Following Marie's directions, Ethan drove the Dodge Challenger swiftly through the city.
—What's wrong with your friend? —he asked, keeping his hands on the wheel.
Marie shook her head.
—I don't know.
Ethan glanced at her, puzzled.
—What do you mean?
Holding the small medical case in her lap, she answered hesitantly.
—Strictly speaking, he isn't a friend. I met him yesterday. He was arguing with someone on the medical team, and I stepped in to calm things down before it got out of hand. That happens sometimes. He looked pale and dehydrated, so I gave him my card and told him to call if he needed medical help.
—And he just called you?
—Yes. Right after you left my office, a friend of his called. He said the man had passed out in his bar. He found my card on him and assumed we knew each other.
Ethan changed lanes as he listened.
—Doesn't that strike you as a little strange?
Marie nodded, took a cigarette case from her pocket, and asked permission before lighting one. Ethan tapped his fingers against the steering wheel.
—The part about him passing out? —she asked, raising an eyebrow. —Or the part about me helping strangers?
Ethan steered around another car.
—A little of both, honestly. I know it's none of my business, but being a cop makes you expect the worst of people. I can see you're a good person. You give up your time to help strangers without expecting anything in return. But someone calls you out of nowhere, and you rush over without knowing what you might be walking into.
—My father died when I was little, and my mother has mental health problems. She rarely speaks to people she doesn't know. I got where I am because a lot of people were kind to me, so I promised myself I'd help others whenever I could. I know some people don't understand. They think I'm too naive.
Marie shook her head, a rueful smile touching her lips.
—You shouldn't worry about what other people think —Ethan said seriously. —You're doing something good. I'm more selfish than that, so I admire you.
—Really? —Marie looked up at him, surprised.
Ethan nodded firmly.
—Actually, I owe you an apology. I shouldn't have questioned your reasons for helping people.
He glanced at her again and smiled.
—Don't worry about it. Besides, I don't think you're as selfish as you say —Marie replied with a smile. —Look at you. Aren't you helping a stranger right now?
Ethan shrugged.
—I won't lie. My plan is to impress you with my charm and kindness until you have no choice but to invite me for coffee.
Marie laughed.
A little over ten minutes later, Ethan slowed the Challenger and parked. Marie picked up her medical case and started to get out.
—Wait a second —Ethan said, catching her hand before switching off the engine and releasing his seat belt.
At her confused look, he added:
—I'm coming with you. You didn't think I'd let you go in alone, did you?
—I'm not as naive as you think. I have this —she said proudly, taking a can of pepper spray from her pocket.
Ethan smiled and lifted his jacket, revealing the silver Beretta in his shoulder holster.
He raised his eyebrows at her.
—I have this. Bet that's more impressive.
Remembering that he was a police officer, Marie reluctantly returned the spray to her pocket.
Outside, Ethan looked up at the sign. The place was clearly a pub. They exchanged a glance, and Marie nodded to confirm they had the right address.
It was still early, and the pub hadn't opened. A small sign on the door informed customers that it was closed.
Ethan approached the glass door and knocked hard several times.
The frame rattled under his knuckles.
After a moment, someone lifted the bamboo blind covering the glass. A man in a floral shirt appeared behind it. He had a prominent nose and long, unkempt hair hanging around his face. Raising a hand, he spoke through the door.
—We're not open yet, man. Come back later.
Marie nudged Ethan aside and stepped forward, speaking anxiously.
—Hello. I'm Dr. Sebastian. You called me about your friend a little while ago.
The man looked from Ethan to Marie.
—What about him?
—He's with me —Marie replied, lifting her medical case and making it clear she wouldn't stay unless Ethan came in too.
—Come in. Quick. I'm Chucky, by the way.
After a brief hesitation, he opened the door, let them inside, and glanced around outside for anything suspicious.
Once inside, they stood for a moment, looking at one another.
—What is it? —Chucky asked, spreading his hands.
—Where's the patient? —Marie asked impatiently.
He slapped his forehead, looking sheepish.
—Upstairs. Follow me.
He headed toward the stairs at the back of the pub. Marie gave Ethan a worried look.
Ethan nodded and moved ahead of her. As they climbed, he kept a hand close to the gun beneath his arm, watching for any sign of trouble.
On the second floor, Chucky opened a door at the end of the hall and went inside. Ethan followed closely. The small room was easy to take in at a glance: a bed and a coat rack.
Chucky leaned against the coat rack and pointed.
—There he is. I don't know what happened. I found him unconscious on the floor this morning.
A man in a black suit lay on the bed, still wearing his shoes. Ethan blinked in surprise.
