"So… what's the plan?" Deborah asked after Sam filled her in. She perched on the arm of the couch, arms folded, one eyebrow arched in challenge.
"Well, we haven't really thought of a plan yet," Sam admitted with a shrug. "You know—because of what happened."
"Whatever we do, it has to be quick," Pete said. He left his spot by the window and crossed to Sam's battered study table. "Time isn't exactly on our side."
He set his phone down and tapped the screen. With a soft hiss, the device unfolded into a paper-thin tablet the size of a magazine. Its glow painted his face in pale blue light.
"According to what we overheard, the children are supposed to be handed over by Wednesday," Pete continued. "We don't know if they're still in the city."
"I doubt they've moved them," Deborah cut in. "Those guys love their protocols. They'll wait until the last possible moment."
"That means the kids are still here," Sam said, leaning closer to the table. "But where?"
Pete spread his hands. "Beats me. That's why I have this."
He swiped across the tablet and a map of Tina City bloomed onto the screen—a rough circle with a jagged bite missing along the riverfront.
"I ran a search of potential hideouts," he explained. "Green marks are places we know: our neighborhoods, the game shop, Sunny Mart. Red marks are unknown zones."
Sam whistled low. Red dominated the map. "That's still a lot of ground. You can probably rule out hospitals, though. I doubt they're hiding kids in a place crawling with staff."
Pete nodded and removed a cluster of red dots. "Better, but we've still got too many."
"What if we check them out in person?" Deborah suggested.
"No way," Pete said immediately. "If anyone spots us snooping, we can kiss our chances goodbye."
Sam rubbed the back of his neck. "What about city security feeds? Maybe something shows up."
"I tried," Pete replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Every camera between seven and eight p.m. is wiped clean. Whoever we're dealing with is careful—even when they look sloppy."
Silence settled over the room. The tablet's blue glow flickered across their faces, sharpening the tension.
"We've got nothing," Sam muttered. "And Wednesday's the deadline. That gives us, what—Monday and Tuesday to act?"
Deborah tilted her head, an idea sparking in her eyes. "I… might know someone who could point us in the right direction."
Sam looked wary. "Deb—"
Pete cut in. "Bringing in outsiders is risky. We can't afford exposure."
"You don't have to worry," she said with quiet conviction. "I trust him. He might be our only chance."
Pete glanced at Sam. Sam shrugged—If it helps us find the kids, I'm in.
Deborah pulled out her phone and stepped toward the hallway window. "Alright, but keep it tight," Pete warned.
She nodded and tapped a number. The line rang twice.
"Hey—yeah, it's me," she said softly. "Listen, can you… can you come to Thompson Street? Like, right now?"
A pause. Deborah turned slightly away from the guys, brow furrowed.
"No, it's nothing crazy, I just… need you to come. Mm-hmm. Yeah, I know it's late."
Another pause. Her shoulders lifted, exasperated. "What? No, I'm not—look, I wouldn't call if it wasn't important. Please?"
Pete raised an eyebrow at Sam. Sam mouthed Who is that? Deborah waved them off.
On the phone she sighed. "Okay, okay—fifty. That's all I can swing right now."
She listened, lips pressed thin. "Because that is all I can give you, that's why. Are you coming or not?"
A beat. Relief softened her face. "Thank you. See you in a few."
She ended the call and turned back. "He's on his way."
"What was that about?" Sam asked.
"It's nothing," Deborah said lightly. "You'll see."
---
Ten minutes later, a faint knock-knock tapped against the door.
"That was fast," Deborah said, springing up.
Sam opened the door. The old hinges gave their familiar creak—Creeeak—but the hallway appeared empty.
"Huh?" Sam leaned out, scanning left and right.
"Down here, foo!" a high-pitched voice called.
Sam looked down. A small boy stood there, maybe eight years old, wearing a crooked ball cap and an attitude twice his size.
"And you are?" Sam asked.
"The name's Antonio," the boy declared, strutting inside without invitation. "But you can call me Lalo."
Sam blinked. "You're kidding."
"Let him in," Deborah called from the couch.
Sam stepped aside—though it felt more like he'd been shoved aside by the kid's sheer audacity.
Lalo glanced around the apartment and let out a theatrical groan. "Man, what kind of trashy apartment is this? And I thought my place was bad."
Sam's jaw tightened. "What did you just say, you little—"
"Sorry!" Deborah darted forward, intercepting Sam. "He doesn't mean it."
Lalo smirked. "Oh, I mean it, I mean it bad."
Deborah promptly clapped a hand over his mouth. "Stubborn doesn't even begin to cover it," she said through a strained smile.
Pete, still by the table, cleared his throat. "Deborah… who is this?"
"My little cousin," she replied.
"Hey—who's little?" Lalo shot back, slipping from her grasp.
"Deborah," Sam said, exasperated, "why is your cousin here? He can't help us."
"Oh, you'd be surprised," she said. "This kid knows the streets more than me. He hangs around—"
"I am part of Tina gang, foo," Lalo interrupted proudly, puffing out his tiny chest.
Deborah gave him a swift smack between the shoulders. "How many times have I told you not to say that to me?"
Lalo only grinned.
Sam folded his arms. "Alright, gangster. What do you know about the kidnappings?"
Lalo shrugged. "Nothin'."
"Laloooo," Deborah warned.
"I said I don't know shii—" He stopped when her glare sharpened.
"We'll give you fifty bucks," she said sweetly.
The boy's eyes narrowed, calculating. "…."
"Seventy?" she tried.
Still silence.
Pete sighed. "One hundred."
Lalo tapped his chin like a seasoned negotiator. "One-fifty. No less."
Sam threw up his hands. "What could you possibly need a hundred and fifty for?"
"A man's gotta provide," Lalo said with perfect seriousness. "I got someone to take care of."
Deborah snorted. "You mean that little girl you won't stop pestering?"
Lalo only shrugged. "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."
Pete transferred the cash with a quick digital flick. The boy's eyes gleamed as he confirmed the payment.
"Alright," Sam said. "Talk."
Lalo pocketed the credits and leaned back against the wall, finally satisfied. "I don't know much, but something's going down Wednesday. Big move."
"Where are the kids being kept?" Pete asked.
"Kids?" Lalo raised a brow. "Ohhh, those kids." He tucked the money deeper into his pocket. "From what Señor Pedro said, there's a bunker on the far side of downtown, near the city edge."
"Pedro told you this?" Sam pressed.
"Not exactly. I just overheard some things. Saw a few of the boys heading that direction a couple nights back. Figured it's worth something."
Even Deborah looked impressed—and faintly worried—at how easily her cousin sold out his so-called gang for a quick payday.
Pete was already tapping at his tablet. "Give me a second…"
Lines of code danced across the display as he traced camera pings and traffic logs. "Yes," he breathed. "I think I've got them."
Sam and Deborah crowded close. The map now glowed with tiny yellow dots—movements of Tina gang members. A cluster pulsed on the outskirts.
"There," Pete said, pointing.
Deborah leaned in. "Where is that?"
Pete's finger hovered over a single name. "Saint Louis Public School. That's where they're probably keeping the kids."
A hush fell. The tablet's light flickered over their faces, each of them absorbing the weight of the discovery. Outside, the city hummed—unaware of the storm gathering in its shadow.
*******