I wouldn’t have been able to place him on the street, but I knew of him. At nearly six feet two, James Ryan was nondescript—weathered skin, dirty-blond hair, and brown eyes. Those characteristics made him a perfect infiltrator into any situation. He neither stood out nor was memorable. Yet he had a reputation for getting information. It seemed that now he was a babysitter. Thankfully, our Sparrows were versatile.
The odor was still present. I wasn’t sure if I was growing accustomed or if it had faded.
“Sir,” Ryan said. He turned to us. “Mr. Murray. Mr. Pierce.”
“How are our guests?” Mason asked.
“Fucking loud. She’s something else and the kid...” He shook his head.
Mason nodded. “We have someone coming for the kid. She should be here soon.”
“Tell her to bring diapers. That bitch in there only brought two, and we’ve had them here for over twenty-four hours. Sam had one in his car from his kid. I would have gone out for more, but we didn’t think diaper shopping was a good way to stay under the radar.”
Mason’s head was shaking. “How old is it?”
“He’s fifteen months,” Ryan said. “I’m no expert, but I’d say there’s some speech delay.”
Ryan’s assessment made me grin. It was true that as Sparrows we followed our own rules, many that took liberties with the law, but we weren’t monsters. A good number of our men and women had husbands, wives, and children of their own. “How old is your kid, Ryan?” I asked.
“Turned two last week, Mr. Murray.”
“Boy?” I asked.
“Little girl,” he said with beaming pride. “My wife says that girls tend to hit milestones before boys, but still, that kid in there, he needs someone to care for him.”
Mason’s green stare met mine as if to reiterate that the illegal adoption road would be the best option. Mason turned to Ryan. “That’s the plan. Besides, his mother will soon be unavailable for the job.”
“If you ask me,” Ryan said, “she already is.”
Romero took his phone from his pocket and read the screen. “Sirs, pickup for the kid is here. The team just entered the garage.”
I spoke low to Mason. “Where are they taking him?”
“Nowhere permanent yet, just away from here.”
Ryan opened the door to the office, allowing the three of us to enter. A second guard was inside the room. If my guess was right, this was the Sam who came through with a diaper. Mason laid the duffel bag near the wall and approached Sam.
A large man with a clean-shaven head, Sam’s skin tone was a few shades darker than mine. Like Ryan, he was wearing a suit, tie, and shiny leather shoes. He’d probably heard us out in the hallway because as we entered, he was already standing with his hands in front of him.
“Mr. Murray. Mr. Pierce. Mr. Romero.”
While Mason addressed him, I peered around the empty room. Once again, it was an open room with doors around the perimeter. The size of this one reminded me of the size of the Sinful Threads office in downtown Chicago. The cries of a young child could now be heard through a closed door.
“Anyone else in there?” Mason asked.
“No, Mr. Pierce,” Sam answered, “just the two of them.”
“Get the kid,” Mason said. “Marsha is on her way up to take him.”
“Marsha?” He grinned. That was all he said as he nodded and unlocked the door.
With each inch the door opened, the child’s cries grew louder as the disgusting stench of human waste overtook the already foul air. I sucked in a breath, trying to stifle my flinch, the one that could have been caused by either the noise or the stench or the combination.
“Oh hell no,” a female voice screamed from within. “I told you before, don’t touch my boy. Stop. If you want to take him, get the other guy, the white one.” It didn’t sound as though Sam replied when she yelled louder. “You can’t take Gordy. He’s my kid. Let go of him.”
As the sound of footsteps grew closer, the crying softened.
Sam reappeared, holding the dirty and agitated toddler to his shoulder as he turned and closed the door, muting Zella’s complaints. The child’s small body trembled with each of his quivering breaths. With his little arms spread out over Sam’s wide chest, he seemed to be soothed by the attention. Sam would need his suit dry cleaned, but undoubtedly, the kid was more content to simply be picked up.
“Could she not get to him?” I asked as Zella continued