Parker 05 - The Darkness (40 page)

were losing a lot of their clientele to the virus. After it was

shut down, the club was a ghost lot for almost twenty

years and was basically nothing more than an abandoned

warehouse. It was supposed to be torn down until somebody--guess who--bought the lot."

"Shawn Kensbrook."

"Bingo. This place is all sorts of bad news. It wouldn't

surprise me in the least if an entrepreneur like Kensbrook

was padding his wallet by giving some of those hidden

rooms to 718 Enterprises."

As we watched the club, a young man wearing a suit

turned the corner and entered the front door.

"You saw that?" I said.

"Sure did."

"So what do we do now?" I said. "You want to call

for backup?"

"Not yet. Right now we have no probable cause. I

didn't see Goggins enter with any drugs and we haven't

seen anybody leave with them. We go charging in now

without a warrant, the whole thing gets thrown out."

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"Come on, Curt, we have to do someth--"

And then I stopped talking.

"There," I said, pointing out the object of my curiosity

to Sheffield. "We follow that."

Curt focused his eyes on what I was staring at. It was

a shipping truck, and it was parked around the back

entrance of the Kitten Club. On the side were written the

words Sam's Fresh Fish! The slogan was accompanied

by a cute illustration of a live fish standing on a plate

smiling while holding a sign that read, I'm Fresh!

And standing behind the truck were two men, unloading boxes and carrying them inside the club.

"This place serves dinner," Curt said. "And those little

hors d'oeuvres with salmon on toast points. It's a fine

attempt, Parker, but you're reaching."

I turned to Curt. "Fish isn't delivered on Sundays."

He cocked his head. "What are you talking about?"

"The markets are closed on Sundays. That's why when

you order fish on a Sunday, you're getting food that's

been on ice over the weekend."

"You're kidding."

"No, sir. I did a piece on the South Street Seaport a few

months ago. Took seven showers to wash that smell off

me. And one thing I learned is that there are no fish deliveries on Sundays in this city."

"So if that truck isn't delivering fish," Curt said, "then..."

"Then we follow the truck."

"The truck?"

"This place is a refilling station. My guess is they

don't keep more than a few days' supply in here. Wherever the Darkness is coming from, it's not here. But I have

a feeling Sam the fisherman might have an idea."

"Lead the way."

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But I couldn't lead the way. That was up to the employees of Sam's, or whatever front the Sam's truck was

used for, and they took their sweet time. The men

unloaded at least a dozen large boxes, which they carefully brought inside the Kitten Club. Curt and I sat there

and watched in silence, trying to figure out just how much

the merchandise inside those boxes was worth, where it

came from, and where it was being manufactured.

Finally, at about eight-thirty, just as the New York

streets were beginning to clog up, one of the men climbed

into the driver's side and churned the ignition. He slowly

pulled away from the club, turning south onto Ninth

Avenue and then right on Fourteenth Street heading east.

Fourteenth was one of the major Manhattan arteries, so

going crosstown took some time. The driver of the truck

didn't seem in a particular hurry, never honking or making

any maneuvers that would have gotten him noticed.

When we got to Third Avenue, the truck headed north,

and then took a right at Thirty-sixth.

"Is he headed to the tunnel?" Curt said.

The truck seemed to answer that question for us as it

merged left on Thirty-sixth into the Midtown Tunnel,

heading out toward Queens.

"What the hell is in Queens?" Curt asked again.

"I hope you're just thinking out loud and not expecting

me to answer," I said, "because I'm as confused as you are."

Once through the tunnel, the truck stayed on 495-East,

not going a single mile over the speed limit. After about

seven miles, the truck merged onto the Grand Central Expressway, then took the Van Wyck south. I was now thoroughly confused, and I could tell from Curt's expression

he was, too.

As we neared the Briarwood section of Queens, the

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337

truck abruptly turned off of the Van Wyck, still keeping

legal speed, and continued south until it began to slow.

At this point I slowed the car as well; traffic was easing

up, making us more noticeable. We were still two cars

behind the truck, and I was hoping that driving a big rig

made it a little harder for the driver to spot us.

Then, a mile down the road, the truck made another

right and disappeared.

"This isn't good," I said, slowing down and pulling

over to the side of the road.

Running at least half a mile was a fence made of

chicken wire, the top lined with sharp barbs. We were a

good few miles from any sort of body of water. "My guess

is they don't ship fish here," I said. "What do we do now?"

Curt sat there, shaking his head. "We don't have

PC," he said.

"Screw probable cause, Curt. We go in there, I'll bet

my father's eyes we'll find it within thirty seconds."

"I don't know," he said. "We don't even know what

we'd be walking into."

"You're a cop and I'm a reporter at one of the biggest

papers in the city," I said. "They can't just kill us."

As I said that, suddenly we whipped around as something rapped at the passenger side door. There was a man

standing there leaning over, gently knocking his knuckles

against the window.

I felt a lump rise in my throat. What the hell was he

doing here?

Curt immediately lowered his window and said, "Detective Makhoulian, I... How did you get here?"

Detective Sevay Makhoulian, wearing a light brown

jacket that fluttered in the wind, nodded, gesturing across

the front seat toward my window.

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Jason Pinter

We turned around to find another man there. This one

I'd never met before, but I knew him right away. He was

in his early forties, with wavy blond hair and an ear that

looked like a bad science experiment.

It was Rex Malloy, and he was smiling as he aimed a

gun at my head.

