"It's true, I'm afraid," he said.

  "Did you get another job?"

  "I decided I'm going to be independently wealthy. Unfortunately, it's off to kind of a slow start."

  Amelia laughed and thrust her hand at Reynaldo to get his name, squeezing his hand like a man would. "Come back to my office, you two." They followed her down the hall to her small, cramped office. It was stacked chest high with boxes for various cases and her desk was wedged in between two different filing cabinets. "Excuse the mess, guys. I just got back from Romania on a job. We helped shut down a major human trafficking organization. Tons of suspects, tons of victims."

  "Romania?" Frank said. "Impressive."

  "It was Turkey a month before that, and North Africa before that. You should see my passport," she said. "It's a mess."

  Frank waved his hand for Reynaldo to open the Phelps file and start spreading it out on Amelia's desk. "Hopefully this one will be easier for you. We got information that this guy is manufacturing kiddie porn at a store in town. Light stuff, mainly, from what we can tell. Kids getting changed in dressing rooms, that sort of thing. Our source told us that he's also trading in harder files, though."

  Amelia nodded as Frank spoke and bent forward to look over the paperwork. They went through the file piece by piece with both Frank and Reynaldo explaining all of the details, until she came to the last page. "Give me a few minutes," Amelia said. "I want to go look something up."

  They told her no problem as she collected the case file and left them standing in the office. Frank folded his arms against his chest and said, "I don't hate my dad."

  "Okay," Reynaldo said. "Forget I said it, then. You know what? I love being a police officer. I love the job and helping people, but I am starting to seriously hate where I do it."

  "Every place is screwed up, Rey-Rey. Every department has problems."

  "Yes, but at least in big departments you get the chance to move around if you want. There's more opportunities."

  "I agree. I have no idea why you ever left New York. If I was you, I'd have stayed there and joined the NYPD in an instant."

  Reynaldo nodded silently, keeping his eye on Amelia's door.

  "So why didn't you?"

  "Do what?"

  "Be a cop in New York?"

  "Because of my mother. She made me promise I would never work in the city, any city, so that I would be safe."

  Amelia's heels scraped the carpet as she made her way back to the office and opened the door, waving their case file triumphantly, "I knew it. I knew I recognized that asshole's name. We worked a case on Frederick Phelps last year and got this close to popping him for the distribution of child pornography."

  "What happened?" Frank said.

  "Technology happened. Back in the good old days, we could trace providers and purchasers of this shit pretty easily. They were paying with PayPal, or downloading it off of peer-to-peer file sharing networks. Remember Limewire?" Amelia asked.

  "Sure. It's where I got all my music from," Frank said.

  "There were only a dozen or so actual child pornography files on Limewire, and all we had to do was sit on them and wait for people to download them. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. Just downloading one of those files was enough for us to get a search warrant and seize whatever the person had in their computer. Invariably, one arrest would lead to a dozen others."

  "Just like drug work," Frank said.

  "Exactly. But then the bastards got smart. Now they use secure file-sharing websites that don't keep records of what they're storing. They upload a file like to some cloud computing site and it's immediately encrypted and accessible only with the right passkey. People don't trade files anymore. They sell those passkeys. But get this, the file isn't just encrypted to outsiders, it's encrypted to the website as well. They absolve themselves of any kind of liability because they have no way of knowing what they're storing."

  "Why would any company want to do that?" Reynaldo said. "Don't they realize what people are doing with the technology?"

  Amelia smiled sadly and said, "It's a brave new technological world. People are fighting to keep the internet free by any means necessary, and if it means child pornographers have an easier time of things, so be it."

  "That's disgusting," Reynaldo said.

  "It gets better. They're not selling the passkeys for regular money anymore either. Now they're trading in digital currency that isn't tied to any government. The money's completely virtual and completely untraceable. Perfect for drug dealers, child pornographers, you name it."

  "But how do you spend it?" Frank said. "Last time I checked the supermarket wasn't accepting digital currency."

