Page 83 of Delusional

“They did that before I joined the group.” Owens shrugged. “As I understand it, Pry knew there was a police officer who lived in his mom’s neighborhood. He used to see the cruiser. So he and Ellis targeted her and planted the bomb. They did get big news coverage.”

“And destroyed a family.”

Owens said, “Climate change will destroy all families.”

We rode in silence for a few minutes.

Then Owens said, “You guys aren’t anything like Ellis and Pry said you were. They said cops were just the muscle for an oppressive government.”

“I’m guessing they had to believe shit like that to give their lives meaning.”

“That’s an interesting perspective. I’m not good with that kind of thinking.” He got quiet as we pulled into the lot in front of my office. As we came to a stop in front of the building, Owens said, “I thought you were going to put me in jail.”

“We’re gonna make a stop here first to switch cars, then I’ll take you for booking at an NYPD precinct. And get you to a holding facility.”

Owens asked, “How do we get to the precinct?”

“We’ll take my car. It’s right over there.” Owens slowly followed my extended finger and looked out the window at my car. He didn’t say anything else.

CHAPTER 104

I HELPED TOM OWENS out of the back seat of Maggie Chin’s Impala and carefully re-handcuffed him properly. As intended, we seemed to have developed a little relationship during the drive. He’d certainly seemed open about telling me everything he and his group had done.

Suddenly he became a little more sullen and stopped moving freely. I had to pull his arm and lead him away from Maggie’s car. Maggie gave me a wave as she drove off. Our plan was to meet up again in about twenty minutes at the precinct, after she’d made a few phone calls.

Owens said, “Why didn’t we stay in her car?”

“What’s with all the questions? Agent Chin will meet up with us later.”

Owens’s feet remain planted, and he refused to move toward my car under the elevated tracks. He said, “I think I need to tell you something.”

I looked at him, waiting for what he intended to say. Instead, I heard someone else say, “Hello, asshole.”

It was Arjan Marku, a.k.a. Arnold Marks.

I recognized the irony immediately. I’d been worried about this guy for days, and the first time I was completely distracted, he showed up.

I was at a complete loss for words. The odd Albanian held a Beretta 92 pistol. Finally, I gathered enough wits to say, “It’s illegal for civilians to carry handguns outside their home or place of business in New York City.”

“Still think your jokes are cute. I got tired of them a long time ago. And now I’m going to do something about it,” Marku said. “Not so funny now, is it, smart guy?”

I noticed the inflamed scabs on his face. I guessed Chet Trilling’s bird-shot holes had gotten a little infected. It gave his face some character.

He looked from me to Tom Owens. “Why are you harassing this poor guy?”

Before I could answer, Owens spoke up. “I built bombs that blew up buildings. I doubt you’d understand anything like that. There’s a lot of physics and engineering involved.” Owens gave him a smile.

Marku clearly didn’t care for the insult but kept talking. “Doesn’t matter what you did. I’m freeing you. You can go back to building bombs or you can build a new life. I don’t care. No one cares.”

Owens said, “That’s the point. No one cares. About anything. Not climate change. Not giving all your personal information to tech companies. No one gives a damn about anything anymore.”

Marku looked at me and said, “This guy needs to be in a mental ward, not a jail.”

I wanted to say, Tell me about it. But I didn’t want Owens involved in my little feud with Arjan Marku.

Marku pointed at my Chevy Impala. “Is that your car?”

I nodded.