Five minutes passed.
The computer sounded like it was trying to tear itself apart.
Its fans whined under the strain while Leon’s hastily built image-matching program crawled through the NYPD database.
Finally, several possible matches appeared on the screen.
Leon leaned forward.
Venom reacted almost instantly.
“That’s him.” One of its tendrils pointed at a photograph.
“No question.” Venom’s voice dropped into a growl.
“That’s the driver I sensed after the crash.” Leon clicked on the profile.
The mugshot enlarged.
A white man with a close-cropped haircut stared into the camera with open hostility.
Even in a police photograph, there was something hard and contemptuous in his expression.
Leon read the name.
“Rick Frey.” Thirty years old.
Venom scanned the record alongside him.
“Armed robbery.
Aggravated assault.
Served time, then got out on bail.” Its tongue slid across its teeth.
“Doesn’t exactly look like an innocent delivery driver who made one bad mistake.” Leon didn’t respond.
He stared at Rick’s face.
Burned it into memory.
The face of the man who had been behind the wheel when Ben died.
His jaw tightened.
“Now that I’ve found you…” His voice became dangerously quiet.
“You’re not getting away.” Venom’s grin widened beside him.
Leon continued.
“I’ll make sure you regret surviving that crash.” Venom nodded eagerly.
“And when you’re done asking questions, I’ll make sure there’s nothing left to bury.” Leon gave it a sideways glance.
Venom shrugged.
“Waste not, want not.” They returned their attention to the file.
Rick Frey’s early history was summarized only briefly.
The more detailed information began around his criminal convictions and the period after his release.
Leon scrolled.
One connection appeared repeatedly.
The Bloodhound Syndicate.
According to police intelligence, Rick was believed to be a member of the organization.
Not leadership.
Not a common street-level runner either.
Somewhere in between.
A lower-ranking operative trusted with errands that required discretion.
Transport.
Intimidation.
Cleanup.
Violence.
Dirty work.
The problem was that most of the information was based on fragmented intelligence, informant reports, and investigative assumptions.
Very little of it came with evidence strong enough for prosecution.
Leon leaned back.
“Bloodhound Syndicate.” Venom looked over the screen.
Leon tapped Rick’s profile.
“If he’s working for them, then was the crash a Syndicate job?” He frowned.
“Or did he have his own reason to target us?” Venom showed no interest in theorizing.
“We’re wasting time.” Leon looked at it.
Venom grinned.
“When we find him, ask him.” Its teeth gleamed.
“I promise he’ll answer.” A long red tongue passed over them.
“Everything.” Leon couldn’t argue with that.
Rick knew more than they did.
Speculation wouldn’t change that.
“Fair.” Leon continued searching through the database for information about the Bloodhound Syndicate.
The more he read, the less useful the files became.
There were plenty of records on minor members.
Drug dealers.
Enforcers.
Street-level thieves.
Low-ranking criminals who had been arrested because they were careless enough to get caught.
But meaningful information about the organization itself?
Almost nothing.
Who actually controlled it?
Where its leadership operated?
Its finances?
Its internal structure?
Major businesses?
Nothing solid.
Leon frowned.
“This group isn’t simple.” Venom looked at him.
“The database is full of foot soldiers, but there’s practically nothing on the people who matter.” He scrolled through another file.
“Whoever runs the Bloodhound Syndicate knows how to keep the important parts separated from the street-level operation.” Venom seemed unconcerned.
“One problem at a time.” Leon picked up the portrait Venom had drawn.
Rick Frey’s face stared back at him from the paper.
Leon narrowed his eyes.
“You’re our way in.” Find Rick.
Interrogate him.
Then follow whatever trail came next.
“I’ll find you soon.” Leon erased every trace of what he’d done.
He removed the temporary files he’d created, cleared the activity he’d generated, and returned the police computer as closely as possible to its original state.
Then he left through the same window.
Moments later, a black figure swung away through the night.
This time, Leon moved noticeably faster than during his first attempt.
His movements were cleaner.
More confident.
His releases came closer to the right moment.
His body was already beginning to adapt.
By the time he returned home, another idea had formed.
Leon sat at his desk.
He cleared everything away, turned on his own computer, and pulled over a stack of scratch paper.
Venom emerged beside him.
Leon immediately started typing.
Fast.
Venom watched his fingers race across the keyboard.
“You’re making another version of that program?” Leon nodded without looking away from the screen.
“An upgraded one.” “We’ve got his name now.” “Yes.” Leon continued working.
