Parker 01 - The Mark (21 page)

“Your husband? I thought you said your boyfriend just dumped you. I don’t see no ring.” Amanda gave a high, airy laugh. I took slow, deep breaths, oxygen flowing through my parched lungs.

“I don’t wear my ring. And my boyfriend did dump me,” Amanda said. “Our love is based on the spiritual, not the material. And who are you to judge my personal choices?”

“Right, whatever,” Larkin said. “So listen, I’ll hold it for you till tomorrow. After that, I’m not making any promises.”

“So then I’ll call you tomorrow. I can let myself out.”

“You do that.”

There was a loud squeak as Larkin’s door opened, a satisfying clunk as the lock hit home. I waited a moment, then stepped around the corner. Amanda was smiling. A quick nod and we headed up the stairs and out of the building. My pulse was racing, my neck, my wrists, my hands, my whole body tense with this new information.

We crossed the street and stood in the safety of a nearby bus shelter.

“So, what’d you get?” she asked.

I pulled the copied pages out and showed her, explaining the payment inconsistencies over the years. She looked puzzled, shuffling through the various checks like a student who couldn’t understand why she only received an A minus.

“So what does all this mean? What do we do with these checks?” Her eyes were expectant. Fortunately I’d thought about our next move while still inside Larkin’s apartment. I knew exactly what to do.

“We need to find out who these tenants are, what they all have in common and why Grady Larkin is the greatest landlord in Manhattan. Somebody is subsidizing the rent, but for only select tenants,” I said. “We need someone who can get some dirt fast, and get it without making any noise. And I know the perfect guy to do it.”

D
usk had settled over New York, a dim blue-black that seemed to mirror everything I felt on the inside. Weariness had crept over me like a cold front, and there was no shelter in sight. The man who’d wanted to kill me back in St. Louis, he wasn’t a cop. The cops wanted me dead for killing one of their own. But this man was a deadly mystery. I still didn’t know what he was looking for or what was in that package, but unless he was dead he likely hadn’t abandoned his quest. And a man like that didn’t die easy.

I’d been lucky to escape New York the first time. Lightning wouldn’t strike twice. The truth was buried here, and it would have to be uncovered soon.

I changed a dollar at a local grocery store, trying not to stare at the newspapers stacked up like tinder on the metal rack. On the cover of the early bird edition of the
Gazette
was another column by Paulina Cole. The headline read Henry Parker: A Villain For Our Times, Or Of Our Times?

Incredible. Somehow I’d managed to buck the trend. In this city, unless you were a celebrity with visible cellulite or a politician having a homosexual affair with the pool boy, you didn’t get hero-of-the-day treatment for more than twenty-four hours.

Not exactly the kind of story I hoped to hinge my reputation on. For years I’d dreamt about being featured on the front page of the New York papers. And now here was my dream, in full black and white.

“You okay?” Amanda asked, as a kindly man with a brown turban handed me two quarters, two dimes and six nickels.

“Yeah, it’s just…” I stopped, my head falling to my chest. “I want this to be over. I want my life back. I want you to have
your
life back.”

“We will,” Amanda said, gently placing her hand on my arm. She was trying to comfort me, but unease soiled her voice. She knew how perilous the situation was, that at any moment I could be cuffed and thrown in prison. Or worse.

We stepped into a phone booth a few blocks down. An elderly man sat on a stoop sucking on a pipe, watching me. He took in a lungful and exhaled a plume of white smoke. His eyes refused to let go of mine.

I took the bundle of papers from my pocket and dialed the number I knew by heart. This is what it came down to. This one phone call.

It could reaffirm everything I believed in, or dash my hopes in one fell swoop. If he was true to his word, if he really did believe in me that day, this was when he’d show it. He had to. Or everything I’d ever believed in was dead.

The line picked up after just one ring. The familiar greeting sent a chill down my spine.

“
New York Gazette,
how may I direct your call?” Amanda looked at me, her grip on my arm tightening.

I took a deep breath.

“Jack O’Donnell, please.”

“May I tell him who’s calling?”

“His husband.”

“His…what?”

“Just connect me.”

O’Donnell picked up the phone before the first ring had ended.

The last time I heard that voice, it was giving me a chance to prove myself. But I’d thrown it away, burned it and pissed on its ashes. I only hoped he was really on the level.

“This is O’Donnell.”

“Jack?”

“Speaking.”

“Jack,” I said, my voice trembling, my throat choking up. “It’s Henry Parker.”

A few seconds passed.

