He is reluctant to tell Steve too much, to implicate him in any way. Steve’s number is on his own phone, in Joey’s hands. Lots of text exchanges. This guy Joey, if he’s even halfway smart, will figure out this is a good friend of Zack’s. Who knows what this guy Joey will do, how far he will go, to get the phone back from Zack.

Yeah, well, I’m trying to get this dude’s phone back to him. But we’re having some problems with the actual exchange, Zack texts to Steve.

Well, let me know if I can help.

Less than a minute later, he gets another text from Steve.

Hey, dude, why not swing by my place? We can have a brew while I help you figure out your phone thing.

Nice offer, thinks Zack.

Steve’s apartment. Only ten minutes from here on mass transit. It’s a dump, a fifth-floor walk-up, but it’s a place to stop running, to stop and think. To organize a plan.

Maybe he is going to have to involve Steve, after all. That’s what friends are for. There for you in a crisis.

Although a crisis like this? That’s asking a lot.

Maybe he’ll have an idea that Zack hasn’t thought of. After all, Zack isn’t necessarily thinking straight. Steve is a sweet guy. A longtime friend. No, he decides, he doesn’t want to risk dragging Steve into this.

I’ll figure out the phone thing myself, Stevie. Thanks.

Well come on over anyway, says Steve’s next text.

Ok, I’ll try to get over there sometime this afternoon.

No, you should come now.

That’s a little forceful, thinks Zack. A little uncharacteristic.

Zack’s heart starts to pound.

Dude. You need to come now, says the next text.

Oh no…Oh no…

The diePhone rings. Zack answers.

“Dude, there’s a guy holding a gun to my head. He says you need to come to my apartment right now.” Steve’s voice. Shaking. Mumbling. Zack can barely understand the words.

And then Joey’s voice. “Guess we missed each other at Aldo’s.”

Zack is silent.

“Your pal’s apartment. Ten minutes, asshole.”

A wave of nausea washes through Zack’s torso.

“Ten. Not eleven.” Adding, in a shifted tone, eerily empty, devoid of emotion, “Eleven minutes is too late.”

“Okay. Ten minutes,” says Zack.

Now, with no choices. None he can see.

12.

12.

Zack rushes toward the subway.

He’s thinking a million miles an hour.

Would Joey really do it? Would he really kill someone—or two people—because of a smartphone?

A guy who kills for money. For a living. It wouldn’t be very professional. It wouldn’t pay very well. Nothing, in fact.

Maybe Joey, when he calms down, will decide it’s not worth it. Maybe it’s all a bluff to get his phone back.