehow associated it with the girl’s disappearance? These days, there were surveillance cameras all over. Take the highway patrol—they cruised around with video cams. They could track the vehicle from the footage. Henry listened to his voice. Too insistent. He had to calm himself, flatten out. What was wrong with him? He knew how to handle Ben.
    Ben hadn’t been listening. He was too busy chewing his fingernails. He insisted they needed to get out of there fast, and going to Sunset Park was stupid, too complicated. It wasn’t too late to turn around.
    But in the end, Henry prevailed. Henry was the boss.
    “And another thing,” Ben said. “We gotta do something about Phillipa. She looks like a caged animal. In two minutes, she’s going to talk. She loves Trisha Liam. Ever thought about what we’re going to do with her? I’ll tell you what we’re going to do—we’re going to give her the needle.”
    Henry stopped breathing. “Don’t you dare touch her. Phillipa needs the money more than you and me.”
    “Right. I forgot about the boy. Still …” Ben began.
    “Listen to me. Leave her alone. I don’t want you talking to her.”
    By the time they arrived at Sunset Park, Ben was like a jumped-up rabbit. He folded, unfolded his arms, shook his hands, stomped his feet. His eyes darted from side to side, surveying the area. “How do you know they’re not watching us from these buildings? I just saw someone move behind that window. There, see?”
    “Take it easy.”
    Ben acted like he hated the abandoned buildings, the debris-filled brown shrubs, the pitted concrete walks. He paced the length of the van a hundred times during the long wait to load the van into one of the freight cars. Henry listened to the slow screech of metal on metal as the cars were loaded onto the barge.
    “Unnecessary.” Ben looked at his watch. “Could be in Central Jersey by now if it weren’t for you and your stupid plan.”
    Wind tore at Henry’s hair. “What are you doing with that knife?”
    The blade in Ben’s hand caught the sun. “Just checking. Someone’s got to be prepared.”
    So they argued in frenetic, whispered tones whenever Ben wasn’t peering into the van’s window at the tarpaulin.
    Over and over, Henry explained about the cameras springing up everywhere.
    Ben protested. “This isn’t Lower Manhattan.”
    “No matter, they’re everywhere. I know. I run across the