The broadcast featuring Globe’s gruff face ended, and an anchorman with shaking hands visibly gulped, cleared his throat and tried to explain what the viewers had just witnessed.
“I…” Andy stuttered, “I don’t believe this. Why would he want to expose them like that?”
“So everyone has a reason to kill them now.” Massey replied and turned to Joaquin with concern on his face.
Joaquin frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “That pussy ass motherfucker better not cramp up my hero chances.”
“We can take down Globe and prevent all this from happening, but we just might need someone like you Andy.”
That’s it pal, take the poisonous apple, take a big bite. This is all you’ve ever wanted.
A smile played on Andy’s lips. “Alright, I’m in.”
Massey’s phone rang. This time, he checked the caller ID, but it was blocked.
“Hello?” He asked tentatively.
A feminine voice replied, “Why hello there, Detective Massey. I hope you have one more place on that vigilante team of yours.”
Massey gripped the phone tighter. “Anne.” The derision in his voice was palpable.
Joaquin reached for the phone, but Massey pushed his hands back and made a shushing motion with his eyes and free hand. He returned his attention to his cellphone. “What do you want?”
Her voice was seductive even through the line. Massey could hear the smile in her voice, the playful murder lips, curling into a grin.
“Same as you: To take down Globe.”
* * *
Anne inched away from the cover the public phone booth gave her, peering to see the park across the street for a sign of distress. She marveled that such a staple of the world was slowly dying. This particular phone booth didn’t even have a telephone handset. The coiled aluminum had several colorful wires dangling from one end. When she received a “play date” invitation from Bree via cell phone, Anne knew she had to comply. Globe was furious at her return and Bree’s request, but he was on his way to deliver his coup de gras in the form of a well-rehearsed speech.
She had said to Massey what she needed to and now waited for Massey’s startled silence to produce a word. On the side of the booth, someone had written “Gordo’s public restroom here” with an arrow specifying the ground upon which Anne stood. She stepped lightly, her heels sticking to the greasy concrete. The phone was warm against her ear, but then Massey spoke, and she couldn’t help but smile.
“What are you playing at? You work for him.”