CHAPTER 1
Joe Martello stood against the wall in his NYPD
uniform, his radio on just enough to hear, but not enough to
disturb the party.
A waiter in a tuxedo shirt passed with a tray
of drinks and then entered the crowd of wealthy patrons, most of
which were dressed in expensive suits and evening gowns.
Crystal chandeliers above provided the perfect
amount of light while a piano player added elegant background
music. The smell of garlic and rich foods emanated from the buffet
table.
Joe strolled along the wall and glanced down an
adjoining hallway. At the end of the hall was a large room full of
children, most of them bald and skinny, a few of them laughing and
talking, others eating cake and ice cream. A few women sat at a
small table, talking and eating.
He didn’t want to stare, so he kept moving
along the wood-paneled wall, toward the phone booths and the main
doors that led to the hotel lobby.
Joe stepped out into the quiet lobby. The
revolving door was still. The doorman stood inside the lobby,
staring outside. A bearded maintenance man polished the ornate
brass railing along the side of the staircase while a cute female
clerk behind the counter sat and texted on her phone at super-fast
speed.
The doorman glanced at Joe, then turned his
gaze back to the street outside.
Joe took a quick stroll to the front doors and
looked out the big glass window.
The snow had stopped coming down outside, and
luckily, it only left a few inches as opposed to the one foot the
weatherman had been ranting about. A sanitation truck plowed and
salted the avenue while a few maintenance men cleared the sidewalks
with snow blowers. Only a few bundled-up pedestrians were out and
the only cars on the street were taxis and patrol cars.
When he finished the academy two years ago, Joe
had planned to make detective, but with all these babysitting and
security assignments around the United Nations, he knew he’d never
make enough arrests to make it past beat cop.
As he turned
around, Joe glanced at the bulletin that read, Children’s cancer research fundraiser. He felt guilty for thinking about his own problems while
knowing that most of these poor kids will never live to see
puberty.
A tall pale man
with glasses, dressed in a pair of khakis and a polo shirt, stepped
out into the lobby with an unlit cigarette in his hand. He didn’t
fit in with all the suits, but he didn’t seem to be doing anything
wrong either. Joe noticed a tattoo on the man’s forearm, the same
tattoo he had on his shoulder: an eagle with the Earth, an anchor,
and the words Semper Fi.
When Joe stepped back through the double-doors
and into the fundraiser, he noticed two men rushing down the hall
while zipping up their pants. As he got closer, he could hear a
woman’s voice inside the men’s room yelling, “Taylor!”
Just as he was about to go inside, a
full-figured woman in a black dress burst out of the men’s room and
almost caught Joe in the face with the door.
He jumped back, “Hey! Watch it!”
The frantic woman yelled down the hall,
“Taylor!”
“What’s the problem, miss?”
The woman turned to Joe and glanced at his
uniform and badge, her body trembling and her eyes full of water.
“He’s my son. He went to the bathroom, but he never came back. It’s
my fault, damn it! I shouldn’t have let him go alone.” She started
sobbing.
“It’s not your fault. Just tell me what he
looks like.”
The woman caught her breath, then said, “He’s
seven. He’s wearing a gray suit and the cutest little clip-on tie .
. .” She started sobbing again.
A few people gathered in the hallway and
watched.
The waiter approached with his empty tray,
trying to make his way to the kitchen.
Joe stopped the waiter and said, “Stay with
her. I’ll be right back.” He hurried down the hall and entered the
door that led to the kitchen.
Inside, he found dishwashers washing and cooks
cooking . . . business as usual.
He stepped out of the kitchen and
Joe Martello stood against the wall in his NYPD
uniform, his radio on just enough to hear, but not enough to
disturb the party.
A waiter in a tuxedo shirt passed with a tray
of drinks and then entered the crowd of wealthy patrons, most of
which were dressed in expensive suits and evening gowns.
Crystal chandeliers above provided the perfect
amount of light while a piano player added elegant background
music. The smell of garlic and rich foods emanated from the buffet
table.
Joe strolled along the wall and glanced down an
adjoining hallway. At the end of the hall was a large room full of
children, most of them bald and skinny, a few of them laughing and
talking, others eating cake and ice cream. A few women sat at a
small table, talking and eating.
He didn’t want to stare, so he kept moving
along the wood-paneled wall, toward the phone booths and the main
doors that led to the hotel lobby.
Joe stepped out into the quiet lobby. The
revolving door was still. The doorman stood inside the lobby,
staring outside. A bearded maintenance man polished the ornate
brass railing along the side of the staircase while a cute female
clerk behind the counter sat and texted on her phone at super-fast
speed.
The doorman glanced at Joe, then turned his
gaze back to the street outside.
Joe took a quick stroll to the front doors and
looked out the big glass window.
The snow had stopped coming down outside, and
luckily, it only left a few inches as opposed to the one foot the
weatherman had been ranting about. A sanitation truck plowed and
salted the avenue while a few maintenance men cleared the sidewalks
with snow blowers. Only a few bundled-up pedestrians were out and
the only cars on the street were taxis and patrol cars.
When he finished the academy two years ago, Joe
had planned to make detective, but with all these babysitting and
security assignments around the United Nations, he knew he’d never
make enough arrests to make it past beat cop.
As he turned
around, Joe glanced at the bulletin that read, Children’s cancer research fundraiser. He felt guilty for thinking about his own problems while
knowing that most of these poor kids will never live to see
puberty.
A tall pale man
with glasses, dressed in a pair of khakis and a polo shirt, stepped
out into the lobby with an unlit cigarette in his hand. He didn’t
fit in with all the suits, but he didn’t seem to be doing anything
wrong either. Joe noticed a tattoo on the man’s forearm, the same
tattoo he had on his shoulder: an eagle with the Earth, an anchor,
and the words Semper Fi.
When Joe stepped back through the double-doors
and into the fundraiser, he noticed two men rushing down the hall
while zipping up their pants. As he got closer, he could hear a
woman’s voice inside the men’s room yelling, “Taylor!”
Just as he was about to go inside, a
full-figured woman in a black dress burst out of the men’s room and
almost caught Joe in the face with the door.
He jumped back, “Hey! Watch it!”
The frantic woman yelled down the hall,
“Taylor!”
“What’s the problem, miss?”
The woman turned to Joe and glanced at his
uniform and badge, her body trembling and her eyes full of water.
“He’s my son. He went to the bathroom, but he never came back. It’s
my fault, damn it! I shouldn’t have let him go alone.” She started
sobbing.
“It’s not your fault. Just tell me what he
looks like.”
The woman caught her breath, then said, “He’s
seven. He’s wearing a gray suit and the cutest little clip-on tie .
. .” She started sobbing again.
A few people gathered in the hallway and
watched.
The waiter approached with his empty tray,
trying to make his way to the kitchen.
Joe stopped the waiter and said, “Stay with
her. I’ll be right back.” He hurried down the hall and entered the
door that led to the kitchen.
Inside, he found dishwashers washing and cooks
cooking . . . business as usual.
He stepped out of the kitchen and
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