Page 110 of The Presidents Shadow

BELINDA THOUGHT THE idea was hers.

Maddy thought the idea was hers.

In any case, they both agreed that it was a very good idea. They also agreed that it was a very dangerous idea.

They planned on abducting Detective Robert McCarthy, the mastermind and instigator of their abduction and abuse, which had nearly led to their deaths in Dubai. Yes, they were rescued through their own wisdom and bravery, but the horrors of the experience have stayed with them.

At this moment Maddy is focused on Lamont’s terrible trip to Africa, but she also believes that putting in some face time with the despicable McCarthy could be a very prudent way to use her time—and perhaps lead to whoever is stealing the young drug dealers off the street.

Together the two women head to the underbelly of the 59th Street Bridge, a location that both Maddy and Belinda know all too well.

Nothing has changed.

Slender, pretty, solemn-faced girls walk slowly, breaking into forced smiles when a vehicle approaches.

The drivers are there also, circling the girls, ready to pick up or drop off according to whatever directive they get from Carla Spector.

The average street junkies are there, two or three sleazy-looking men in cheap clothing and worn sneakers.

The upper crust is present as well, cruising by in expensive vehicles, good-looking men in high-end suits and Gucci loafers.

This is yet another alternate world inside New York City.

Road and sanitation department equipment are not just resting under the bridge overnight but serving as cover for illicit drug deals.

An occasional police cruiser drives by, always stopping for just a moment, most likely picking up a payoff.

“Seems like old times,” Maddy says. A shrug from Belinda.

They walk. They watch. They talk.

“You scared?” Maddy asks.

“Nope, this is my world. Anyway, I know you’ve got my back.”

“I’ll do what I can,” says Maddy. Then she adds, “I think that some of my powers are returning.”

That news is greeted with one of Belinda’s rare smiles.

Maddy continues. “I’ve been testing my limits, judging the depth of my recovery. I tried some jump-up kick defenses. I practiced some very strong strength exercises. I worked on some core concentration exercises for shape-shifting. I think we’ll be safe.”

“Just in case your crazy special powers let us down, I brought another special little friend along,” says Belinda, reaching inside her jacket to reveal a small pistol.

“What are you doing?” Maddy cries, pushing the gun back down, out of sight.

“One bad turn deserves another,” says Belinda. “Anyway, it’s just an itty-bitty baby gun.”

“That can still fire an itty-bitty ball of metal at top speed and shatter human bodies,” says Maddy.

“You’ve been taking all the risks,” says Belinda. “I’ve had all the benefits. It’s time I contributed to this relationship.”

Maddy considers for a moment. “All right, but this is only in a worst-case-scenario situation. You don’t draw your weapon unless you’re willing to use it.”

“Oh, I’m willing,” Belinda says, a little too eagerly for Maddy’s taste.

Suddenly, a strange, high-pitched singsong voice comes from behind them.

“Well, well, well, look who’s come home.”

A cop? A driver? A customer?

The two of them turn around quickly.

“Mama-Girl!” Maddy yells, surprised at how glad she is to see the older woman. And Belinda, she just bursts into tears.

Mama-Girl steps forward and puts her arms around Belinda.

“Let me hold you and make certain I really got you standing here,” says Mama-Girl. Then she adds quietly, sadly, solemnly, “We heard that you two were gone. Very, very, very gone. Gone like Chloe. Gone like Travis.”

Maddy nods, then says, “They tried to send us off to some hell, but they couldn’t do it.”

Belinda rubs her eyes, sniffles, then gets back to business.

“We came by to visit our old friend Detective McCarthy,” she says.

“He doesn’t work this road anymore,” Mama-Girl informs them. “Someone said he was afraid one of the rare decent cops would squeal on him and his whole operation. But he ain’t dead. That’s for sure.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” says Maddy.

“Don’t worry about old Bobby-boy,” Mama-Girl says, taking a drag on a cigarette. “He’s not here at the bridge, but he’s around. You can find him on the commuter car strip going uptown on Third Avenue.”

“Thanks, Mama-Girl. Appreciate the info,” Belinda says.

“God bless you. Good luck, ladies,” Mama-Girl says.

She hugs Belinda, then Maddy. Then she says, “Y’all come back when you don’t have to run off to beat the shit out of someone.”