Parker 05 - The Darkness (38 page)

could pull this off.

But he knew, without a doubt, that Henry Parker

could.

44

"You're insane," Amanda said, watching as I went

about straightening up the apartment. I had already

cleaned up my dirty socks, stacked the magazines into a

neat pile, organized the DVD collection and even cleaned

the stove top.

"They should be here in less than fifteen minutes," I said.

"Who the hell are you expecting? Martha Stewart? It's

a freaking drug dealer, Henry. They're not going to care

if your floor is clean enough to eat off of. In fact, they'll

probably be a little suspicious if the place doesn't look

like, oh, I don't know, somewhere a
junkie
might live."

"I don't have to be a junkie," I said. "Just a guy who

wants a late-night hit to calm my nerves." I smiled at her.

"It has been a long week."

She was right, of course. I was cleaning more out of

nerves than anything.

I didn't know what to expect. Curt's call had come out

of the blue, something about getting a lead on 718 Enterprises. He had a plan, he said, but to me it sounded like

a plan he'd hashed up in about thirty seconds.

Not that it mattered.

To this point, all of the investigating I'd done on 718

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Jason Pinter

Enterprises, this shadowy person known only as the Fury

and this new drug called Darkness had been done in just

that: darkness. I hadn't written a single word of copy for

the
Gazette,
and as far as I knew the police had no leads

and didn't seem to be banging down a whole lot of doors

to get them.

With Curt in the game, at least I knew whatever we

found would get sent up the ladder. If I could trust him.

Not that I had much choice. And if Curt was somehow

in on all of this, there were far easier ways to get to me.

To get to people close to me. But deep down I didn't

believe there was any chance he would turn. Curt was a

good cop, respected the badge. Hell, he'd even taken a

bullet because of me. You couldn't buy that kind of

loyalty. At least as far as I knew.

And Jack took it surprisingly well. I fully expected him

to put up a fight, to tell me that he'd put as much effort

and risked as much of his reputation on this story--if not

more so--than I had. And that gave him every right to be

present. I expected him to suggest hiding in the closet, in

the bathroom, or to actually pose as my pothead uncle or

something. And I would have to let him down, gently, and

tell him that if whoever came got even a
whiff
of Jack's

presence, he would not only be putting our careers on the

line but perhaps something much, much more.

But Jack just left.

He made sure I had his cell phone number, and made

me promise to call him when I knew more. I told him I

would, and I meant it. But right now it was all Curt and

myself. I could tell from Curt's call he was having the

same doubts I was. Wondering who to trust, feeling like

his world had been closed off. Something had happened,

and I wasn't sure what yet, but Curt had decided that he

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319

was going to trust me with this. And it was all I could do

to not let him down.

As I picked up around the apartment, Amanda followed me dirtying it up. Finally I gave up and realized

she was right. Better off looking like an apartment two

people actually lived in rather than a setup. Or an apartment in which the tenants could actually afford to hire a

cleaning person.

Ten minutes later, we were both sitting on the couch,

finishing the last of the wine.

"Are you sure wine is okay?" I said. "Not too highclass? He won't think we're some sort of rich couple?"

"That bottle of red cost twelve ninety-nine. I think

we're safe."

We sat there, waiting, my stomach fluttering. And then

the buzzer rang and the nerves went away.

I pushed the call button and said, "Who is it?"

"It's Vinnie."

"Come on up."

Unlocking the front door, I looked at Amanda. Her

face was a mask, no nerves either. She wanted me to

crack this story, too. I smiled at her, knowing how much

she was risking for this.

I waited by the door, shifting back and forth. When it

rang, I waited three seconds before opening it. You know,

so the guy wouldn't know I was actually waiting by the door.

Opening the door, I saw a man standing there. He was

about five foot ten, black, a bit chunky but barely winded

from walking the three flights up to our apartment.

He was wearing a suit, pinstriped, slightly rumpled,

and his striking blue tie was loosened just slightly.

"Hey," I said, again wondering if that was the right way

to start the conversation.

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Jason Pinter

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Vinnie" stepped inside and let the door close behind

him. He walked over to the dining table and set his

briefcase on it. I tried not to stare, but remember that it

wasn't too long ago when another drug-filled briefcase

sat on my table.

And a man had died because of that.

I pushed it from my mind, but couldn't help but realize

I'd never actually spoken to a real dealer before. Not that

I'd had no experiences with illicit substances--it was

college, and unlike former presidents, I did inhale--but

whenever drugs were present they seemingly appeared

out of nowhere in little plastic bags. I assumed some of

my friends had connections, but down the road I realized

I was just blissfully ignorant. I didn't want to have to

involve myself, didn't want to think of myself as trading

money for it.

Now there was no choice.

"Hey," the guy responded. "You called for Vinnie, right?"

"That's right. But you don't look like a Vinnie."

"You don't look like an asshole, so don't be one."

"Sorry, just making conversation. How's your night

going?"

"What are you, a fucking reporter? Shut up and let's

do this."

I decided less talking was better.

"So what can I get you?" he said.

"This new thing...Darkness, right? What will fifty get

me?"

"Fifty will get you three tabs. That's an introductory

offer. After that, it's twenty-five a pop."

I took out my wallet, counted out fifty, and handed it

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321

over. He counted quickly, then unlocked his briefcase

and pulled open the flap. He rummaged around inside as

I tried not to stare. I looked over at Amanda on the couch.

