Parker 05 - The Darkness (35 page)

like Chester had said it would. The door was open, and

somehow Morgan managed to dive into the car a split

second before it went speeding off.

Once inside, he found Chester waiting for him, a huge

smile on his face.

"The gun," Chester said.

Morgan handed it to him, his hand shaking like a leaf

in a hurricane. Chester took the revolver and put it into a

valise on the floor below him.

"You okay?" he said.

"I don't know," Morgan replied. "He's dead. Oh man,

he's really, really dead."

"How many times did you shoot him?"

"Three."

"Did all the bullets hit?"

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"I think so. I was pretty close, but everything...man,

everything just went crazy after that."

"It's a good thing you got away," Chester said. "You're

a resourceful man, Morgan."

"Thanks," he said. Morgan's heart rate was finally beginning to slow down.

The car sped down Broadway, and Morgan was pleasantly surprised to see that nobody was following them.

"No cops," Morgan said. "Nobody, they..."

"Don't worry about that," Chester said. "I'm just glad

you're all right. You did a great job, Morgan. I knew we

could trust you."

Morgan beamed inside. "You always can, sir."

"Yes," Chester said, "I know that now."

Chester leaned over and put his arm around Morgan.

It was an odd gesture, but for some reason Morgan felt

strangely comforted.

"Hey, uh, can I get the second part of the payment

now? Just don't want to forget."

"The money, of course. I knew you wouldn't forget."

Then Morgan felt something sharp pierce his neck, and

then a terrible burning sensation began to creep its way

into his bloodstream.

He jerked backward, and Chester moved away. "What

the hell was that?" he cried.

Then he saw the syringe in Chester's hand, and Morgan knew exactly what the man had done.

"Sleep," Chester said.

Morgan tried to reach for the man, but suddenly his

entire body felt weak. His arms hung limply at his sides,

as Morgan felt his body begin to slump down in the seat.

"Why..." he said. "I...I would have done anything

for you..."

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"I know that," Chester said. Morgan caught the slightest hint of remorse in the man's face. "And you gave as

much as you possibly could have."

"My mom..." Morgan groaned, barely able to make

out the words.

"She'll never see you again."

"I..."

"We're here," another voice said from the front seat.

It was the driver. Morgan hadn't had time to see him

when he jumped into the car.

The driver turned around briefly to talk to Chester.

That's when Morgan saw who was driving the car.

Theodore Goggins.

"Sorry, man," Theo said. "No hard feelings."

"Tell them to chop the car and burn the body," Chester

said. Then he looked back at Morgan. Morgan's eyelids

were falling. He could feel his heart slowing down,

draining him. It was all he could do to retain a small

sliver of light to see the man who'd killed him.

"Good night, Morgan. I hope wherever you're going

you find all the money you can possibly dream of."

And then Morgan Isaacs died.

41

I told the cops everything I knew, which wasn't much,

even though it was apparently too much. I didn't recognize the shooter, didn't know where he'd come from, who

hired him, or why he wanted William Hollinsworth dead.

Well, that wasn't entirely true.

There was no doubt in my mind that Hollinsworth

was killed because somebody was frightened of what he

was going to tell me. And for good reason. Hollinsworth

had confirmed several things before his death, and every

one of them scared me to death.

I sat in a coffee shop with Jack, the two of us frazzled

beyond belief. I'd called Amanda and told her what happened. Her voice told me that she was deathly afraid for

me, but I couldn't come home just yet. We were so close;

after all this time so many of the pieces were coming

together.

What still itched at me was the police response to

Hollinsworth's murder. I'd been around death before, had

seen it up close. I'd seen death as personal as it got. And

regardless of who was killed, whether it be the most respected cop or the lowliest drug dealer, there was always

a police response.

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But when Hollinsworth was killed, the response was a

simple blue-and-white patrol car and a small forensics team.

It was more like a motel cleaning crew than a homicide

investigation.

I'd asked the officer in charge, a round, pleasant man

in his early forties named Hanrahan, if they were expecting more on the scene. He laughed, but not in a condescending way, a way that told me I shouldn't expect more.

"The department is stretched thin as a dollar bill," said

Hanrahan. "If we're the only ones here it's because there's

nobody else who responded."

It felt like a cloud had descended over this city, something far more menacing than Jack or I knew. I thought

about my brother, the now prophetic words he'd spoken

just hours before he was gunned down in a dingy apartment building, alone and unloved.

This city's gonna burn.

If this city was going to burn, I could already smell the

smoke.

Jack sipped a cup of coffee. Black, he grimaced as he

drank it. I had a soda in front of me. Caffeine would have

been a mistake. I didn't need it. The way I felt right now I

wasn't sure my blood pressure would ever return to normal.

"Somebody knew we were going to speak to Hollinsworth," I said. "And they knew early enough to be able

to send someone to kill him."

"It doesn't make sense," Jack said. "We didn't decide to go up there until about an hour before we got

there. Who knew?"

"The only person I told," I said, an icy chill making its

way down my spine when I said it, "was Curt Sheffield."

Jack stared at me, the mug resting against his lip. He

put it down, cupped it with his hands.

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"Is there a chance..."

"Not in a million years," I said. "I know Curt. And

more than that, I know people. I know how they act. I've

talked to Curt about this a dozen times since my brother

was killed. I would have known if he was involved. I

would have seen it in his eyes, I would have heard it in

his voice. He couldn't have known."

