A shiny black Escalade pulled up in front of Emer Lynch’s Petoria building. Two large men got out, one going back and opening the rear door for a diminutive Asian man in an expensive suit – Mr. Ming Jay Yoon. The other man held the pet store door open and Yoon stepped inside.    

A myna squawked when Yoon came in, the man’s escorts darting sharp glances at the bird and its feathered and scaley neighbors, at the tanks of strange fish. 

Over at the dog pen, Juna was feeding the Rottweiler puppies. She straightened and wiped her hands on her jeans. “Hi, can I help you?” 

“My name is Yoon. I have an appointment with Mr. Lynch.” 

Juna checked him out – guy putting it on like some midget warlord – glanced at the two big guys and nodded. “Sure, follow me.” 

She put a water bowl in with the puppies and headed for the door in back. 

She led them across the wide storage area, over to where Emer Lynch was talking to the truck driver Crotty. 

Lynch smiled when he spotted his guest. “Ah, Mr. Yoon…” He stepped over and shook Yoon’s hand. “We were just talking about how well it all went.” 

“You got them to where they were going?” 

“Like nothing ever happened. But their people got the point.” 

Yoon nodded. “Hopefully they will see there is a better way to travel.” 

Lynch noticed Juna still standing nearby. “What is it?” 

“The puppies are fed. Should I take them out.” 

“Fine.” 

She started back across the floor. 

Lynch called to her back. “Juna?” 

She stopped and turned around. 

“This is Mr. Yoon. He’s going to be an important friend of ours.” 

Juna gave him a polite smile. “Pleased, I’m sure.” 

Yoon made a stiff little bow. “The pleasure is mine.” 

                                                            #          #          # 

They sat facing each other, publisher and this kid from wherever, coffee cups on the table between them. Alexey asked Weecho to start from the beginning, why he’d been at the scene with a camera. Weecho told him about scouting for the grunge band shoot, how he saw this container truck tearing along with the Mercedes right behind it. 

“By the way,” he said, “we know where the container truck is, too.” 

“You’re full of interesting information. That container had dangerous cargo in it.” 

“We saw them.” Maybe that was stretching it, but Weecho knew who had seen them, or at least she’d gotten an eyewitness account. “But they’re gone now.” 

Alexey was looking hard at him. “Do you happen to know where they went?” 

“No, but we can probably find out.” Another stretch. But maybe not, Juna being where she was now. 

Alexey took a sip of coffee. “What’s your part in all this?” 

“I don’t have a part, but I’d like to.” 

“Why?” 

“Lemme ask something. How was Nina Galleon involved?” 

Alexey put his cup down, started to say it wasn’t Weecho’s concern, instead looked over at the big windows, the pricey view. How much did he have to let out here, to this kid he knew next to nothing about, to keep the flow going? “Nina was working undercover. That’s all I can say.” 

“That’s why those guys in the SUVs got her out of there so fast.” 

Weecho could see he’d zapped him again, politely, but still a step ahead. Could see Alexey didn’t like it. Weecho wanting him to know he wasn’t going to settle for That’s all I can say. 

“You could be charged for withholding evidence, you know.” 

Weecho’s nod told him he already knew that. And where was this guy’s authority to threaten? 

Of course the authority was probably right in that telephone sitting on Alexey’s big desk. If Weecho had learned anything in his short life, it was knowing when he was getting close to thin ice and when to step back. 

Said to Alexey, “The part about knowing who the laptop guy is…?” 

“What about him?” 

“I’ve got somebody working undercover, too.” 

From a nineteen-year-old, Weecho was sure this sounded outrageous. But they’d been talking long enough for Alexey not to think it was totally off the wall. And the man was smart enough to keep quiet and let Weecho go on. 

“The guy’s name is Emer Lynch,” Weecho said. “Owns a pet importing and supply company out in Jamaica Bay.” 

Weecho got up and went over and clicked on the thumbnail of the picture he’d taken of Petoria, with the blue Nissan SUV in front. Made it big enough on the wide screen so Alexey didn’t have to leave the couch to see what Weecho was pointing at. 

“Same car here as was at the crash. It looks like he uses the place as cover for running in stuff and maybe people from boats offshore. He taxis them in fastboats like the one you see back here.” Pointing to the Donzi. 

“Jamaica Bay?” 

“Broad Channel.” 

That touched something, Weecho could see right away. Alexey sat there and stared, first at Weecho, then at the screen. Weecho could see his mind was working.  

“Why’d you ask?” Weecho said. 

Alexey didn’t answer right away. Finally, he turned from the screen. “Nina Galleon lived in Broad Channel.” 

                                                #          #          #                                               

Lynch and Yoon, followed by Yoon’s two escorts, walked across the Petoria storage area, Lynch pointing to a glass tank with large fish swimming around inside. “Sometimes we pack product into balloons or condoms and sew them into fish like these.” 

He gestured Yoon toward the door to his office. “Right now this is a modest operation,” he said, pushing the door open, “but that’s about to change.” 

Lynch gestured Yoon inside toward a chair, the two escorts waiting outside, the Rottweiler bitch keeping an eye on them. Lynch took a seat at his desk and reached for the laptop from the crash. “Our businesses are about access, Mr. Yoon, names, relationships…” 

“Indeed.”    

Lynch turned the laptop around so Yoon could see the screen. “Every Middle East player is here. Opium, arms, sex trafficking, you name it.” 

Yoon studied the screen. “You said my name is there?” 

“Your weapons catalog. Along with a Who’s Who of facilitators, government grease.” 

“So what are you suggesting?” 

“Just what you said. Convince them over there to consider us in their plans.” 

“Us.” 

“Your network for getting illegals into this country has been beyond successful. But…” 

“But what?” 

