Near Enemy by Adam Sternbergh Read Free Book Online Page A

naturally, he killed her. And he didn’t stop there. Found the rapists too. Killed them. Found their wives. Killed them too. And their kids, in a couple of cases. Little kids, I mean. Cut quite a swath.
    Okay. So why not just arrest him?
    Hey, I’m NYPD, not Interpol. Plus, it’s all rumor. Records from Egypt right now are, shall we say, spotty. You probably saw the reports on TV. Things are a little chaotic over there.
    Like I said, I don’t follow the news.
    Boonce smirks.
    Well, let’s just say I hope you had a chance to visit Egypt back when the pyramids were still intact.
    Points to the photo of Shaban again.
    This kid’s taken it upon himself to lead a crusade to repopulate Atlantic Avenue. Pretty small-time right now, but it’s growing. Plus—and here’s the kicker—he knows Lesser.
    How?
    Best buds from the whiz-kid days.
    Okay. Now what does any of this have to do with me?
    Boonce picks up the handheld. Swipes again. Then says.
    Don’t forget. I’ve got one more photo to show you.
    Turns the screen back toward me.
    I assume you recognize this asshole.
    I examine the photo. It’s blurry, but, yes, I know him. Because this one’s me.

    It’s a photo shot in the Stuyvesant Town lobby. Security camera, judging from the overhead angle. I’m toting my duffel bag on my way to see Lesser on Saturday night.
    Waiter in a white coat arrives with two steaming bowls of bisque that I don’t remember either of us ordering. Boonce thanks the waiter, then gestures toward the curved wooden walls of the saloon, with their useless blind portholes.
    You know what I like about this place, Spademan?
    What’s that?
    No windows. So no one can see in.
    Takes his spoon and skims his bisque.
    Because that’s my job. That’s what I do. See into every room in the city.
    Blows on the spoonful.
    And I do see everything.
    So are you here to arrest me?
    Boonce smiles.
    Not arrest you. Recruit you.
    Then he takes another sip from his bisque.
    Look, Spademan, to tell you the truth, I don’t much care what you do. You find people, I find people. It’s a living.
    Swallows the spoonful. Frowns. Puts the spoon down. Pushes his bowl aside, barely touched.
    Leans in.
    I love this saloon. Last bastion of a whole different city. Only trouble is—
    Cups a hand to his mouth. Stage whisper.
    —the bisque sucks.
    Leans back.
    I just need to know what Lesser saw, Spademan. Or what he thought he saw. Because I know he told you. And I figure you’re just about the last one he talked to about it.
    So why not just ask him yourself?
    Haven’t you heard, Spademan? Lesser’s disappeared. Poof. No trace.
    So where’d he go?
    Boonce rattles his watch as he crosses his arms.
    That’s what I was hoping you’d tell me.
    Waiter whisks away both bowls of bisque.
    I shrug.
    I wish I could help you. But I don’t do missing persons. I talked to Lesser last night but then I left him at his apartment.
    Boonce checks his watch again, jostling its jeweled face free from under his starched French cuffs. Boonce is exactly the kind of fancypants who still wears cuff links. NYPD shields, no less.
    Looks up. Seems pressed for time. So he delivers his pitch.
    Unlike some people, Spademan, even people I work with, I’m not ready to give up on this city. I’m not ready to leave it to be ransacked by savages, or crushed under the wrecking ball. I grew up in New York, in Hell’s Kitchen. Used to skip school to go watch movie matinees in Times Square. After Times Square happened, I signed up to become a cop, work antiterror, because how could you not? And I’m not going to let what happened happen again. Not on the streets. And not in the limn.
    He leans in.
    Lesser’s a special kid. You know that, right?
    So people keep telling me.
    He is. And he was working on something special, Spademan. Something special and very dangerous. That’s why we were watching him. Rumor was, he’d worked out a new hack for the limn. One that goes way beyond bed-hopping.
    Which