Die Next - Jonathan Stone Page 0,1

problems, or just the arrogance, the sense of invulnerability, in using that code. Zack keeps all that to himself.

More silence on the other end. Alarm? Fury at being spied on? A silence Zack feels compelled to jump into, to push past the moment. “But…look…I mean, now we can each get our phones back, right? Sir, I’m still at the GreenGirl. I can come meet you with it somewhere if that helps—”

The businessman cuts Zack off. “No. Stay there. I can be back there in…twenty minutes. Maybe less.”

“I can wait. No problem.”

“Just sit tight,” says the guy. Kind of aggressively, Zack notices. Then, sounding suddenly a little warmer and more appreciative—or at least trying to be—“And, hey, if I get delayed or have some problem, what’s your code so I can call you?”

Zack pauses for a moment. But what’s really on his phone that’s so private or important? Goofy texts from his new girlfriend and his old pals. Dumb pictures of him and his friends you can see on Facebook anyway. Nothing so special. And they’ve got each other’s phones anyway. It’s a moment of human trust, of common humanity, human connection. Each other’s phones, each other’s private lives, that they’re returning to each other in twenty minutes. The guy is just some straight-laced New York businessman, after all, who only wants to get his phone back.

So Zack gives his own code. “Oh, and hey, what’s your name?” Zack asks.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. See you soon.”

Click.

So Zack has about twenty minutes to cool his heels before the businessman gets back to the GreenGirl. No big deal. He’s waiting for Steve anyway. Who’s always late.

What’s he gonna do while he waits?

Twenty minutes to kill.

Hmmm.

Zack feels naked without his own phone.

Of course, he’s got this guy’s phone, to fill up the time a little.

He knows he shouldn’t really look around in it. But what’s the harm? A quick little peek at a stranger’s life. What’s the big deal? Who’s it hurting? He scrolls through a few of the guy’s texts. Not very chatty. Just some street addresses and rendezvous: 12th and Broadway. Apartment 3C. Southwest corner. Some addresses and meeting places in different cities. Super businesslike. Not a lot of fun in this guy’s life. Or not on his phone anyway.

So Zack goes a little further, where he told himself he wouldn’t, but now he’s more curious based on texts that tell him nothing.

He starts to look at the photos. Organized into folders with just a single name on each.

Huh. Not a single selfie.

Huh. Photos of buildings. Some photos of random streets. Almost like planning a route or something.

Some shots of people on the street. Who don’t know he’s taking their picture. A little creepy, thinks Zack.

And then a series of photos that changes everything. That makes him grab suddenly at the counter, to steady himself there in the GreenGirl. That makes him feel instantly dizzy. Close to retching.

A lifeless body on the sidewalk. Photographed from close up.

Several photos of different bodies, photographed from various angles. And something in him knows—instantly, instinctively—what a series of photos like this must be.

Documentation.

Verification.

Proof.

Proof of what?

But something in him already has the answer.

He suddenly understands what the other photos are. Street corners. Buildings.

It’s research.

Research before a hit.

Holy shit.

His heart is drumming hard against his chest. He blinks repeatedly to try to steady himself. To clear his mind a little.

Twenty minutes until the “businessman” gets here.

He can stay here with the guy’s phone and pretend he hasn’t seen any of it and innocently, cheerfully, hand the phone back to the guy.

But a guy like this—is he gonna take that risk? A professional killer, who knows that a kid who’s nosy enough to watch him entering his passcode has been sitting here with his dead-body-filled phone for twenty minutes? Suddenly the kid’s not nosy? Come on.

And by now the guy might know a lot about Zack. He might have used his twenty minutes and Zack’s phone to learn a lot about Zack, and his friends, and the details of Zack’s life.

Should Zack use the twenty minutes to race to a police station? Try to get to someone of authority and in a rush try explaining this crazy turn of events of the last half hour? A story about switching phones with a killer? Just by chance seeing the killer’s passcode? They’d never believe him. They’d think it’s some kind of prank.

And Zack also realizes that all this evidence, all this proof, will be gone in twenty minutes, gone