47

Rex Malloy opened up the backseat door and slid in,

keeping his gun trained on the back of Curt's head. Detective Makhoulian was walking in front of us, leading

us toward the path that the Sam's fish truck had pulled

into. I now knew that Makhoulian had tipped them off

about our meeting with Hollinsworth. Curt had trusted

him. And so had I.

"Weapon, please," Malloy said to Curt.

"I'm not packing."

"And I'm Tiger Woods. Weapon. Please."

I closed my eyes as I felt the muzzle of the gun pressed

against my head. Curt reached down and unstrapped a

gun from his ankle, then handed it over.

"Thank you," Malloy said. "Was that so hard?"

I could see Malloy through the rearview mirror. His

gun was held level, steady, and there was even the slightest hint of a grin on his face.

Curt looked straight ahead. He was quiet, but I could

sense that he was seething inside. As a cop, I could imagine it was a massive blow to your ego to be ambushed like

this. But it wasn't Curt's fault. At least now we knew who

the mole was inside the NYPD. And it was the very man

who'd helped "investigate" my brother's murder.

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"How long has Makhoulian been working for you?" I

asked. Up ahead we approached a gate, which opened for

us.

Malloy tilted his head just slightly. "Now come on,

Henry. There'll be plenty of time to ask questions. And

please call him 'Detective.'"

"He's no more a detective than you are a soldier," I spat.

Malloy squinted his eyes just slightly, and the hint of

a grin became a full-blown smile.

"You know, I wasn't sure how much Bill Hollinsworth was able to get out before we quieted that rat,"

Malloy said.

"He told us everything," I said. "I know about Panama,

about the Hard Chargers. I know that your brother was

killed and you've decided to emulate him in some sick

game, you whack job."

"Emulate?" Malloy said. "My friend, I am a living

tribute to my brother."

"Shame you didn't both get plugged over there," Curt

said. "Save us all a lot of time."

"Even if I did," Malloy said, "it wouldn't have changed

anything except my post-military career. You two just

happened to be caught up in the current, and lucky enough

for you, you'll actually get to know the truth before you

die. Well, at least all the truth that's fit to print."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" I said.

"Just sit tight," Malloy said. "We're almost there."

I followed Makhoulian down a long dirt road, both

sides bracketed by fencing topped with razor wire. The

forest was thick behind the fence, blocking our path from

view. The road snaked and twisted for over a mile, before

it opened into a large open field, surrounded by more

fencing and still closed off from the rest of the world.

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341

There was a large brown warehouse in the middle,

some sort of facility. As we approached the facility, two

men carrying machine guns came out to meet us. They

stopped on either side of the car and waited.

"Get out," Malloy said.

"Or what?" Curt replied.

"Or I'll kill your friend Parker. And if Parker doesn't

get out, I'll kill you. And if you both refuse to get out, I'll

kill every member of your family."

Hatred burning through me, I opened the door and

stepped out. Curt did the same.

As we stepped out, I was shoved up against the car and

searched by the man with the machine gun. The man on

the other side did the same to Curt.

From me they confiscated a Bic pen, and from Curt a

Swiss army knife that was attached to his key chain. Then

they took the whole key chain as well.

I was sweating terribly, my mind and heart racing. As I

stood back up, I was finally able to get a full glimpse of our

surroundings. Parked around the side of the warehouse

was the fish truck, the rear backed in to what looked like a

loading dock. And if there was a loading dock here, I had

no doubt that this was where they shipped the Darkness.

"Come on," Malloy said, "she's waiting for you."

"Who the hell is waiting for us?" Curt said. Then he

turned to Detective Makhoulian. "And you, you fucking

rat. If I don't leave here alive, I swear to God you're coming with me."

Makhoulian just stood there and said, "I'm sorry,

Curtis. You're a good man, but you're out of your league."

"What the hell does that mean? And who is this 'she'

you're talking about?"

"Eve Ramos," I said. "She was one of the survivors of

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the attack in Panama. She's the Fury." Curt looked at me,

confused, then his eyes widened as the totality of our situation sank in. "She's the one who wanted my brother killed."

"Henry," he said.

"I know."

Malloy said, "Follow me."

As if we'd had second thoughts, the two gunmen proceeded to follow us as Malloy led us up to the warehouse. He entered a code on a side door, opened it and

ushered us in.

We were in a long, narrow stairwell, painted a dull gray.

Cameras were positioned at several spots at every landing.

Malloy walked in front of us, taking us up two flights of

stairs before we stopped in front of a door with another

keypad. I counted three cameras, red lights glowing steadily.

"You come with me," Malloy said, looking at Curt.

"You're staying here."

"I'm not going anywhere," Curt said.

Malloy ripped the gun from his waistband and jammed

it under Curt's jaw, hard enough to make the man wince.

"You're going to come with me,
right now.
"

Malloy signaled to the two gunmen, and they kept

their muzzles trained on me as Malloy led Curt somewhere upstairs. When he was out of sight, one of the men

turned to me and said, "You're going to wait in here."

He jabbed a code in with a calloused finger, and when

the LED light turned green he pushed it open.

To my surprise, the door opened into a medium-sized

conference room, complete with varnished wood table

and comfortable leather chairs. There was even a speakerphone hooked up and sitting on the middle of the table,

like a cadre of suits was about to walk through the door

and talk shop while scarfing down bagels and coffee.

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343

"What the hell..." I was able to say before I was

pushed inside, the door slamming shut behind me.

The first thing I did when the door clicked shut was

run to the table and turn on the speakerphone. I wasn't