“That business is getting more scrutiny now, with our militant friends stepping things up.” 

“And your answer?” 

“Bring those people in through here.” Lynch waved his hand at the general surroundings. “Bring everything through here.” He ticked off a list on his fingers: “Drugs, weapons, passengers. One stop shopping. We broker their opium, it pays for your arms.” 

They held each other’s eyes, egos engaged. Suddenly a loud flapping interrupted. Both men looked over at a cage on the floor. 

“You into falcons, Mr. Yoon?” 

“I have an interest, yes.” 

Lynch got up and lifted the cage onto the desk. Yoon peered in at the falcon – the bird that poacher Teddy Shongut brought in. 

“That’s a peregrine, Mr. Yoon. The fastest of the fast.” 

“I know what it is.” 

“I’d like you to have it.” 

Yoon stared blankly at Lynch. 

“As a gesture of my confidence in our relationship.” 

Yoon continued to stare – then allowed himself a smile. “Mr. Lynch, I believe we are off to a good start.”   

                                                #          #          # 

Alex Alexey had his own pistol range in the basement of his Upper East Side town house. An unusual arrangement for a magazine publisher. An unusual arrangement for anyone. 

He’d taken Weecho there because he wanted him to meet someone, tell that someone what he knew about Lynch, and go over those crash pictures again (they’d printed out a set at the officeto take up there with them). That person was due to arrive any minute. 

Alexey tossed his suit coat onto the mahogany bar, took two cans of soda from the fridge underneath, popped one and handed it to Weecho. They hadn’t said any more about Broad Channel or Nina Galleon since they’d left Alexey’s office and rode uptown in the back of his Bentley.  

“The man who was killed in the crash with Nina,” Alexey said, meaning the heavyweight Arab, “was using diplomatic immunity to bring subversives and weapons in through New York. She’d gotten close to him and was feeding us information.” 

Weecho had guessed right – competition for Lynch. 

“Who’s us?” Weecho said. 

“You’ll see.” 

Confident as he was acting, Weecho was starting to feel a little out of his depth (actually, was probably just waking up to what he’d gotten himself into). “You think she was feeding information to Lynch, too?” 

The Broad Channel connection. 

Alexey said, “All I can tell you is what I just did.”  

Weecho thinking, How else could Lynch have known what was in that container, the timing of where it would be? 

Suddenly he felt betrayed by Nina. “Why would he kill her?” 

A hard voice spoke up behind him. 

“Because he’d already gotten what he wanted.” 

Someone had come silently down the stairs.  

Alexey looked over Weecho’s shoulder. “Hello, Vince.” 

Weecho turned around. Didn’t know who he expected to see. Definitely not the man standing there. 

Alexey said, “Weecho, meet Deputy Commissioner Burke.” 

Vincent Burke, counter-terrorist numero uno, NYPD. A face that Weecho and just about every other New Yorker knew from the news – a face that said Don’t even think about screwing with me. 

Burke didn’t shake hands, just gave Weecho a cold look. “That laptop in the picture Alex emailed me…” 

Alexey had used a secure link at his office to email Weecho’s picture of Lynch grabbing the laptop to whoever it was they’d be meeting with. Didn’t mention it was Burke. 

“What about it?” Weecho said. 

“It should have been ours,” Burke said. “We should have had those pictures two days ago.” 

“I wanted to make sure they got to who they should.” 

Burke snorted. “Please…” 

“The information in that laptop,” Alexey said, “is information we’re obviously anxious to get.” 

“I told you where it is,” Weecho said. “Can’t you go pick it up?” 

“Tell the Commissioner about this person you say you have working out there.” 

“She’s a friend,” Weecho said, “staying with me. She talked herself into a job taking care of the animals Lynch uses as cover.” 

Alexey turned to Burke. “It might pay to leave it out there for now, see what it stirs.” 

Weecho sensing redemption. “So maybe it worked out better, me delaying things.” 

“Don’t push your luck,” Burke said, holding his cold stare, reminding Weecho he was still in the shitcan, even if it was Weecho who’d gotten those shots in the first place, who had more information than they did.     

The Commisioner took off his suit jacket and tossed it on the bar next to Alexey’s. Grabbed a handful of mixed nuts from a bowl on the bar and tossed them into his mouth. He bent down and tugged up one pant leg, drew a .38 snubnose from an ankle holster.   

Alexey stepped over to the gallery’s shooting area, opened a gun cabinet and took out a Beretta automatic that Weecho could see he’d had a while – like that Nikon at the office. The host switched on a ceiling fixture that spotlit a pair of silhouette targets on the far wall.  

Both men put on protective headphones. Alexey shoved in a full clip and racked the Beretta as he and Burke stepped up to the firing line. 

Both took aim and opened fire – Bam! Bam! Bam! Kept firing.  

Weecho covering his ears. Christ. 

It was surreal, these two men, Duputy Police Commissioner and fashion publisher, blasting away at targets in the basement of this townhouse that could sell for who knows how many millions in the middle of Manhattan. 

Then silence. 

The only sound was the last empty shell from Alexey’s automatic pinging off the floor. 

If the barrage was meant to put Weecho in his place, it pretty much succeeded. 

The two men took off their headphones, air sharp with burned powder. Alexey pushed a button and the targets, attached to a cable on pulleys, came floating back to the shooters. 

Weecho’s cell rang. 

He answered. “Yeah? Hi, it went fine, I’m at his house. What’s up?” 

He listened, looked over at the pistol range. 

Alexey and Burke were studying the bullet holes in the silhouette targets. 

Weecho listened some more, held the phone away from his ear. “Mr. Alexey?” 

Both men turned. 

“You know anyone named Yoon?”