Sting

Who killed Marnie Thomas? - Chapter 8

East Harlem townhouse, East Harlem.

The sun had set, and fog rolled below the indigo sky. A camera crew swarmed around in the living room of the sting house, filming Bullinger as he read over his Q-cards. Nietzsche was hunched over a laptop, typing with one hand and fitting an earpiece with the other, as Hassan briefed Daisy on the immanent sting. Officers were hovering around the living room, wiring up hidden cameras and planting mics - they were moments away from getting their guy, and the tension fizzed in the air as the clock ticked down.

"We have eyes on the suspect, repeat, we have eyes on the suspect, over." A raspy voice said over Malina's walkie.

"Roger that, over and out."

Malina began swatting everyone into the dining room. Within seconds, everyone was in the adjacent room, leaning over Malina's shoulder, studying the various monitors which showed the living room from every angle. Daisy was the only one left in the room. She paced nervously... waiting. She looked no older than a fourteen-year-old in her pink shirt, black leggings, and anime socks. Finally...

Ding dong.

Daisy edged to the door and brought her eye to the peephole - there stood a well-dressed businessman, his eyes darting around the street as if he were being chased. They saw her put her thumbs up at the hidden camera, and welcomed him in.

He greeted her with enthusiasm, a bag of Jade Palace Chinese food in his hand.

"Hey, Kathy, right?"

"Oh, um, actually it's Katy."

"I'm Chirpy. And your parents definitely aren't here?" He sat the bag on the table.

"No, they're on vacation."

"Wonderful."

He made himself comfortable, and their conversation began, his lips twisting and pointing with every word, hissing sweet lies and sinister promises, but nothing deeper than a hypothetical.

They'd been talking for quite some time, and the exchange didn't seem to be getting Daisy anywhere. The man answered questions like a politician - never quite answering what he was asked.

"So, Katy. My friend spoke very highly of you."

"Oh, David's super sweet, I've known him, like,  forever. He knows how much I need to get out of this stupid house.  Make my own life, you know?"

"I assume that David's told you everything? About how this works?"

She just tilted her head. She knew she had to get him to actually say it. Out loud.

"You have to understand." He continued. "My clients are very discreet. You can't disclose the nature of our business."

She wasn't expecting what he said next to be so abrupt - it truly shocked her.

"My girls sleep with men, for money. A lot of money. You can do whatever you want. You'll have freedom, cash, protection. You can get out of this house, go wherever you want, do whatever you want. It's a small price to pay, really."

'Got him.' She thought. 'Home stretch.'

"I hope it's ok that I'm only fourteen..."

"It's perfectly fine. Many of my clients actually prefer that... demographic."

And that was all she needed.

"Great. Well, I'll go grab some plates."

She smiled, and went into the dining room, where she was met with the gaze of Bullinger's crew and the detectives.