She was sitting there reading a magazine and sipping her

wine, acting like this was a totally normal evening occurrence. Monday we go to the movies, Tuesdays are date

nights, Wednesday we invite over our dealer. Just like all

normal city kids.

"Vinnie" took out a small bag with three tiny black

rocks inside. They looked like pebbles, the exact same

rock that was featured in Paulina's article.

He handed me the drugs and closed up the briefcase.

"Pleasure doing business with you. One quick thing.

If you're going to reorder tonight, make sure you have

cash on hand. We've had, um, troubles with people who

ordered and then didn't have the money to pay."

"People really reorder this stuff the same night? Is it

that good?"

"Vinnie" laughed.

"If we don't hear from you within the next few days,

it's 'cause you ran out of money or you're dead. So let's

just say I'm hoping to see you again real soon."

As Vinnie turned to leave, I looked at Amanda. She

peeked up from her wine. I rubbed my pointer finger and

thumb together and mouthed
Tip?

She looked at me like I was insane and gave her head

a quick "no" shake.

Vinnie opened the door, nodded, and left.

I ran over and put my ear to the door. Vinnie was a big

guy, and his footsteps were easily heard as he clomped

down the stairs.

I waited ten seconds and then called Curt Sheffield.

"Henry, I saw him go in. Did he leave?"

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Jason Pinter

"He should be leaving the building any second now."

"Got it. You know the plan, right?"

"You're going to follow him on foot, I take your car

and wait for you to contact me. Then I meet you with the

car and we tail him to wherever he refills on dope."

"You got it, boss. Keys are in the tire well, wait until you

can't see our friend anymore before you come down. Last

thing we need is this guy to think you're following him."

"Got it. I've done this before."

"But don't wait too long, I don't want to chance somebody stealing my ride. You don't exactly live in the safest

neighborhood, bro."

"Hey, Curt?"

"Yeah, Parker?"

"Are you sure about this? Am I really the guy you want

tagging along with you tonight?"

Curt was silent for a moment on the other end.

"I hear what you're saying. Fact is, I don't know who

to trust right now. Just the other day I got a tip on some

fired banker who might have been running drugs, cat

named Morgan Isaacs. We were just about to put a tail on

him when the guy disappears into thin air. Nobody knows

where he is, not even his parents have seen him in weeks.

Doesn't add up."

"Morgan Isaacs," I said. "The man who killed William

Hollinsworth had a money order on him made out to

Morgan Isaacs. If that was Isaacs, he was hired to kill

Hollinsworth."

"Which means he's no longer in this country, or no

longer of this earth," Curt said. "I got that feeling. So right

now, you're the only man I trust. I know why you're in

this, Henry. You want to know the truth about Stephen

Gaines, and I want to get rid of this crap that's turning

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323

our city into Beirut. Two paths, same destination, my

friend."

"Then I'll meet you there."

"See you soon, Parker. Oh wait, here he comes. Later."

"Good luck, Curt."

We both hung up.

I looked out the window and could see Vinnie exiting

our building. As soon as he stepped outside, he put his

cell phone to his ear. Then he nodded a few times, clicked

it off, put it in his pocket and headed east. The subway

was in that direction.

When Vinnie rounded the corner, I saw Curt Sheffield

trailing him, walking briskly but with enough distance

that hopefully our mark wouldn't notice. I silently wished

Curt luck again.

"That wasn't so bad," I said to Amanda. She'd put

down the magazine and wine. Standing up, she went over

to the table and picked up the baggie with three rocks of

the Darkness.

"Amanda, you're not going to..."

Before I could say another word, she walked over to the

bathroom, opened the bag and dumped the rocks into the

toilet. Then she flushed it. Once she was sure the rocks were

on their way to some sewage treatment plant, Amanda

came over to me and planted a massive kiss right on my lips.

"That's the closest I ever want that stuff to us," she

said, her arms warm around my neck.

"Same here. You know the reason I'm doing this is to

stop whatever this stuff is from getting out there more

than it already is."

"I know that. And I hope you do. But given a choice

between that and you staying safe... Just come home to

me, Henry. That's all I want."

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Jason Pinter

"I will," I said. "And hopefully I won't have to say this

too many times, but don't wait up for me."

She sighed. "I won't wait up for you, but that doesn't

mean I won't be thinking about you."

"I'd never tell you to stop doing that," I said.

She kissed me again and said, "Now go help Curt."

I nodded, grabbed my coat from the closet, gave her

one last look and headed outside.

45

Curt drove a Ford Fusion. The key was in the tire well

just like he said. As I climbed into the car and adjusted

the seat, I couldn't help but think Curt was a pretty conscientious guy to own a hybrid. I started the car and put

my cell phone in the cup holder by the armrest, just to be

sure I wouldn't miss it if he called.

For the next few hours, most likely, Curt would be on

his own. He wasn't supposed to call me unless there

was an emergency, as anything that could lead the dealer

to know he was being followed was curtailed until we

met up later.

So all I had to do now was wait.

I picked through the CDs. Some good stuff. Jay-Z, Lil

Wayne, T-Pain. Then, underneath all of them, I found a

Barry Manilow CD and I cracked up. When this was over,

Curt would surely have to explain himself on that one.

An hour in, I ran to the corner deli and got a big,

steaming cup of coffee and a muffin. So far this was the

lamest stakeout ever. I wasn't even staking anything out,

I was just sitting in a car on the side of the street, waiting