They read the text: Name: John "JC" NGUYEN Description: Asian male, age 25, 5'2", 110 lbs. L.K.A.: 1405 S. Colorado Street, South Philly. Prior Arrests: 14 total: possession of marijuana (10); possession with intent to distribute Methamphetamine (2); possession with intent to distribute gamma hydroxybutyric (GHB) (1); Involuntary deviant sexual intercourse amp; rape of an unconscious or unaware person (1). On Probation for GHB distribution. Sex crime charges dismissed due to technicality: broken evidence chain of custody. Outstanding bench warrant for failure to appear in Municipal Court on two counts of intent to deliver a controlled substance. Call Received: 31 Oct, 2202 hours. Cause of Death: GUNSHOT and/or SUFFOCATION. Case No.: 2010-81-039611-POP-N-DROP Notes: SNU 2010-56-9280 Found dead with his criminal defense lawyer, Daniel O. "Danny" GARTNER Case No.: 2010-81-039612-POP-N-DROP. Large-bore gunshot to head. Clear packing tape wrapped around head, covering mouth and nose. Garbage bag over head, sealed with packing tape. Packing tape also bound wrists and ankles. One (1) spent shell casing Glock.45 caliber found in alleyway behind law office of Gartner. Also recovered from inside law office were zipper-top bags, one containing cocaine and one with 53 tablets of Rohypnol. And a large volume (possibly in excess of a gallon) of urine, source unknown, poured around office. Body transported to Lex Talionis, Old City.
"So," Payne said after studying the information for a moment, "with the exception of Gartner, all the dead have a sex-crime component. And the exception to that being that Gartner got his client off on a technicality. Ergo, our doer"-he looked at the text box and read aloud from it-"'SNU 2010-56-9280,' whose prints are linked to seven of the eight pop-anddrops-"
"Make that nine," Kerry Rapier interrupted, pointing to the third bank of monitors. "Here comes Xpress on number twenty-six."
He manipulated the console panel, and the video feed from the department's CCTV camera at Eighth and Arch in Old City appeared on the main bank. It showed a small red pickup packed with teenagers pulling up in front of Francis Fuller's office building-and being immediately surrounded, first by plainclothed policemen, then by uniforms.
Using the control panel's joystick, Rapier first panned the scene, then zoomed in to look inside the open back of the pickup. After a couple teenagers hopped out, the camera had a clear view of a motionless, bloodied black male lying there.
"This would appear to be one Xavier 'Xpress' Smith," Rapier said. "I pulled his sheet earlier."
"Who doesn't really count in our manhunt of the pop-and-drop doer," Payne said. "Miracle of miracles, we're right now looking at the guys-these street-justice vigilantes-who popped Smith. Wish our other doer was so damn easily collared."
Rapier said, "His rap sheet shows twenty-two cases of petty robbery, possession of stolen goods, and possession of and intent to deliver crystal meth."
"To which," Payne said, "we can add a charge of murder. At least according to Javier Iglesia. Assuming, of course, Xpress himself is not dead. He's not moving at all in the back of that truck."
They watched the CCTV feed as the uniforms began handcuffing the very unhappy teenagers.
After a moment, Payne said, "Getting back to what I was saying about our SNU whose prints are linked to seven of our eight"-he exchanged glances with Rapier-"our nine pop-and-drops, the doer is targeting criminals with a history of sex crimes against women and children." He looked at Harris. "Ergo, Plan A, the obvious thing to do would be to list every critter fitting that profile, then have their Last Known Address immediately put under surveillance."
Kerry Rapier offered, "I can generate a report listing them."
Harris looked at him, then at Payne, and said, "Then just wait for the doer, or doers, to show up? That's not going to work. I mean, at least logistically."
Payne nodded. "I know, I know. If even one percent of the city's fifty thousand fugitives were sex offenders, that'd mean we'd need five hundred guys on the street to stand watch. And that's for just one shift. It'd take fifteen hundred to go round the clock. And then there's the Megan's Law offenders."
Harris shook his head. "No way we could get that kind of manpower. We may as well put in a request for a magic wand to wave."
Payne sighed audibly. He said, "So, Plan B."
"Which is?"
"What they say to do when nothing goes right."
Harris shook his head.
"'Go left.'"
Harris looked at him a long moment, then said, "Back to square one."
Payne nodded. "And looking under the rock under the rock."
VII
[ONE] 2408 N. Mutter Street, Philadelphia Sunday, November 1, 4:08 P.M. Driving up North Mutter Street, a narrow one-way lane that ran through Kensington, Will Curtis thought that this godforsaken section of Philadelphia looked not only like time had forgotten it, but also like it had suffered curses worse than all the biblical plagues combined.
Lice, disease, death of firstborn, hail and fire… hell, it's all here and more.
Finding the row house at 2408 had been no problem whatsoever.
It's the only damn house standing in the entire 2400 block!
Curtis bumped the tires of the rented white Ford Freestar over the curb. He stopped the minivan opposite the house where a set of marble steps was all that remained of one row house, and threw the gearshift into park.
He was still sweating profusely despite having had the windows down to let the chilly November air flow inside. He dropped his head back against the top of the seat and let out a long sigh.
Never thought I'd get here.
He was only a little more than three miles from the Mays row house on Wilder Street. But after leaving the Mays house, he had barely made it six blocks down Dickinson Street before his stomach had twisted into a nasty knot.
Curtis wasn't sure if the cause of his distress was the chemotherapy treatments for his prostate cancer or his confrontation with Kendrik Mays. Or both.
While the physical exertion of tracking down the bastard in that basement had worn him out, the mental aspects had taken a genuine toll on him, too. He'd been deeply disturbed by the filthy living conditions and by seeing that poor teenage girl being held captive in the basement and sexually abused.
Which of course had made him think of Wendy, and her being bound and attacked by that pervert John "JC" Nguyen.
Who now will never harm another.
He and Mays and all the others are in that corner of hell reserved for such miserable scum.
What had not bothered Will Curtis-either mentally or physically-was the actual killing of Kendrik. He'd found that shooting vile perverts troubled him less and less each time. Especially when he saw that eliminating them forever freed others-such as the young girl and Shauna Mays-from their awful abuse.
Whatever the cause of Curtis's distress, it was the effect that he was more concerned about right now.
And if he didn't do something fast, it was going to get ugly.
Speeding down Dickinson, he desperately looked for someplace that was open on a Sunday morning and would have a toilet he could use.
But in this residential stretch of Dickinson, there was no gas station, no fast-food restaurant.
Nothing!
He'd just about decided that he would have to take a chance and knock on the door of a random house when he saw something a block up on the right: a big red church.
Thank God!
Literally…
The church-he couldn't readily tell which denomination it was-had no parking lot, and there were no spaces along the curb available, so he nosed the minivan up on a basketball court at the rear of the building.