  "Not yet," Amelia said. "But a lot of companies are starting to. And the ones that aren't accepting it yet are investing in it heavily, believe me."

  "So if I want to buy a kilo of cocaine from you, I email you the money?" Frank said.

  "No, because emails would be tied to a real person. Digital currency is stored in wallets online that can be accessed from anywhere, as long as you know the right code. Each wallet can have as many different codes as you want."

  "Almost like a digital Swiss Bank Account?" Frank said.

  "Exactly."

  "If you seize a suspect's computer can you analyze it to find the wallet?" Frank said.

  "The wallet's not stored in the computer. It's in a cloud on some unknown server in East Shitstania. Same as the child porn files. The only thing a search warrant analysis would reveal is a computer containing a bunch of seemingly random numbers."

  "So is that what Phelps did?" Frank said. "He started using all this encrypted shit?"

  "Most likely," Amelia said. "Our previous intel was that he was buying and selling child pornography files on a regular basis for over a year, and then he suddenly stopped."

  "Do you think he got spooked?" Reynaldo said.

  "Maybe, but that would only last a little while. Guys like this can't change what they are. Let me ask you a question. If sex with a woman became illegal tomorrow would you become gay?"

  Reynaldo's eyebrows raised at Amelia's question and he said, "No."

  "You'd still find a nice pair of tits and a juicy ass attractive, right?"

  "Probably, yeah," Reynaldo said uncomfortably.

  "Exactly," Amelia said. "You'd just be real careful who you told and get real good at finding ways to hide it. It's the same thing they do."

  "Okay," Frank said, getting up from where he was leaning against the wall. "Thanks for the lesson, we really appreciate it. We're going to leave the Phelps file with you so you can add it to your case. I'm sure your team of fine Federal investigators will crack the case in no time. It was good to see you."

  He waved for Reynaldo to come along, and Amelia called out, "No fucking way, Frank. I'm not taking this case. We're not taking any new local cases."

  "But it's your area of expertise, Amelia. You guys are equipped to handle this shit and we're not."

  "One, we're not taking any cases that aren't slam-dunk home runs as per the US Attorney's Office, Frank. They want hundred percent conviction rates for everything we charge, no exceptions. The way this works is, you small agencies do the legwork until you have enough to file charges, and we swoop in and steal it from you if it looks like something we can win easily. You know that."

  "But this is different, Amelia. We can't work this case."

  She picked up the file and held it toward Frank, "Without the address of his digital wallet and the passkey to his files, we can't either."

  Frank and Amelia were deadlocked, staring at each other without either of them moving or speaking. Reynaldo's head turned from one to the other and he said, "So that's it? We just give up?"

  "Leave the case open until you get new information," Amelia said. "Maybe you'll get lucky."

  "This man is abusing children!" Reynaldo said. "There's no way we can get lucky with that!"

  "Then get me the address and passkey," she said. "Until then, I can't help you."

  Reynaldo flung open the door to Amelia's office and headed for the elevators, muttering a long string of Spanish curses as he passed the secretary and shoved the office door open with both hands. Frank picked up the envelope from Amelia's desk and said, "Sorry about that."

  "He's young," she said. "He'll grow out of it."

  Frank looked at her, "Grow out of what?"

  "Having hope."

  Frank found Reynaldo sitting in the passenger seat of their car, arm propped up on the door, hand covering his mouth. He got in and wedged the file between the seats so it wouldn't lose any of its contents and said, "Well, that sucked."

  Reynaldo did not respond, keeping his fingers pressed against his lips like he was trying to physically restrain himself from speaking.

  Frank turned the car on and gently pulled out of the parking space, navigating the narrow turns of the parking garage as he followed the Exit signs. "I know you're upset, but Amelia is good police. Honest. She goes all over the world fighting this sort of thing. She probably has much bigger fish to fry than Freddie Phelps."

  "Good for her," Reynaldo said bitterly. "But we don't. We have this, and now nothing is going to get done about it."

