Chapter 47 Chapter 47 He is right in front of you, Mr. Reese...
Elliot Smith, from Gotham, is twenty-two years old.
On March 20th of this year, he was suspected of causing a devastating massacre at the Abstergo Hospital in Blüdhaven, resulting in one death and three serious injuries. Authorities have issued a warrant for his arrest on charges of first-degree murder and aggravated assault, but he remains at large.
"He's dangerous," Reese said.
"Of course he's dangerous, Mr. Reese," Finch said through his earpiece. "He's a wanted fugitive."
Elio's figure was barely visible in the crowded crowd. No one realized that such a dangerous wanted criminal was walking beside them in broad daylight. New Yorkers didn't even glance at him. They just made their own calls, drank their coffee, and went about their own business.
No one realized that a handsome former CIA agent in a suit and tie was walking next to them.
Reese stopped at a newsstand, pretending to flip through the latest copy of the New York Times. From behind the black, white, and gray print, he studied Elio, who was handing out bills at the ice cream truck a short distance away.
"That's more than that, Finch," Reese said. "He's not just your average fugitive. If you've ever met one, you'd realize how conspicuous they are in a crowd."
"Well, I'd better not comment on the subject," said Finch. "After all, you're the only wanted criminal I've ever seen, Mr. Reese."
"...You'll find they're called 'on the run' for a reason," Reese put down his newspaper and rejoined the crowd under his boss's bewildered gaze. "They'll look nervous and suspicious, glancing back every few steps to see if there's a detective following them."
Finch looked at the surveillance camera. "But our Elio didn't do that."
"Not only did he not do that," Reese said, "he acted like a normal college student."
"He should have been."
"But he's not anymore," Reese said. "He's adapted to life on the run. He's made a job of it. He's a professional killer, Finch, I can see that. He's far more dangerous than we thought."
And this "dangerous" Elio, as they call him, is nibbling his cookies and cream ice cream without knowing anything, walking under the tall and colorful LED billboards in Times Square.
This is his first time in New York.
Elio once joked with his classmates that he would come to New York to work after graduation, but he never really considered this city: the extremely high crime rate, cost of living and housing prices, too many young people flocking to it for the wages and job opportunities, but for Elio, Gotham was the same.
He doesn't even need to consider the cost of renting a house since Gotham is his hometown.
And that was a place he absolutely didn't want to go back to at that time.
But the strange thing was that Elio was now standing here, in a place that was once out of reach. He no longer worried about his livelihood and future. As long as he wanted, he could buy a small house he liked here, facing the shimmering Hudson River, which shone golden at sunset and the lights of New Jersey on the opposite bank were brilliant at night, reflecting Manhattan's splendor.
All he could think about was rainy Gotham.
For a few seconds, the hustle and bustle of traffic faded from his mind. Elio's world was silent, save for the relentless patter of rain falling across Gotham. But only for a few seconds. Elio quickly recovered and continued on his way.
"Deep down inside," the Ring said, "you know you belong in Gotham."
Elio didn't respond. He just quickened his pace, his head lowered, and hurried forward.
Following behind him, Reese had no choice but to do as he was told. He had just begun pairing the target's phone when the target began to move faster. This was not a good sign.
"Did you succeed, Mr. Rease?" asked Finch.
"Not yet." Reese held up his phone and pretended to be on the phone. "I suspect..."
Before he could finish his words, Elio flashed through the crowd in front of him and suddenly disappeared. Reese quickly pushed aside the people blocking his way and chased after him.
But he couldn't find Elio there. Reese stopped there and turned his head to the right.
There was an alleyway that looked deserted.
"What do you suspect?" Finch asked. "Mr. Reaser, are you still there?"
"I'm still here, Finch," Reese replied, "but our purpose is gone."
"Please be careful. There's no surveillance in the alley in front of you. He could be hiding anywhere."
"How did you know I was going in, Harold?" Reese said. "You know me so well."
Even as he said this, Reese's expression didn't change at all. He checked the position of the holster in his windbreaker and then walked into the alley as if nothing had happened.
He walked neither fast nor slow, seemingly strolling in the garden, without any unnecessary movement of his head, but his green eyes rolled silently, scanning any place where someone might be hiding.
Elio could be anywhere. He could pop out of a corner any way.
…but Elio didn’t do it until Reese walked out of the alley and saw the New York sun.
Nothing happened. It seemed as if Elio was in a hurry and disappeared from his sight.
"I saw you come out, Mr. Reese," Finch said. "Quicker than I thought. Didn't you see our target?"
