I came back to myself when my wife’s frantic whisper broke through my thoughts. “Please don’t take her.”
The phone in front of me showed the man drag my daughter out of the room by her hair; I watched it until I could no longer see another thing.
“Keep the line open,” I said to my wife. “I’ve got to make some calls.”
The first call was to the police.
While I was getting dressed and then heading to Downy’s place, I made many calls.
I called in every single fucking marker I had in the entire country. Markers I’d had since I was a rookie on the force. Old money. New money. Old acquaintances. New acquaintances. Feds. You name it, I called them.
And they’d be fuckin’ sorry, because I was about to bring the wrath of the whole fucking world on their shoulders. One way or another, they’d pay. And I’d be there when they did.
The final call was to Big Papa.
“Hello?” Papa answered.
“Someone has Memphis,” I said without preamble.
With his reply, I could tell that the roughness in his voice, and the sleep I could feel clouding his mind, cleared, “I thought you had the cop on her. Wasn’t that the deal?”
“Yeah. He’s taken, I assume, too,” I said roughly.
My heart was beating a mile a minute, and I was finding it hard to breathe as I raced to Downy’s place.
“I’ll meet you out there. We’ll get her back,” Papa said harshly.
I knew we would. I just hoped she was all in one piece when we did.
That man of hers, though. Well, he’d have some things to answer for.