  "That's how it goes sometimes, Rey-Rey. A case sits until we develop new information."

  "What's the new information going to be, Frank? Some kid gets raped and that's when we finally decide to get off our asses and do something about it? Why do we have to wait until something terrible happens to someone before we give a damn?"

  "Because that's how the system works, Reynaldo! We can't go around throwing people in jail just because we want to. We have to be able to prove it beyond a reasonable fucking doubt in court or it isn't worth a squirt of piss."

  "Then we kill him," Reynaldo muttered.

  "Yeah, okay. Good idea."

  "We put a fucking bullet in his head because he is a sick dog."

  Frank stopped the car and turned to look at the younger officer, who refused to turn away from the window. "Hey. Look at me. I'm serious. Look at me."

  Reynaldo turned slowly toward him, "What?"

  "No."

  "Fine."

  "Hey! I'm being serious. You understand me? No."

  "What do you care, Frank?" Reynaldo said. "You didn't want to come down here anyway. You just want to walk away and not look back and leave it all up to someone else to deal with, right? Your big plan was to dump it on someone else and wash your hands of it. But instead, it will not go away and is still our problem."

  "It's your problem," Frank said. "Not ours."

  "You know something? You're right. So go fuck yourself." Reynaldo popped the car's door handle open and grabbed the case file, putting his foot on the ground before Frank could move the car. "I'll find my own way back. That's how it's going to be from now on anyway."

  Reynaldo slammed the passenger side door of Frank's car shut so hard it echoed off the low concrete ceiling. There were cars lining up behind him waiting to exit. Frank jumped out of his car and held up his hand to shield the irritated honks of the cars waiting to leave. "Hey! Get back in the car, dumbass. We can talk about this."

  "Go to hell, Frank," Reynaldo called out over his shoulder.

  "Stop being a baby. I have one other option, I didn't want to use it but if it means that much to you−Honk at me one more motherfucking time and see what happens, asshole. If it means that much to you, I will swallow my pride and go talk to the one guy who can help us. Reynaldo?"

  He watched Reynaldo escape through the stairwell door and vanish. Frank looked back at the person sitting in the car behind him, an old woman who could barely see over the top of the dashboard. She was talking on her cellphone with her eyes glued to Frank, no doubt giving his clothing description and the license plate of his car to 911. "Sorry," Frank said as he ducked back inside his car and did his best to get the hell out of there.

  Dez Dolos tapped his pen against his desk nervously as he stared through his office window. He'd never spent this much time sitting in the office in the seven years he'd been assigned to the Philadelphia area. People stuck their head in his door and made jokes about him being some new guy they'd never seen before. He laughed at every one of them and made small talk, trying to get a read on what they were thinking as they spoke, searching their faces and body language for any clue of deception. Right then, it was his only way to try and divine what was happening. He pulled out his phone and looked at it. Still nothing from Ondrey Williams. Fuck.

  His phone buzzed from the secretary's desk. "Agent Dolos? There's a Frank O'Ryan here to see you. He says it's important."

  Dez felt something stiffen in his throat and his right knee began to bounce up and down instinctively. "Send him back," Dez croaked, hanging up the phone and grabbing for the bottle of water sitting on his desk. Holy shit, he thought. Here we go.

  "Hey," Frank said, knocking lightly on the doorframe. "Long time, no see."

  "I know!" Dez said, a little too excitedly. He waved for Frank to come into the office, but didn't get out of his chair. "How the hell are you?"

  "Pretty good. How's business?"

  "Busy as usual. You know how that goes." Dez was bent forward in his seat, both arms lying flat across his desk, his entire body an arrow aimed directly at Frank. "So what brings you down here?"

  Frank looked over his shoulder at the open door and jerked his head at it. Dez said, "Sure, no problem," and Frank got up to close it shut before he sat down. "Uh oh," Dez said with a large smile. "This sounds serious. Am I in trouble?"