His hand immediately relaxed away from his gun. The man was the stranger who had saved him outside the clinic the day before. His hair was short, and his face was pale, as though he hadn't seen sunlight in years.
Marie entered behind Ethan and quickly opened her case. Taking out a few basic medical instruments, she began examining the unconscious man.
Chucky sighed, picked up a bottle from a nearby counter, and took a long drink. He looked nervous.
He offered it to Ethan, who shook his head. His attention remained on the man in the bed. He hadn't expected to meet him again under such unusual circumstances.
After setting up an IV, Marie removed her gloves.
—Dr. Sebastian, he's going to be okay, right? —Chucky asked.
—Call me Marie. And this is Ethan —she replied, dropping the gloves into the trash. —Don't worry. He'll be fine. He's showing signs of malnutrition and dehydration. It looks like he collapsed from exhaustion. I've put him on a drip. Now we wait for him to wake up.
Chucky exhaled in relief, set the bottle aside, and began searching his pockets.
—How much do I owe you?
—Nothing. There's no charge —Marie said, shaking her head.
—Free? —Chucky raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
Marie looked back at the unconscious man without saying anything.
—You're a good person. Never had anything for free in my life —Chucky said with a bitter laugh.
Ethan finally broke his silence.
—What happened to him? —he asked, sitting in a chair.
Chucky seemed eager to answer. He took another drink of tequila, shook his head, and began.
—Joe and I went to college together. I don't know what happened to him. He just turned up at my door. I hadn't seen him in more than twenty years.
He paused to catch his breath.
—I didn't even recognize him at first. Once I let him in, he started telling me things I could hardly believe.
Marie's curiosity grew.
—His name's Joe? What did he tell you?
Chucky hesitated, then gave her a suspicious look.
—Sorry. I don't know how you know Joe. I don't think it's my place to tell you his business.
Marie glanced at Ethan before answering.
—I met him yesterday while I was providing medical care. I gave him my card.
—Lucky guy —Chucky said with a strained smile, then changed the subject. —I appreciate your help, but I've already said too much. I don't know either of you. If you have questions, ask him when he wakes up.
A knock sounded from downstairs.
Chucky got up and headed toward the door.
—Wait here. I need to answer that.
—Where's the bathroom? —Ethan asked, standing.
—Across the hall —Chucky replied before disappearing down the stairs.
Ethan looked at the still-unconscious Joe, then at Marie.
—I've met him too. He saved my life yesterday.
Marie looked confused.
—What do you mean?
—Before I reached your clinic, a dog knocked a plant pot off a balcony. He pushed me out of the way.
Marie's eyes widened.
—You know, his argument with the medical team was why I wanted a cigarette yesterday. That's when I saw you smoking beside the planter.
It was an unexpected coincidence. Now more concerned, Ethan asked:
—You're sure he's going to be okay?
Marie gave his calf a light, irritated kick.
—Are you doubting me?
It barely tickled him. Ethan smiled.
—I wouldn't dare. I'm going to the bathroom. Stay here.
Marie watched Joe sleep, intrigued by the coincidences that had brought them together. At the foot of the bed, she noticed an open white cloth bag with several letters visible inside. Her curiosity got the better of her. She moved closer and reached toward it.
Meanwhile, Ethan was washing his hands when a noise caught his attention. He hurried back to the room and found Joe awake, pinning Marie against the wall.
Ethan immediately grabbed Joe's arm. Confused and frightened, Joe tried to strike him, but Ethan dodged and stepped between them. He pushed Joe back, shielding Marie behind him.
—Easy, man. We're not here to hurt you —Ethan said, trying to calm him.
Joe ignored him. Holding a letter, he shouted at Marie.
—You had no right to touch my things!
—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have —she repeated.
Still furious, Joe gathered the letters scattered across the bed and shoved them into the bag. He eyed them suspiciously.
—Where's Chucky? Who are you? I don't know you.
Marie tried to explain.
—Chucky called me. He said you'd passed out and asked me to help. I'm a doctor. I gave you my card yesterday, remember?
—Well, I'm fine now. You can leave —Joe said coldly.
Then he turned to Ethan.
—And you? What are you doing here?
—Chucky told us your name. I'm Ethan. I came with Marie, but we met yesterday morning. You saved my life. Remember the plant pot that fell from the building?
Joe shook his head irritably.
—Damn Chucky. Never changes. Yeah, I saved your life. So what? We're done here.
Marie held out her hands apologetically.
—Please forgive me. I shouldn't have read your letter.
Joe drew a deep breath and fixed her with a stern look.
—You didn't call the police, did you?
Confused, Marie glanced at Ethan for help. At her hesitation, Joe sprang to his feet.
—You called the police! I'll kill you!
