ambiguity are over. There’s a message with the photos identifying the victim and making a statement about bringing criminals to justice. Sounds like he views himself as a vigilante. Chuck Bronson – The Terminator ,” Matt said.
“I think that was Death Wish . Terminator was Schwarzenegger. Who wasn’t a vigilante. More of a robot assassin,” Glenn corrected.
“Yeah, whatever. I could never tell what the hell either of them was saying. One Chuck Norris could have kicked both their asses. The point is that we have a serial killer who’s giving us gold, and if he wants us to print his side of the story, I don’t see any reason not to, do you?”
“One reason is it could get us in hot water with law enforcement…maybe you should run this by legal before making any final decisions?” Glenn counseled.
“I’m all over it. I have a conference call in a few minutes.”
They studied the message under the photos until Matt finally said, “He’s pretty vague, don’t you think? Says he’s going after untouchable criminals that the system won’t prosecute. Promises more to come, as well as a story that will detail the crime of the century.”
“Uh huh. Let me guess. The trilateral commission and the Templars are secretly keeping Hitler’s brain alive?”
“I know. This gives me the creeps. But still. It’s a gift, and these days I’ll take whatever I’m given. Which brings me to why I wanted to talk to you. We’re going to need fifteen hundred words, and nobody can crank out quality as fast as you. What do you think? Can you get this done stat?”
Glenn sighed. He knew it. Then again, this was an unexpected break, and it would ensure his byline was seen by a huge number of people. Might even go national. This was the sort of thing he would have actually stayed up all night for.
“Give me an hour. I’ll flesh out the bare bones from the FBI and throw in some lurid speculation. Finish with a paragraph that will ensure that nobody feels safe. It’ll scare the shit out of anyone reading it.”
“That’s my boy,” Matt said.
His phone rang.
“That will be legal. I need to take this. I’ll look for your article before I leave. Thanks, big guy.”
“Sure thing, boss. No problem.”
~ ~ ~
A white Chevrolet sedan pulled up to the warehouse on the outskirts of Rochester, New York, a few minutes south of the suburb of Brighton. The worst of the morning commute traffic had died down, and the vehicle had made it to the building in reasonably short time. The area around it was green, thick with trees, typical of most of upstate New York. Aside from the steadily expanding populated areas, the region was still relatively unspoiled – as far from the dense concrete jungle that was Manhattan as one could get and still be in the same state.
The two occupants of the car studied the metal-sided exterior of the building, and were surprised at the absence of security cameras that would usually serve as an early warning system. Which wasn’t positive – it made the information that had come in that much more far-fetched; one of countless false alarms they had to wade through every year in order to glean a real lead.
In this case, they were part of an ongoing investigation into a human trafficking and prostitution ring operated by the aggressively proliferating Chinese criminal syndicates. Already, bloody turf wars had taken place in several East Coast metropolitan areas between the Russians and the Chinese, and that looked to become the norm.
“What do you think?” the younger, fair-haired driver asked as he scanned the nearby structures for any signs of surveillance.
“Looks like your average industrial building to me. What did the tip claim?” his partner, a paunchy, shorter man in his early forties, inquired.
“Said that around twenty underage Asian females are being held in the building, waiting to be transported to massage parlors that are fronts for prostitution. The caller said the
“I think that was Death Wish . Terminator was Schwarzenegger. Who wasn’t a vigilante. More of a robot assassin,” Glenn corrected.
“Yeah, whatever. I could never tell what the hell either of them was saying. One Chuck Norris could have kicked both their asses. The point is that we have a serial killer who’s giving us gold, and if he wants us to print his side of the story, I don’t see any reason not to, do you?”
“One reason is it could get us in hot water with law enforcement…maybe you should run this by legal before making any final decisions?” Glenn counseled.
“I’m all over it. I have a conference call in a few minutes.”
They studied the message under the photos until Matt finally said, “He’s pretty vague, don’t you think? Says he’s going after untouchable criminals that the system won’t prosecute. Promises more to come, as well as a story that will detail the crime of the century.”
“Uh huh. Let me guess. The trilateral commission and the Templars are secretly keeping Hitler’s brain alive?”
“I know. This gives me the creeps. But still. It’s a gift, and these days I’ll take whatever I’m given. Which brings me to why I wanted to talk to you. We’re going to need fifteen hundred words, and nobody can crank out quality as fast as you. What do you think? Can you get this done stat?”
Glenn sighed. He knew it. Then again, this was an unexpected break, and it would ensure his byline was seen by a huge number of people. Might even go national. This was the sort of thing he would have actually stayed up all night for.
“Give me an hour. I’ll flesh out the bare bones from the FBI and throw in some lurid speculation. Finish with a paragraph that will ensure that nobody feels safe. It’ll scare the shit out of anyone reading it.”
“That’s my boy,” Matt said.
His phone rang.
“That will be legal. I need to take this. I’ll look for your article before I leave. Thanks, big guy.”
“Sure thing, boss. No problem.”
~ ~ ~
A white Chevrolet sedan pulled up to the warehouse on the outskirts of Rochester, New York, a few minutes south of the suburb of Brighton. The worst of the morning commute traffic had died down, and the vehicle had made it to the building in reasonably short time. The area around it was green, thick with trees, typical of most of upstate New York. Aside from the steadily expanding populated areas, the region was still relatively unspoiled – as far from the dense concrete jungle that was Manhattan as one could get and still be in the same state.
The two occupants of the car studied the metal-sided exterior of the building, and were surprised at the absence of security cameras that would usually serve as an early warning system. Which wasn’t positive – it made the information that had come in that much more far-fetched; one of countless false alarms they had to wade through every year in order to glean a real lead.
In this case, they were part of an ongoing investigation into a human trafficking and prostitution ring operated by the aggressively proliferating Chinese criminal syndicates. Already, bloody turf wars had taken place in several East Coast metropolitan areas between the Russians and the Chinese, and that looked to become the norm.
“What do you think?” the younger, fair-haired driver asked as he scanned the nearby structures for any signs of surveillance.
“Looks like your average industrial building to me. What did the tip claim?” his partner, a paunchy, shorter man in his early forties, inquired.
“Said that around twenty underage Asian females are being held in the building, waiting to be transported to massage parlors that are fronts for prostitution. The caller said the
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