"He couldn't be involved," Jack said, "or you don't

want him to be involved?"

"Both," I said without hesitation.

"Until we know for sure," Jack said, "you don't say a

word to Curt Sheffield or anyone else."

"You either," I said. Not that I needed to tell Jack. I

trusted him, but I wanted to level the field, let him know

that my contacts were trustworthy ones.

"Even Amanda," Jack said. "You don't know who has

access to her, and information you give her."

"Jack, come on..."

"It's us or nothing now, Henry," he said. "I don't trust

anyone in this city and I won't until we know what the

hell is going on."

I heard my cell phone beep. I took it out, saw I had a

text message. It was from Curt Sheffield.

Four people dead in midtown hi-rise. Looks like a

triple murder-suicide. Bags of the Darkness found all

over the place. One of the victims was Lil' Leroy.

I snapped the phone shut. "This is not good," I said.

"What happened?"

"According to Curt, they found four bodies, one of whom

was LeRoy Culvert, also known as the rapper Lil' Leroy."

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"Damn," Jack said. "He's famous enough that even

I've heard of him."

"He was found with three other bodies, and they're all

dead, drawn and quartered. I mean the place looks like a

bloody Rorschach test. And apparently the cops found

drugs at the scene. Darkness."

Jack lowered his head.

"There's something else..." I said. "Somebody wrote

'Fury' on one of the walls. In blood."

"Just like Butch Willingham. This is how the bloodshed

begins. This is how it starts. Things will only get worse."

"This will be all over the papers tomorrow," I said.

"Front-page stuff, probably, and it will go national. The

Fury only killed dealers. And once people know what

kind of drugs Culvert was killed over..."

"People all over the country will want it."

"Guy had to be worth millions," I said. "Always saw

him drinking expensive champagne and hanging out on

yachts. Guy like that only indulges in the good stuff.

Killing him creates instant demand. This is the best marketing money could buy."

"I've never seen anything like this," Jack said. "Even

crack...it took a while to seep in. This drug sounds like

it's already swimming in the city's bloodstream, polluting it from the inside out."

"And people are literally dying to get their own

taste," I said. Then I went into my wallet and pulled out

a piece of paper.

Jack's eyes widened. "You didn't give that to the

cops?" he said.

I opened the money order made out to Morgan Isaacs,

looked at it.

"Like you said, I don't trust anybody either now. This

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is our only lead. And even though I trust Curt, I don't trust

the whole department. We lose this, it might never be

seen again."

"Henry, this is dangerous," Jack said. "You could get

in trouble for that."

"I don't care," I said. "This isn't about a story anymore.

It's about stopping whatever the hell is happening to this

city."

"Leonard Reeves," Jack said. "Who the hell is he?"

"Let's find out. His name is on this order. He has to

live and work in the city. And I'll bet he has some connection to 718 Enterprises. And maybe to my brother."

"So, what, you think we can just dial four-one-one and

the operator will connect us?" Jack said.

"No, but guy like this has to be connected. He has to

have access to a large amount of money, or at least people

who can get it. I want to use my LexisNexis account, see

what we can find."

"Great, let's go to the office."

"No way," I said. "Like you said, trust no one. We're

doing this from my apartment."

"Your apartment? Won't your lady friend mind?"

"Her name is Amanda," I said, slightly annoyed.

"You've met her. You know that."

Jack nodded. "You're right. I'm sorry. You guys

doing well?"

"Just fine," I said.

"Glad to hear it."

I laughed. "Come on, Jack. We both know it wasn't too

long ago you told me to dump her in so many words. And

I stupidly listened to you, and it almost ruined my life to

do it. I trust your relationship advice as much as I trust

your recommendations on aftershave."

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"You do what you want," Jack said. "I'm in no position

to judge anyone. I do seem to remember you standing

over me in a puddle of my own puke."

"Glad you remember that," I said. "Not exactly either

of our finer moments."

"Not something I'll want brought up in my eulogy.

Come on, let's see what we can find out."

"You'll behave yourself?" I said.

"What do you think I am?" Jack said, finishing the last

of his coffee and dropping a few singles on the table. He

wiped at his shirt where a few drops of black liquid had

stained it. "Uncouth?"

42

I turned the key in the lock. Amanda was staying at my

place tonight. Odds were she was asleep and I didn't

want to wake her.

But when I turned the knob and opened the door,

Amanda was sitting on the couch, a beer in her hand,

staring at the door like she'd been patiently waiting for a

toaster to go off.

The room smelled like flowers, and I could tell she'd

been burning one of her scented candles. A copy of a Nora

Roberts book lay dog-eared on the table, and a spoon

covered in chocolate lay next to it.

She wasn't one of those girls who did that kind of thing

often. She didn't eat ice cream when she was depressed,

didn't have a weakness for chick flicks or romance

novels. At least not for the same reasons as most people.

Amanda only did those things when she was nervous,

when taking her mind far away from the real world. When

reality was too frightening a place to be in.

When she saw me, Amanda slowly stood up, came

over and threw her arms around me. I felt a cold splash

of beer drip down my back, but I didn't care. I closed my

eyes and hugged her back.

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"I'm going to have to install a GPS device on you," she

said. I laughed. Then she pulled her head from the crook

of my neck and kissed me hard. I pressed my lips against

her, held her tight.

I felt her hand travel down my lower back until she was

cupping my butt. It felt great, and for a moment I totally