After initially walking briskly away from the scene, Brian started to jog for about two blocks, then turned left up the block. As he got closer to Times Square, he stopped at a souvenir cart, full of NYC tagged items and magazines. He grabbed a black “I heart NY” shirt and a matching cap.
“How much for these?” Brian asked.
“Forty-two,” said a Pakistani guy on a stool.
“What? That’s crazy!” Brian said reaching into his pocket, pulling out some cash. He looked at the cash he had on-hand and extended a ten, a twenty and a $5. “Look, all I have is thirty-five bucks.”
“OK, since you obviously have already lost your shirt somehow,” he said, smiling. He grabbed the cash. “Do you want a bag?”
“No, thanks.” He put the shirt and hat on and continued on, turning right at the next block.
As he was walking, his phone started vibrating. He pulled it out and recognized the number as the little girl’s mother.
“Hello, you’re calling about your daughter?” Brian asked.
“Yes!” a woman replied. “What happened, where are they?”
“I’m sorry, I really don’t know. I’m no longer there,” Brian said. “You can call this guy, he’s a cop on the scene, and he should be able to help you.” He dug the card out from his jeans pocket. “His name is Brown and his number, 212-555-3232. You got that?”
She replied “3232?”
“Yes, that’s it,” Brian replied.
“Are they ok, can you tell me anything?” the woman asked desperately.
“Your daughter is fine, your husband was shot by a bank robber and was unconscious when I left them, right after I left you the voice mail. He was being taken care of by some paramedics. Call the cop and he can give a lot more information. I’m sorry I don’t know more. Call him. Good luck and goodbye.” Brian tapped the phone and put it back into his pocket.