Page 66 of Antihero

“Oh,” Manny said. “Right, right, right. Yeah, I can give you that. That’s one of the guys from the White On Posse.”

“White On Posse?”

“White On White, White On Black, White On Brown, White On Yellow, ya know. They’re a low-rent operation, four dicks and a camcorder.” He seemed relieved to have information to impart but he gave a double take at Evan’s expression and blanched. “Look, bro. Like I said, I’m just the middleman.”

“Say it again.” Evan stepped forward, loomed over him. “Say you’re just the middleman one more time.”

Manny’s Adam’s apple throbbed, a tiny fist. His mouth clamped so hard his lips turned white.

“How do I find them?” Evan said. “The White On Posse?”

“No idea.”

Evan’s shoulders tensed and Manny threw up his arms. “Wait, I swear! I swear it! They use burner phones for our comms. They email the footage or—or courier a thumb drive or whatever if the file’s too big. I prep the vids, upload, place it with the platform, and zero-pass wipe my local files twice. It’s an anonymous business. We keep it clean, bro. We keep it clean.”

“Why do you keep it clean,” Evan said. Not a question. “Middleman.”

Manny’s mouth elongated once more, wet lips stretching.

“Answer.”

“’Cuz who knows what’s what?” Manny said, with a sudden burst of defiance. “If there’s a raid. Maybe someone’s underage. Maybe someone has regrets, claimed they were forced. I don’t know. I don’t care. I’m just a … just a…” Shallow jerked inhalations, a hysterical fit shaping up.

Evan slapped him, snapping his head to one side. “Catch your breath. Neither of us has time for a panic attack.”

The imprint of Evan’s hand bloomed on Manny’s cheek.

“Find the latest White On Posse video.”

“I don’t have ’em anymore,” Manny said. “I zeroed out the files.”

“Friday,” Evan said. “The assault was Friday. That’s two days ago.”

“Two days is a lifetime, bro,” Manny said. “So much product to keep up with. They shoot long, bro, marathon sessions, which means massive video files”—Evan’s stomach wrenched—“so they would’ve messengered it Saturday, which means I dealt with it yesterday. Compressed it, sent it off, and wiped the files.”

The guy truly didn’t remember. He’d edited the video and didn’t even remember Anca’s face.

“Zipped it off where?” Evan said. “What’s the platform?”

“RedLite. They’re the biggest. There’s so much on there. Everyone’s doing this, bro. It’s the whole world.” Manny’s eyes toggled nervously over to the black-lacquered credenza.

Evan traced his gaze. Strode across. That tangle of flash drives waited in the metal tray at the edge by the row of industrial shredders, their next stop on the assembly line.

The drives were all shapes and colors, many of them labeled with a date and description. He poked through them. One said, 2/6, Subway chick, WoW.

Subway chick. White On White.

Evan lifted it, let it dangle in the light. Saliva leaked along his lower molars, a premonition of nausea. In psyops training and in the field, he’d endured footage. War crimes, hostage videos, Hamas and ISIS, experiments from Nazi camps, cartel leaders feeding naked men to their dogs. But he’d not watched the torture of someone he knew personally.

He’d faded away inside his dread but snapped back into present awareness. Behind him, Manny was weeping quietly on the couch.

His fist clenched around the flash drive. In his palm pressed around the unyielding metal, he could feel the pulse of his heartbeat. With effort, he unclenched his jaw.

And turned around.

The time for talking was over.

28Olive Branch