“No, I’m sorry. Henry Parker doesn’t work here anymore.”

My stomach lurched and suddenly I felt queasy. Jack had confirmed my fears. The
Gazette
had officially fired me.

It was all gone. My career was over. Even if I made it through this alive, I had nowhere to go.

“No, Jack. This
is
Henry Parker.”

There was silence on the other end.

Right when I thought he’d hung up, O’Donnell said, “So let me guess, Mr. Parker. You’re calling to confess your sins, right? And you’d also like a front-page column, a nice book deal and the chance to direct the movie based on your life. The whole Unabomber deal, right?”

“No, Jack, I…”

“Save it. You’re the fourth Henry Parker to call today. You guys really don’t have an original thought in your head, do you?”

My brain raced at warp speed. I had to convince him. Suddenly everything came pouring out in a geyser.

“You gave me the assignment to interview Luis Guzman. Wallace had me writing obituaries, but you took it upon yourself to give me a chance. I pass by your desk every day. I sit next to Paulina. Wallace has a miniature American flag on his desk, next to a photo of his wife. The office smells like roasted peanuts during the day and like deodorant at night. I know that you’re always the first one in and last one to leave and your chair has a pink bubblegum stain on the right arm.”

My pulse drummed louder. I heard a tiny gasp on the other end, like someone about to take a breath then deciding better of it.

“If this is really Henry Parker…”

“It is, Jack.” I gave him my social security number and my dorm room number from my freshman year in college. “You can look those up if you want to. But you don’t need to.”

“Parker, Jesus. What…where are you?”

“That doesn’t matter right now. What I need, Jack, please, is information.”

“Information? Are you kidding me? Christ, Parker, I shouldn’t even be talking to you. I could lose my job.”

“That’s not true and you know it.”

“Regardless, Henry, you’ve got some goddamn nerve asking me for a favor. You don’t know what it’s been like around here. Wallace practically had to hire a PR army to take care of the absolutely inordinate number of calls about you. Not to mention that half the staff thinks you’re guilty as sin.”

“What do you think?”

I heard a sigh on the other end.

“Honestly, I don’t know. I’d prefer to reserve judgment.” He paused. “Are you guilty, Henry?”

“No, I’m not.”

“If that’s true, it’ll be proven in a court of law.”
Why was he saying this?
Could Jack have known all along?

“We both know I won’t make it that far. At least one person wants me dead, and that’s not counting the cops.”

I heard the interest in his voice pick up.

“Who wants you dead, Henry?”

“I’m hoping you can help me figure that out.”

Another sigh.

“You know Paulina just agreed to write a book about you, tie it into the larger picture about the lack of ethics in journalism,” he said. “Pretty good money, from what I hear. She asked Wallace for a sabbatical.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“They want to have it in stores by the fall.”

“I didn’t think I was important enough for anything like that.”

“A week ago, you weren’t. Now, things have changed. Those columns she wrote got a lot of attention, syndicated everywhere. And ever since that husband who killed his wife’s blond bimbo mistress wrote a huge bestseller, they’re hungry for the next big scandal for America to sink its claws into. And you’ve been chosen, my friend. Apparently it’s going to have something to do with the dichotomy between good and evil and how the media portrays their heroes and villains. Some bullshit like that.”

“Trust me when I say this story I’m working on could blow Paulina’s out of the water. There’s more to it than just Luis Guzman and John Fredrickson.”

“All right, Henry, you have my attention. What have you learned?”

I pulled out the list of names from Larkin’s office.

“I need you to run background checks on ten people for me.”

There was a pause. “Who are these people? Where did you find their names?”

“I can’t say,” I said. I didn’t want to give him any leads. Just in case. “You have a pen and paper, Jack?”

“You have a death wish, Henry?”

“Not until this week. Here you go.” I read off the ten names, spelling out each one, along with the bank account numbers the checks were cut from. But there was one name I didn’t tell. I needed to keep that one for later.

“Now what exactly am I looking for?”

“Anything. Everything.”

“And what if I decide to go to the cops right now? I’m sure they could trace this call and have you pinned down in minutes.”

I was expecting that.

“If you do, I’ll see that the
Gazette
is the very last newspaper to get the full story. I’ll make sure the
Times,
and maybe the
Dispatch
depending on the mood I’m in, get the full, uncensored exclusive. They’ll sell out their stock while the
Gazette
covers a hot dog vendor strike,” I said. “But if you do this for me, you’ll get first crack. No holds barred. I’ll tell you the whole story, warts and all. And trust me, Jack, it’s a hell of a story.” I clenched Amanda’s arm, feeling the warmth of her skin. She put her hand on mine, gave it a light squeeze. I waited as O’Donnell considered. Finally, he spoke.

