frees his prisoner, the metal bindings clanging to the floor.
Jens is too terrified to move. He remains seated, massaging his aching wrists, staring expectantly at his captors.
Goto hands the tool back to Mister Heinreich and digs into his jacket, extracting a cell phone. Jens recognizes the device and pats down his jean pockets, quickly realizing they’re empty.
“Escaping with all your digits intact will be exceedingly simple, Mister Jennum.” Goto drops the device in Jens’ lap. “I think it’s time we rang up your good friend Mister Cole. I believe you have the number.”
Chapter Twelve – Revelation
New York City
August 26, 2011
2:33 am, Eastern Daylight Time
Gazing around Dia’s expansive penthouse, Cole realizes that the living room alone is larger than is entire apartment . White marble columns frame a walkway that leads to a sitting area; a meticulously decorated space that overlooks the entire city through soaring floor-to-ceiling windows. They provide a vantage point that only a privileged few can afford in the wildly overpriced borough of Manhattan.
“This is incredible,” Cole says, peering out at the skyline. Then he blurts out, “How do you afford all of this?” before biting his tongue, wishing he hadn’t.
“Well, when you can tear open a gateway to any location, bank vaults become a lot like ATM machines. Except you don’t need a swipe card, or a pin number. Or for any of the money to actually be yours.” She tosses her purse on a small table situated by the rooftop entrance and stops, staring into a round, gold-framed mirror. She pivots her head and flinches when she touches the swollen purple welt that’s forming on her angular cheekbone.
Fascinated by his surroundings, it takes Cole nearly a full minute to notice someone sitting on the couch. A scruffy blond kid is leafing through a comic book, bare feet propped up on the coffee table. He has a narrow face, crooked nose and a day’s worth of beard stubble, and is sporting a golden-brown tan that makes him seem much more California than New York, as does his wardrobe.
“Welcome home, D!” the kid shouts without looking up from his reading material. “How was your night?”
“Oh, it was fab,” she calls back from the hall, still scrutinizing her reflection. “It started with a dry martini, and ended with me getting smashed in the face and shot at.” She pokes the purple went again, frowning.
The scruffy kid drops his reading material and ambles into the hall, leaning lazily against a marble column with arms folded across his chest. “Sounds like a typical Saturday night for my girl.”
“More or less,” she sighs. “It was the Collectors again. Heinreich and Goto. It’s all good though. We made it out of there without much of a problem.”
Not much of a problem? Cole furrows his brow; Dia’s summary of the evening’s events seem exceedingly casual. And her lack of concern is more than a bit troubling.
The kid barks out a wheezing laugh. “What have I been telling you about your little jaunts downtown? You can’t just breeze into a bar in a crowded city, D. Especially here in the Big Apple. I don’t wanna say ‘I told you so’, but…”
“Well what was I supposed to do, Brodie?” Her words come out sharply, suddenly outlined in razors. “I was thirsty and I needed to get some air. You expect me to just sit around here all weekend like I’m under house arrest?”
Brodie lifts his shoulders in a half-hearted attempt at a shrug. “Well, you-know-who isn’t gonna be happy. All I’m gonna say about it.” He sticks his thumb towards Cole without looking in his direction. “So, who’s the stray?”
“Brodie Hamilton, this is Donovan Cole. I met him at the club tonight right before I got jumped. You should have seen this guy in action! If it wasn’t for Cole manifesting and knocking out Heinreich I’d be locked in The Basement right now.”
Brodie scowls. “Bull shit… he knocked out a
Jens is too terrified to move. He remains seated, massaging his aching wrists, staring expectantly at his captors.
Goto hands the tool back to Mister Heinreich and digs into his jacket, extracting a cell phone. Jens recognizes the device and pats down his jean pockets, quickly realizing they’re empty.
“Escaping with all your digits intact will be exceedingly simple, Mister Jennum.” Goto drops the device in Jens’ lap. “I think it’s time we rang up your good friend Mister Cole. I believe you have the number.”
Chapter Twelve – Revelation
New York City
August 26, 2011
2:33 am, Eastern Daylight Time
Gazing around Dia’s expansive penthouse, Cole realizes that the living room alone is larger than is entire apartment . White marble columns frame a walkway that leads to a sitting area; a meticulously decorated space that overlooks the entire city through soaring floor-to-ceiling windows. They provide a vantage point that only a privileged few can afford in the wildly overpriced borough of Manhattan.
“This is incredible,” Cole says, peering out at the skyline. Then he blurts out, “How do you afford all of this?” before biting his tongue, wishing he hadn’t.
“Well, when you can tear open a gateway to any location, bank vaults become a lot like ATM machines. Except you don’t need a swipe card, or a pin number. Or for any of the money to actually be yours.” She tosses her purse on a small table situated by the rooftop entrance and stops, staring into a round, gold-framed mirror. She pivots her head and flinches when she touches the swollen purple welt that’s forming on her angular cheekbone.
Fascinated by his surroundings, it takes Cole nearly a full minute to notice someone sitting on the couch. A scruffy blond kid is leafing through a comic book, bare feet propped up on the coffee table. He has a narrow face, crooked nose and a day’s worth of beard stubble, and is sporting a golden-brown tan that makes him seem much more California than New York, as does his wardrobe.
“Welcome home, D!” the kid shouts without looking up from his reading material. “How was your night?”
“Oh, it was fab,” she calls back from the hall, still scrutinizing her reflection. “It started with a dry martini, and ended with me getting smashed in the face and shot at.” She pokes the purple went again, frowning.
The scruffy kid drops his reading material and ambles into the hall, leaning lazily against a marble column with arms folded across his chest. “Sounds like a typical Saturday night for my girl.”
“More or less,” she sighs. “It was the Collectors again. Heinreich and Goto. It’s all good though. We made it out of there without much of a problem.”
Not much of a problem? Cole furrows his brow; Dia’s summary of the evening’s events seem exceedingly casual. And her lack of concern is more than a bit troubling.
The kid barks out a wheezing laugh. “What have I been telling you about your little jaunts downtown? You can’t just breeze into a bar in a crowded city, D. Especially here in the Big Apple. I don’t wanna say ‘I told you so’, but…”
“Well what was I supposed to do, Brodie?” Her words come out sharply, suddenly outlined in razors. “I was thirsty and I needed to get some air. You expect me to just sit around here all weekend like I’m under house arrest?”
Brodie lifts his shoulders in a half-hearted attempt at a shrug. “Well, you-know-who isn’t gonna be happy. All I’m gonna say about it.” He sticks his thumb towards Cole without looking in his direction. “So, who’s the stray?”
“Brodie Hamilton, this is Donovan Cole. I met him at the club tonight right before I got jumped. You should have seen this guy in action! If it wasn’t for Cole manifesting and knocking out Heinreich I’d be locked in The Basement right now.”
Brodie scowls. “Bull shit… he knocked out a
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