“But knowing Rick Frey’s name doesn’t tell us where he is.” The police record hadn’t provided a useful current location.
And if Rick had any sense at all, he wouldn’t be sleeping at an address already known to law enforcement after committing a deliberate hit-and-run.
“We don’t have informants.” Leon typed another command.
“We don’t have access to criminal contacts.” Another window opened.
“And we can’t exactly walk around New York asking everyone whether they’ve seen him.” Venom grinned.
“We could.” Leon ignored that.
“So I’ll create our own information network.” That caught Venom’s attention.
“How?” “Cameras.” Leon leaned closer to the monitor.
“I’ll connect the recognition software to surveillance feeds across New York.” Venom’s eyes widened slightly.
“If any camera captures someone sufficiently similar to Rick Frey, the program flags it.” “Exactly.” Leon continued writing code.
“Then we review the result ourselves.” Venom looked impressed.
Leon added another component.
“It’ll take more work than what I built at the police station.” “For one thing, accessing that many systems isn’t trivial.” He paused.
“And the cameras around the city aren’t exactly cutting-edge.” Many had poor resolution.
Bad angles.
Weak nighttime performance.
Even when the software produced a match, Leon would still need to inspect the footage manually to eliminate false positives.
There was also another obvious problem.
Coverage.
New York had surveillance cameras, but nowhere near enough to guarantee Rick would walk past one.
Leon leaned back for a moment.
“So there’s luck involved.” Venom’s tongue slid across its teeth.
“But if he shows his face in the right place…” “We’ll know.” Leon nodded.
“I’ve got a feeling it won’t take forever.” Venom’s grin became vicious.
“I hope not.” It sounded almost excited.
“I really want to meet him.” Leon didn’t need to ask why.
While Leon worked on finding him, Rick Frey was hiding in a basement in Queens.
And he couldn’t sleep.
Rick rolled onto one side.
Then the other.
He stared at the ceiling.
Something felt wrong.
He couldn’t explain it.
The job itself had gone smoothly.
He’d done plenty of work like this before.
Threats.
Assaults.
Transporting bodies.
Making problems disappear.
That was what the Bloodhound Syndicate paid him for.
By now, violence didn’t keep him awake at night.
But this job was different.
Ever since he’d rammed that van, a persistent feeling of unease had followed him.
Rick had survived on the streets long enough to respect instincts like that.
Ignoring a bad feeling was how careless men ended up dead.
His boss had already ordered him to stay out of sight.
The basement was far enough from his usual territory that he could disappear for a while until attention around the crash faded.
Originally, Rick had intended to do exactly that.
Now?
Not anymore.
He sat up.
“Screw this.” Rick climbed out of bed.
He didn’t have many possessions.
That made packing easy.
A few clothes.
Cash.
Essentials.
Everything fit into a small suitcase.
Rick had made up his mind.
He would find a boat and leave the country for a while.
Somewhere far enough away that nobody investigating the crash would stumble across him.
Once things cooled down, he’d return.
And when he did, life should be considerably better.
Rick smiled.
Every risk came with opportunity.
He’d spent years doing the Syndicate’s garbage work.
Whatever needed doing, Rick handled it.
His boss had promised that this particular job would finally earn him a promotion.
No more being treated like a disposable errand boy.
He’d become a crew leader.
Maybe get men of his own.
More money.
More women.
Better drugs.
Everything.
The Bloodhound Syndicate had deep pockets.
People who were loyal and useful were rewarded.
Rick knew that.
He’d also seen what happened to people who weren’t loyal.
His smile faded slightly.
A photograph flashed through his memory.
A traitor from the organization.
The man’s picture had been circulated among members not long ago as a warning.
Rumor said the Syndicate’s second-in-command had personally beaten him to death.
Nearly every bone in his body had been broken.
By the end, he barely looked human.
Rick shook his head and forced the image away.
That idiot had betrayed the organization.
Rick hadn’t.
Quite the opposite.
He was about to move up.
The unease returned briefly.
He ignored it.
Once he was overseas, he’d finally relax.
Then he’d come home with a promotion waiting for him.
Rick zipped the suitcase shut and grinned.
“When I get back, I’m celebrating properly.” He laughed to himself.
“Ten girls at once.” His laughter echoed through the dim basement.
Outside, several crows perched in the roadside trees.
Their harsh cries carried through the darkness.
Rick Frey didn’t know it yet.
But while he was preparing to run— Leon Carter was already teaching an entire city to look for his face.
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