The drive should have been about an hour, but it was at least half an hour past that by the time they pulled onto Beach 24th street in Queens. Shane hadn’t been lying about Lloyd’s driving.

Driving the car to the end of the street, Lloyd parked in front of an empty lot with a busted chain-link fence. Emmet could tell the neighborhood used to be a nice, with cozy little bungalows lining the street, but time had not been kind, and too many of them stood in disrepair, abandoned or boarded up. The ones still occupied were in dire need of work, roof shingles missing, bars across the porches and windows.

Emmet got out of the car and stretched his legs. He wasn’t very tall, at 5’5", but the back seat of the little Nissan was cramped and he felt like he’d been sitting in a box for an hour and a half.

Not far ahead of them, Ian and Brock got out of their car.

“What did you do? Take the ferry?” Ian asked. “We’ve been here for at least 20 minutes. I had to listen to eight different Carrie Underwood songs.”

“At least you had a radio,” Vanessa replied. “We had to listen to Lloyd sing.”

“Better than Underwood,” Ian shot back.

“Hush,” Shane said. “Carrie is a national treasure. Now where are we going?”

“Right there,” Brock said, pointing to a house close the end of the row.

“Are you saying I’m not a national treasure?” Lloyd asked as they moved towards the house.

“Of course you’re a treasure, bae,” Shane said, patting him on the arm, “but you sing like a stepped on frog.”

Lloyd scowled.

Hopping up the steps, Brock knocked on the front door. When no one answered, he tried again, this time banging loudly on the glass of the screen door.

The inner door swung open and Frank, wearing shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, waved them in.

“You’re late, Balinski. You said 4:00. It’s 4:30.”

“Sorry, Frank,” Brock apologized. “Got held up in traffic.”

Frank snorted. “You got held up nowhere. You’ve been parked out front for the last 20 minutes. You got held up waiting for these clowns.”

“Are you being homophobic or racist, Frank?” Shane asked.

“Neither. I live in Queens. Do what you want, or who you want, but don’t waste my time by telling me you’ll be here at one time and arriving at another. Take your shoes off when you come in.”

Doing just that, Emmet followed Frank into the living room of his little bungalow. Not too tidy,  but not filthy either, Emmet guessed that Frank lived alone and probably didn’t spend too much time here.

Two women sat on the love seat, one Emmet recognized as Rey, but the other was a pretty blonde he’d never met.

“Rei, Sandra,” Brock said by way of greeting.

Rei barely acknowledged him, but Sandra smiled warmly.

“Hello, Brock.”

Rei rolled her eyes. “Oh, get a room.”

“I said ‘Hello’” Sandra protested, a faint pink blush coming to her cheeks.  

A blush mirrored on Brocks own cheeks. He cleared his throat and quickly changed the subject. Whatever the subject was. “Right. So. These false alarms.”

“What about them?” Frank asked, seating himself on a paisley arm chair.

Brock took a seat on the long couch opposite the girls and the rest of them joined him, Emmet squashed up between Shane and Vanessa.

Brock outlined their ordeals in Jersey and when he finished, Frank sat tapping a finger to his lip.

“Sounds about like what’s been happening on our end. More or less. Haven’t seen a boy pop out of any rifts yet  though. Are you sure you saw what you saw?” He directed the last question at Emmet.

“Y-y-yes, sir,” Emmet replied.

“What’s wrong with you?” Frank asked. “Can’t you talk straight without all that stammering? Do I make you nervous, son?”

It was Emmet’s turn to blush.

“There’s nothing wrong with him,” Ian interjected, “he just has a speech impediment.”

Emmet was both relieved and further embarrassed.  It was blunt. Accurate, but blunt. It did however, address the proverbial elephant in Emmet’s everyday life. Vanessa reached out and squeezed his hand with her own. When she removed her hand again, he almost sighed regretfully.

“Regardless,” Brock said, “if he says he saw a boy climb out of a rift, then I believe him. He has no reason to lie. The real question, is who’s hacking the system?”

Frank leaned back in his chair. “You think someone is hacking the system? One of us?”

“Makes sense,” Sandra chimed in. “Who else has our access?”

Brock smiled gratefully at her and Rey frowned at them both.

“The problem is, it could be anyone,” Sandra continued. “There’s close to two or three hundred of us  across this country alone.”

“I’m thinking it’s someone local,” Brock said. “Problem seems mid-Atlantic and why would anyone go out of their zone?”

“Because people don’t crap where they eat, Balinski,” Rey snapped.

“People crap wherever they went to, Navarro,” Ian shot back, “and they do it because it’s easier. No one’s routing that much traffic through a separate regional server. They’d risk tipping their hand. They’re around here somewhere.”

Rey leaned forward in her chair, her diminutive form giving off a very distinct air of hostility. “Say it does. That narrows it down to what? 40 or so people?”

“Less, once we weed out the ones who wouldn’t know how to do it.”

Ray sniffed and leaned back, arms folded across her chest.

“What happened to Turner?” Brock asked suddenly, veering the conversation sharply in a different direction.

Frank blinked, “Turner? What about him?”

“Reports say he was shot in a home invasion.”

“How did you know that?” Frank demanded. “Those reports aren’t released yet.”

“Same way you did, Frank. Foster mentioned Turner, we looked it up. What happened?”

Frank sighed and rubbed his eyes. To Emmet, he suddenly appeared much older.

“If you read the reports, then you know as much as I do,” he said.

Brock looked unconvinced and Frank must have noticed because he added, “Damn it, boy, why would I lie? Aaron was my own man. Practically raised him myself after his old man passed away. I want to know as much if not more than you.”

Brock sighed. “I don’t know, Frank.  Why would anyone? What’s the purpose of trying to hide rift openings amongst a series of false alarms? Did they slip more people in and what for?”

Frank shook his head. “Got me, kid. Look, if I get anything, I’ll tell you. I’m not above working together on this one if it means getting to the bottom of this. Let’s set our usual territorialism aside, and work to keep each other informed.”

Brock nodded and rose to his feet. “Thanks, Frank.  I appreciate that. We’ll call if we find anything.”

The rest of them go to their feet too. All but Rey, who remained resolutely seated, a scowl painted across her face.

When they were back outside, and well away from the house, Ian glanced back over his shoulder and then turned to look at Brock. “Do you trust him? Frank, I mean?”

“Not one bit,” Brock replied.