—I didn't call the police —Marie said, raising her hands to reassure him.
Ethan moved her behind him and faced Joe.
—She hasn't called anyone. But I am a police officer. What's going on?
At the word "police," panic flashed in Joe's eyes. He looked nervously toward the door.
Noticing his reaction, Ethan lifted his jacket to reveal his gun.
—I'd advise you not to do anything stupid.
—It's not what you think —Marie said quickly, trying to defuse the situation. —Joe isn't a bad person. He was imprisoned for twenty years and has only just been released. He's looking for his missing daughter.
Joe sat on the bed and lowered his head, gripping the sheets. When he looked up at Ethan, his eyes were bloodshot.
Pain and desperation crossed his face as he clutched the fabric so tightly it looked ready to tear.
—I don't know what happened to you, but first, calm down —Ethan said firmly, with a note of compassion. —If you need help, we'll help. I owe you a favor, and I pay my debts.
Marie stepped forward from the corner, her expression serious.
—Joe, let us help you.
He finally released the sheets and sighed, worn down but still wary.
—I'm sorry, but I can't involve the police. They have my daughter —he said dully.
Ethan nodded and lifted his jacket again, his expression resolute.
—I don't have my badge, and this isn't my jurisdiction. Right now, I'm just a civilian. Don't worry.
—Why should I believe you? —Joe asked, still distrustful.
Ethan met his eyes and answered with an unusual earnestness.
—I told you. I owe you a favor.
Joe studied him for a long moment, weighing his words. Finally, he sighed and leaned back against the wall.
—Okay… I'll tell you.
What followed was a story neither of them could have imagined. Joe explained that twenty years earlier, on the night of his daughter's birthday, he had argued bitterly with his wife. Work had consumed his life, keeping him away from his family when they needed him. Drunk and miserable, he had ruined the celebration. After leaving the restaurant, he had been abducted without warning.
He had awakened in a small, windowless room with only a television for company. Days became weeks, and weeks became years. Through the screen, he learned of his family's devastating fate. His wife had been brutally murdered, and the authorities had named him the prime suspect. His unexplained disappearance made him look responsible. Meanwhile, his daughter, still a little girl, had been adopted, severing her connection to her family.
—I lived in hell all those years —Joe said, his voice trembling. —The only thing that kept me alive was the hope of finding my daughter. Every day, for twenty years, I wrote her letters. But I could never send them.
He described years of failed attempts to escape, followed by his mysterious release in a park with cash, a phone, and a suitcase full of letters to his daughter.
—Man, they really destroyed your life —Ethan said, folding his arms.
Joe looked at him wearily.
—You believe me?
—I do —Ethan replied firmly. —I know a father will do anything for his child, even endure a living hell.
He thought of Blake and the love his own father had shown him. He could see that same love in Joe's eyes.
—Whoever did this —Ethan said, lighting a cigarette—clearly didn't think killing you was enough. They wanted you to suffer.
Marie, who had listened quietly, frowned.
—Do you have any idea who might have done it?
Joe took a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to Ethan.
—Everyone I can think of who might hate me enough to do this —he said, pointing to the crossed-out names. —Chucky and I have checked a few already. There are still others.
Ethan studied the list and the firm lines drawn through several names.
—What about the phone? They wouldn't have given you one for no reason.
Joe nodded slowly and took it out.
—I got a call last night. Whoever it is… they want to punish me for everything I did wrong. If I involve the police, my daughter will be in danger.
Ethan leaned toward him, his gaze unwavering.
—I'll help you find her. I promise I'll do everything I can to keep your daughter safe.
Marie moved closer and rested a hand on Joe's shoulder.
—We're with you. Let's find the bastard.
Joe looked between them, his eyes wet with gratitude. For the first time in years, he felt hope.
—What now? Where do we start? —Marie asked.
—With a phone call.
Under their watchful eyes, Ethan took out his phone.
—Before I make that call… —He paused and looked at Marie. —Joe's already been through hell. He'll be prepared for whatever comes next. But I'm not sure I want you involved.
He raised a hand before she could answer and continued.
—Whoever abducted Joe and kept him locked up must have enormous resources. Framing him for his wife's murder would also require influence and power most organizations don't possess. If we go after them, we'll be stepping into dangerous territory.
Ethan held the phone and waited for her answer. The room was quiet except for their breathing.
Marie took a long drag from her cigarette, dropped the butt, and crushed it underfoot.
—I said I'd help Joe get his daughter back. I'm not going back on my word.
Joe turned to her gratefully.
—Thank you.
—All right —Ethan said. —But whatever happens from now on stays between us. Especially where Siobhan's concerned. She must never find out. Agreed?