  "Not that I know of," Frank said with a light chuckle. It was clear there was no real warmth between the two of them, and all of this was just empty gestures of congeniality. He took a deep breath and said, "You know I've never asked for this before, but we've got a kind of a special case up my way. The kind of thing that we could use a little…extra help persuading someone with, you know what I mean?"

  Dez kept his expression purposely blank. "A case?"

  "Yeah. A child pornographer who works in town, and we need these codes from him before ICE will help us out. We have reached an absolute dead end, and you know I wouldn't ask this under any other circumstance."

  "So…."

  "So, I was thinking that maybe our friend could have a chat with him."

  "Our friend?"

  "Yeah."

  "Which one of our friends, Frank?"

  "The one with the big front teeth and large fluffy ears."

  Dez looked at Frank's neck and chest, trying to see the bulge of any recording devices that might be strapped to him. Modern recording devices were the size of key fobs and could be dangled from a necklace, so there was no real way to know how Frank was recording him, but it didn't matter. The important thing was that Dez knew it. Dez started at Frank and said, "A bunny rabbit?"

  "Yeah," Frank said slowly. "The one who lives in the warehouse."

  Dez suddenly slapped the table and let out a manic laugh, clutching his sides and squealing until he could barely breathe. "Oh shit," he wheezed, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. "God damn, you should see your face. Listen, if you need our help with something, it's no problem. We'll be glad to give you any assistance you require. I'll send my boys up there and we'll review your case file and put some surveillance on this asshole, muy pronto. If it's something the Task Force can take off your hands, you know we'll be glad to do it."

  "But what about−"

  "Listen, I've got to get going," Dez said. "I have to meet someone. Is it okay if I call you later on in the week to set up a time for us to swing by?"

  Dez was already through the door and hurrying down the hall before Frank could answer. Frank turned around in his chair and watched Dez barrel through the exit toward the stairs, thinking, What the hell just happened?

  The landing door slammed shut above him and Dez was halfway down the flight of stairs toward the parking garage before he whipped out his phone and called Skip. "You're not going to fucking believe this. Frank O'Ryan is the snitch. He just tried to get me on a wire talking about the Rabbit."

  "You're shitting me!" Skip said. "Wasn't his dad the original?"

  "It doesn't fucking matter now. We've gotta deal with him fast."

  Skip paused long enough to weight that out in his mind. "Let's meet up and figure out our next move."

  "My thoughts exactly," Dez said. He ended the call and stuffed his phone back in his pocket, stopping to look through the dirty parking garage window, scanning the lot for any cars backed into parking spaces or white guys wearing baseball hats slunk low in their seats, insistently ignoring him. In other words, a surveillance detail.

  Chapter Nine

  It was late afternoon and the sun squatted directly over their heads with no trees or buildings to provide cover. The freshly asphalted road reflected the light and conducted heat through the oily rock mash up into the soles of their boots. Several cops stood huddled under the lifted rear gate of a marked SUV, sweating through their electric green, reflective safety vests. They stared at the small box inside the SUV, hoping it didn't beep.

  It did.

  "Fifty-seven!" Corporal Donoschik hollered out triumphantly. He raced into the roadway and started flapping his arms up and down in wide circles, waving for the car coming down the hill to stop.

  Please run him over, Reynaldo thought.

  "You!" Donoschik shouted at the driver, his finger aimed through the air like he could zap them through the windshield. "Pull over!"

  The driver, an older woman wearing her seatbelt slowly turned her steering wheel to the right to pull into the church parking lot where the police officers' vehicles were parked. "You!" Donoschik called out to Reynaldo, signaling him in the exact way he'd done to the offending drivers.

  Reynaldo sighed and carried his metal ticket case over to the woman's driver's side window and said, "Good afternoon, ma'am. I'm Officer Francisco and we're doing a traffic safety detail today. Unfortunately you were clocked going over the posted speed limit of forty-five miles an hour."

 

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