“Call me back in an hour,” Jack said.

“Done.” I paused. “Hey, Jack?”

“Yeah, Henry?”

“I need to know…not because I really believe it, but…I don’t know anything anymore. I need to know…did you know about this? Did you know about Luis Guzman? Did you purposefully send me to him?”

“Are you asking me if I set you up?”

“Yes. That’s what I’m asking.”

“Absolutely not,” he said. “So you’ll call me back in one hour.”

“Sure, Jack.”

“And, Henry?”

“What?”

“Don’t get killed before then.”

I hung up the phone. My hands were shaking.

“What’s wrong?” Amanda asked.

“Jack. We need him to come through.” Then I looked at her. “But I don’t believe him.”

W
e sat down in a coffee shop on the corner of 104th and Amsterdam. The hour couldn’t pass fast enough. The diner was empty, save a hefty black chef and an older couple who looked like they’d spent the last twenty years sitting motionless in the same booth.

We hid ourselves behind two oversized menus. I ordered a bagel with cream cheese and a cup of coffee and Amanda did the same. We tore into the food when it arrived and quickly raised our cups for refills. The caffeine was all I could hope for to keep me awake, keep my nerves sharp.

“So if you don’t believe him,” she said, “how do you know Jack isn’t going right to the cops?”

“Because if he’s involved in this, he needs to find out what I know. He wouldn’t want anyone digging any deeper.”

“Jesus, you think…” she said, her body going rigid “…you think he might have something to do with that man at my house?”

That hadn’t crossed my mind.

“It’s possible.” Amanda took a long drink of water.

“So what do you think Jack’s going to find out from those names?” Amanda asked, chewing her bagel, brushing crumbs from her lap.

“I really don’t know. Maybe nothing. Maybe those people were all related to Larkin somehow, like his third cousins, and he just decided to give them a break on rent.”

“You really think that’s what happened?”

I shook my head.

“No. I don’t.” I took another bite and kept chewing until I felt Amanda’s eyes burning a hole through me. “You okay?”

“No, Henry, I’m not.”

“What’s the matter?”

She paused, cocked an eyebrow. “Honestly?”

“Yeah. Honestly.” I felt a hole gnawing in my stomach. All I wanted to do was reach out, comfort her.

“I’m scared, Henry.”

“I am, too.”

“No,” she said, her eyes vigorous. “Not like I am. You know why I want to work in child advocacy? Because growing up I was sick of nobody standing up for me. I spent every day hoping someone would give me a better life, and now I’m at the point where I really feel I can help people who need it. But here you are, trying to help yourself, me trying to help you, and not only am I scared that something terrible’s going to happen, but no matter what, I can’t control it. I can’t help anything.”

The cold hole in my stomach spilled open, the guilt pouring out. My hand went to Amanda’s cheek. The warmth in her face made me shiver. I gently stroked her smooth skin and watched her eyes close. She closed her eyes, nuzzled her cheek into my palm.

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you,” I said, making no effort to fight my trembling voice. My eyes watered up. I didn’t care. “Without you I’d either be dead or in jail. I’m going to fight this until I can’t fight anymore, and it’s only because of you I can do that. You didn’t leave when you could have. I’d like to think I would have done the same for you, but truthfully I don’t know. Saying thank-you doesn’t even begin to say a thing. But thank you, Amanda.”

Amanda’s laughter was intermittent with sobs. She wiped her face with a napkin and took a sip of water.

“When this is over,” she said, “then we can be thankful.”

I said, “We’ll have a weeklong celebration, just for you. I’ll call it ‘Daviesfest.’ We’ll get all the big bands, have an outdoor concert, fire up the grill and invite some grungy roadies. It’ll be a ball.”

“Can we get Phish? I’ve never seen them live.”

“I think they broke up, but hell. Sure. We’ll get Phish.” She smiled.

“That sounds really nice. Promise me it’ll happen, Henry.” I hesitated, trying to muster up those two words. She saw my mouth open and close, seemed to know what I was thinking. “Better yet, don’t promise me now. Promise later.” I nodded.

Then from the corner of my eye, I noticed the elderly couple shifting in their seats. I tried to stay calm, but something about their demeanor bothered me.