Marie nodded silently.
With both of them watching curiously, Ethan dialed. After a moment, the call connected.
—You fucking bastard. Why are you bothering me this early? Somebody had better be dying if you're making me wake up.
Ethan glanced at the others, turned, and left the room.
—Hey. It's Ethan. I need your help.
Job reined in his irritation.
—I know it's you, bastard. I'm listening.
—I need a clean car and a couple of guns.
—Fuck. What have you gotten yourself into now? Weren't you just going to the doctor? —Job asked in exasperation. —You're just like Hood. Trouble follows you everywhere.
—I'll explain later. Can you help or not?
Job rented more than a dozen places around the city and moved between them regularly. He claimed he had no other choice, but Ethan didn't believe that was all there was to it.
—I'll give you an address. What you need will be there. Now stop fucking up my morning.
After giving him the address, Job hung up.
Back in the room, Marie looked at Ethan and hesitated.
—What's going on, Ethan?
Apparently, she had overheard his conversation. What she had heard had unsettled her.
—Joe has his bare hands, and you have pepper spray. What are you planning to do when we find the people who abducted him? Reason with them?
His answer left Marie speechless. Joe stood and placed his cloth bag on the shelf.
—Ethan's right. We can't just go out there without a backup plan.
Twenty minutes later, Ethan drove into an open parking lot at the location Job had given him. After a brief search, he spotted the man in gothic clothing leaning against the rear of a 2001 Corolla, chewing gum and shaking his head.
Ethan lightly tapped the horn, drove a little farther, and found a place to park. He drew the Beretta from his shoulder holster and pretended to put it in the door's storage compartment, slipping it into his storage space instead. After switching off the engine, he noticed Marie and Joe were still sitting in their seats.
—Come on. We're here —he said, getting out and walking toward the other man.
Unsure what was happening, Marie and Joe quickly followed. The man approached Ethan, and they simultaneously flicked their wrists, tossing their keys through the air. Ethan crossed his hands, caught the Corolla's keys, nodded to him, and walked on.
Marie watched the man climb into Ethan's Challenger and drive away at speed. She followed Ethan, clearly puzzled. Seeing her hesitation, he smiled.
—He's a friend.
At the rear of the Corolla, Ethan checked that no one was nearby and pressed the key fob. The trunk opened to reveal a silver case. He looked at it, released the latches, and lifted the lid.
Inside were four Colt M1911 pistols, four spare magazines, several boxes of .45-caliber ammunition, and several translucent, flexible plastic masks.
Marie stared at the contents.
—Are you some kind of vigilante? You know, someone who goes out at night to fight crime?
Ethan shrugged.
—A man should be able to get what he needs.
He took out a pistol and checked it. The weapon was in good condition, and both its magazine and the spare were fully loaded. He nodded in satisfaction. Job was dependable.
Ethan offered the pistol to Joe, who took it without hesitation. Then he looked at Marie. After a moment's uncertainty, she reached for a gun herself, lifted her loose gray shirt, and tucked it into her waistband.
—Do you know how to use it? —Ethan asked.
Marie took out her cigarette case and placed a cigarette between her lips.
—Yes. I go to the range when I have time.
—Good. Hopefully, you won't need to.
Ethan took the remaining two M1911s, placing one in his shoulder holster and the other at the small of his back. After distributing the spare magazines and masks, he shut the trunk and turned to Joe.
—Where first?
—Bernard Sharkey. My old boss —Joe said gravely, consulting the list. —I ruined a deal with a major client of his. He had a reason.
Before long, Ethan pulled up outside a senior care center. Looking at the elderly man on crutches, Marie shook her head.
—How about we move on to the next name?
Joe gritted his teeth, opened the door, and got out.
—No. I need to see for myself.
Ethan turned to Marie.
—Go with him. If anything happens, don't act on impulse. Call me first.
He watched them approach the building, then waited patiently in the car. A little later, they hurried back out. Following Joe, Marie shook her head at Ethan.
—Next name —he said evenly. He hadn't expected it to be that simple.
The black Corolla continued through New York as they crossed names off the list one by one. Joe's expression grew darker, and Marie became increasingly subdued.
On the way to their next destination, they passed through Chinatown. Joe noticed a Chinese restaurant, and his eyes suddenly brightened. He quickly tapped Ethan's shoulder.
—Stop the car. I've got another idea.
Once Ethan found a parking space, he and Marie turned toward Joe in the back seat. Joe ran both hands through his hair, his expression troubled.
—When they had me locked up, they fed me the same thing every day. Over and over, year after year. That taste… I'll never forget it.
—What was it? —Ethan asked.
Joe clenched his teeth.
—Dumplings.