: I wonder if there could be any connection with Cross and Hooks and O’Brien’s story about the ring of Mexican nationals pushing black tar heroin in Kensington and Strawberry Mansion?
Or is it simply a case of the streets being flooded with cheap smack?
They just took down a couple cartel guys in the Bronx with almost a hundred keys, all uncut, some of it headed for here.
It’s everywhere . . .
Payne then texted Mickey O’Hara: “Just got word that the body of a Hispanic male was found on the shore of the Schuylkill. He had Tim O’Brien’s credit cards in his pocket. More info when I know more. How are you doing?”
He hit SEND, looked a long moment at his phone to see if he would reply, and then put it back on the shelf and finally grabbed a shower.
—
Fifteen minutes later, Payne stepped around boxes in the apartment while pulling on a Temple University sweatshirt. He yawned deeply. He glanced at the couch.
I can get a coffee and be okay, he thought.
Then there came another yawn, this one deeper and long.
He looked at the couch again and realized that his eyes were so tired they felt rough as sandpaper.
Or . . . I can just lay down for five minutes, recharge—which will help me think more clearly—and then get the coffee.
He tossed a box that was on the couch to the floor, laid down, put his feet up on a pillow—and was almost instantly snoring.
—
Payne was startled awake by a banging sound.
What the hell?
He felt very groggy.
The banging came again. After a moment, he realized it was someone at his door.
Who the hell?
It was not common knowledge that there was an apartment in the garret. And of those who did know about it, only a select few knew the code to the door on the third floor that gave access to the steps that led up to the apartment door.
He checked his watch.
I slept . . . Jesus! . . . four hours?
From the other side of the door came Harris’s voice: “Matt? You okay?”
“Coming!”
As he shuffled across the small room, he checked his phone. The screen was packed with a long list of voice and text messages. He scrolled through it quickly and saw the usual that he’d expect to see.
Then one caught his eye. It was from Kerry Rapier: “The blue shirt sitting on O’Hara’s mother got a gut feeling and knocked on her front door. She didn’t answer. He went to the back door. It was unlocked. He cleared the house. Said it looked like she had just cleaned it. But she was gone. And her car.”
Jesus!
Then more knocking.
“I’m coming!”
Payne flipped the dead bolts and opened the door.