When we came in, they were sitting silently, sipping teas, comfortable as a girl wearing her boyfriend’s sweatshirt. Now they seemed nervous, eyes twitching back and forth. They were huddled together, mumbling. Then the man caught my eye, held it for a second, and that’s when I saw it. A split second of fear flashed across his face, then it was gone.

He stood up, leaned over to his companion, and they got up and left the diner.

The counterman shouted, “Later, Frank, Ethel. Good night, you two crazy kids!”

They didn’t return the sentiment.

I grabbed Amanda’s arm and said, “We have to go.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“I think they recognized me.”

“You’re kidding.” She bolted from her chair as I shook my head.

“Come on.”

We left the coffee shop and started walking west. Then uptown. Then east. Then downtown. We must have walked thirty blocks without saying a word. With every step my leg felt like someone was lashing it with a whip. Finally I checked my watch. An hour and a half had passed since I’d spoken to Jack O’Donnell.

We found another pay phone and I rang the
Gazette.
Once again, Jack picked up on the first ring.

“O’Donnell.”

“Jack, it’s Henry.”

“Christ almighty. The hell’ve you been, Parker?”

“Sorry, I’m not really in charge of my schedule right now.”

“Whatever. Anyway, I’ve got some information on your mystery people.”

“And?”

“And before I say a word, I want to know where you got these names.”

“No way, Jack. The deal is you give me the info and I talk later. Otherwise I’m at the
Dispatch
and I’ll spill faster than Jeffrey Wigand.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Try me.”

Somewhere, sometime, I’d always wanted to say that. I felt I pulled it off rather well. O’Donnell must have agreed.

“That’s the way it’s gonna be?”

“That’s the way.”

“All right then, Harry Truman, I found three very interesting connections between your friends. Do you want door number one, door number two, or door number three?”

“All of them. What’s the first connection?”

“First? Okay, well, every single one of these folks has done time. And I’m not talking a week in the joint for taking a hit on your mother’s bong. I’m talking serious, get-comfy-in-solitary-confinement time. Every one of these winning personalities has served between two and twelve years in prison.”

I looked at Amanda, the blood draining from my face. I couldn’t tell how much she could hear, but she sensed something was wrong. Cold sweat spread over my body, inking its way down my spine.

“What’s the second?”

“The second is that seven of these men were arrested again within five years of their initial release. Four went down for drug trafficking, two for transporting stolen goods across state lines and one for assault and battery while in possession of narcotics.”

“Jesus.” The words escaped my lips without thought. So far this information was like two successive uppercuts to the jaw, leaving me shaken. All these men lived in
one
building?

“You want to hear the third, or should we call it a night?”

“No,” I said, numb. “What’s the third?”

“Okay, well, five of these guys are currently deceased.”

I felt bile rise in my throat.

“Did you say five of them are dead?”

“Yes, deceased is a fancy word for dead. Three were shot by the police, one committed suicide, the other was murdered by his partner while robbing a bank.”

“Five of them are dead?”

“You’re a quick one. One more of these fellows was shot during a robbery, but he healed quite nicely, currently lives in Dover. Nice place to convalesce, I hear.”

“Which one lives in Dover?”

“Guy named Alex Reed. He moved after taking a bullet in the gut from a 357. Blew out half his lower intestine. Ironically, he was the one being robbed.”

The information was being processed way too fast. My head hurt. At least ten men in that building had served time, same as Luis Guzman, and five of those ten were dead. If I hadn’t gone back that night, Luis and Christine would have been numbers six and seven.

But there was still one name to give O’Donnell. The one name I’d held back.

“Jack?”

“Yeah, Henry?”

“I need you to run one more name for me.”

“Henry, I’m sticking my neck out as it is. I can’t keep doing this or someone’s gonna lop it off.”

“Please, Jack. Just one more, I promise.”

O’Donnell sighed. “All right. You’d better give me one hell of a story once this is over.”

“I will, you have my word.”

“Okay. So who’s the guy?”

“His name is Angelo Pineiro. I think he might have some sort of connection to the other men on the list.”

Another noise came over the line. Jack wasn’t sighing this time. He was laughing.

“Angelo Pineiro?” O’Donnell said derisively. “That’s who you’re asking about?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Why?”

“Well, do you want the long or the short version?”

“You know him?” I asked. “You recognize the name?”

“Recognize the name? Hell, I’ve written about the guy. Angelo Pineiro. His nickname is Blanket. Affectionately known amongst the law enforcement community as Lucifer’s Right Hand. In short, Angelo Pineiro is the guy who holds Michael DiForio’s dick every time he takes a piss.”