Reese stood at the entrance of the alley, not answering immediately. He pondered for a moment, then reached into his pocket. His wallet and cell phone were gone, and Reese found himself not surprised at all.
"…Finch," he said to the earpiece, "locate my phone."
"What?" Finch immediately manipulated the keyboard and mouse. "It's not what I imagined, is it, Mr. Reese?"
"Yeah, he took my phone," Reese drawled. "And my wallet, too, if you're interested."
"This... is beyond my imagination, Mr. Reese." Finch checked the signal jumping on the screen. "Your phone is moving at high speed. It just turned off the FDR Coastal Highway and onto the Grand Central Parkway..."
On the Grand Central Parkway, a low-key black sedan was driving northeast.
Elio steered with one hand and tossed his closed phone onto the passenger seat with the other. He then opened the wallet on his lap. He glanced down, pulled out a few bills, and tossed them aside. From the compartment, he also found a small folding knife and a simple lock pick. He gently ran the small, round, aluminum foil-wrapped pill across his fingertips.
When the red light came on, Elio glanced down again. He turned over the cut tablets and saw "Bayer Aspirin" written on the back of the foil.
Funny, Elio thought, I knew he wasn't going to be a normal guy, but I didn't expect this.
A folding knife and lock picking tools were not something a suit-wearing office worker would often use, not to mention that the assassin could easily detect the wear and tear of frequent use on those small toys; there was no driver's license, nothing to prove his identity, and several credit cards with different names on them - if that was all, Elio might think he was a habitual thief who was targeting him, but habitual thieves couldn't afford aspirin tablets.
Even if they could afford it, they probably wouldn't have it tucked away in their wallets. Carrying the pills around with them would mean his work would always cause him pain, just like Elio's own "work."
But even more interesting is his wallet.
Elio recognized its material and price; a man whose job was to hide his identity, face a high risk of legal trouble, and be in constant pain didn't need such a fine wallet.
He likely had a wealthy patron.
Elio couldn't help but laugh.
The wallet bounced in his hand for a moment before dropping back into his palm. From the back compartment, Elio pulled out a business card with contact information printed on it. He dialed the number on his phone, and the phone on the passenger seat immediately rang.
"I should have known that," Elio muttered, and dialed the second number. This time he didn't hear the phone ring in the car.
"Wait a moment, Mr. Reese." In the library, Finch reached out his hand. "I have an incoming call."
Reese stepped on the accelerator and sped past the other vehicles that were lined up in an orderly manner. He replied calmly, "Go ahead."
"That's strange," Finch said, looking at it. "It's not Detective Fosco calling, nor is it Detective Carter calling."
"Any ideas, Finch? Could it be your pizza?"
"…area code three-five," Finch recognized. "That's a Gotham number."
Reese and Finch fell silent at the same time.
The phone continued to ring.
"It must be the card in my wallet," Reese said. "He dug it out. Don't answer the call, Finch."
"I certainly wouldn't do that," Finch said. "But he's become curious, Mr. Reese. This is beyond our plan. Are you sure you want to track his signal all the way to..." Finch glanced at the screen and frowned. "Oyster Bay?"
Oyster Bay is a well-known place for criminals in New York, especially at night, when the dense grass and tall trees will cover up any traces of what happened.
Reese had been here a few times before. He'd had his share of "accidents" that had required a shovel. He hoped that wouldn't happen today, but he was prepared for it anyway.
He abandoned the car on the side of the road and followed the signal into the woods.
"Elio," Reese said, "I know you're here. I've already come." He glanced around, then took a closer look. "I know your story. You're still young, and just a few months ago, you had so much going for you—I know you might think things are completely different, but I want you to know that there's always room for maneuver if you let it."
"If you're willing to turn back," Reese said, "if you're willing to do so. Someone will give you the chance. Killing another human being isn't a pleasant experience. I wish I didn't know that, but I know—I know how you feel, Elio."
Blades of grass brushed against his legs. A faint rustle of birds and insects filled the air, but Reese could find no evidence of another living being.
'Where is he, Finch? ' Reese thought.
"He's right in front of you, Mr. Reese." Finch's tense voice sounded next to his ear. "Look up."
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Author's Note: *In case someone hasn't seen POI, a brief explanation: Harold Finch and John Reaser are a New York vigilante team. Every day they receive a string of social security numbers (sometimes more than one), which may be the perpetrator or the victim. They will investigate the owner of the number and try to prevent bad things from happening.
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