Parker 05 - The Darkness (12 page)
Read Parker 05 - The Darkness Online
Authors: Jason Pinter
who knew she'd get whatever information she wanted and
might just tear out your spleen to get it. "I'm looking for
my daughter. I was wondering if you could let me know
what dorm room she's in."
"Your...daughter?" the man said, surprised. Paulina
could tell from the man's demeanor that he was probably
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not considered any sort of threat to the student body of
this all-girl school.
"Yes. My daughter. Abigail Cole." The man sat there
unmoving. "Is there a problem?"
"Well no," he replied. "It's just that, well, most parents
have their children's phone numbers and dorm rooms
etched into their brains. You know, one of those 'always
know where to reach your loved ones' deals."
"Yeah, well I'm not one of those parents," Paulina said.
"No, you don't seem to be." He picked up the phone.
"Would you like me to call her for you?"
"No," she said. "I'd prefer if you just told me where
she lives. I'd like it to be a surprise."
"Surprise. Sure. Can I just see some ID?"
Paulina handed it over. The man took it gently between
his thumb and index finger like one might handle a piece
of forensic evidence. He looked at it, typed a few keys
into his computer, then slid it back to her.
"Thanks, Ms. Cole. Abigal lives in room three-ohthree of the Friedman apartments."
"Where can I find that?"
"It's the housing complex at the corner of Elm and
Prospect streets. But you'll need somebody to let you
in--like Abigail. The doors are locked 24/7, and campus
security is always on the lookout for people who don't
necessarily look like they know what they're looking
for."
"Thanks for the tip," she said, and left.
She drove over to the apartment complex and found a
spot in the student lot in between a Volvo that looked
sturdy enough to withstand tank fire and a Prius with a
Kerry/Edwards bumper sticker lovingly forgotten on the
rear bumper.
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She walked across the lawn toward the middle of the
three dorms, for a moment thinking back to her own time
at college, wondering where it all went. She barely remembered the days that seemed to have flown by in a blur
of books and late nights, staying up until four in the
morning to ace the test that nobody else figured they
could pass. Paulina smiled as she watched all the young
women, these silly young women who probably had no
idea what kind of world awaited them. Most looked like
they didn't have a care in the world, and who knew,
maybe they didn't. But, one thing Paulina knew for sure,
it was the ones who cared too much who succeeded. The
ones who refused to stay down when they were beaten
down. The ones who refused to take "no," and instead
took everything. She prayed for years that her daughter
was like that. Sadly, she'd resigned herself to the fact that
it was not meant to be.
Approaching the dorm, Paulina stopped two young
women carrying backpacks and chatting. "Excuse me,"
she said. "Can you tell me where I can find room threeoh-three?"
The thicker one who had short hair and stringy-looking
tassels lining it, pointed to the dorm on the left, then
middle. "One hundreds, two hundreds, three hundreds."
She finished by pointing at the dorm on the right.
"Thanks very much," Paulina said, and waited until the
girls left. She walked up to the entrance, a glass door
leading into a small atrium that was also locked from the
outside. She took out her cell phone, pretended to send
text messages while she waited. Finally a girl approached
the door, looking in her purse for a key. When she found
it and inserted it into the lock, Paulina stepped behind her
and put the phone away. The girl opened the door, and
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Paulina caught it before it could close, following her into
the atrium. The girl turned around, looked at Paulina.
"I'm sorry," she said, her young blond hair looking so
tender, so naive. "We're not supposed to let strangers
inside the dorms."
"Oh, I'm no stranger," Paulina said, laughing. "Do
you know Abigail Cole?"
The girl's eyebrows lifted. "Why do you ask?"
"My daughter," Paulina said, shrugging. "Surprise visit."
Suddenly the girl smiled, enthusiasm radiating from
her. It took Paulina by surprise. "No way!" the girl nearly
shrieked. "I'm Pam. I've asked Abby so many times about
her family and, well, I guess you know what she's like.
When she decides to clam up, no crowbar in the world
can get her talking."
"That's Abby," Paulina said. "So you know her?"
"Know her?" Pam asked, somewhat surprised. "Hasn't
she mentioned..."
"We don't talk much."
"Oh. Because we've been...I don't know, seeing
each other."
"Really," Paulina said.
Pam nodded, hesitating before she spoke. "But I guess
Abby didn't tell you."
"Must have slipped her mind."
"Here," the girl said, opening the inner door and holding it for Paulina. "Sorry to keep you."
"She's in room three-oh-three, right?"
"She might be."
"Might be?"
The girl began to look nervous. She brought a finger
to her lip and began to chew. "She's kind of been hanging
out at my place. Just for the last few weeks."
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"Is she there now?"
"Probably. She doesn't have psych until three."
"Do you mind then?" Paulina said, pointing toward the
elevator bank.
"Oh, we're on the first floor. Follow me."
The girl led Paulina down the corridor, filled with
campus notices, posters and random detritus. When they
arrived at room three-nineteen, the girl knocked.
"Abby, are you decent?" she asked.
Before the door could open, a voice from inside called
cheekily, "I don't have to be."
"Abby, open up," Pam said.
"All right, don't get your panties knotted." Paulina
heard a latch being undone from inside, and the door
opened. Standing in the doorway was a girl Paulina both
recognized and did not. Those green eyes, that long,
equine nose she got from her father, she'd recognize those
traits anywhere. But the jet-black hair, the nose ring, the
thick eyeliner--it nearly obscured the girl Paulina had
raised all those years ago.
"Hi, Abby," Paulina said.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," came her
daughter's startled reply.
12
Morgan stood outside of his apartment, his cheeks still
stinging from that morning's shave. It was a good pain,
though, one that reminded him of what it felt like to wake
up with a purpose, to wake up knowing that the day would
take him somewhere. Shaving wasn't a big deal on the
surface. Lots of people liked scruffiness, women especially these days, as though there was a magnetism to the
inherent laziness of it. Morgan loved the feel of running
a sharp blade over his face during a hot shower, the feel
of patting his skin after drying off. He knew that whenever he felt like that, things would go his way. A big paycheck. Some honey who knew he brought home the
money whereas that bearded artist who spent every penny
he owed on cheap paints and canvas could not.
Cleanliness. Right next to godliness. Perhaps somewhere in that equation was Morgan Isaacs.
He didn't dare bring a cup of coffee with him, or anything more than his wallet and keys. He had no idea what
this guy Chester wanted, this guy with the hair so blond
it nearly disappeared in the sunlight. He didn't look like
he belonged in New York, this guy. His ear-length blond
hair and lanky but strong build reminded him of a pro
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surfer, maybe one of those guys you saw pumping iron
on Venice Beach. Someone who took care of their body
for a reason. Not a gym rat like most New Yorkers, but
someone whose vocation required it.
The day was crisp, the streets quiet after rush hour.
Morgan wondered why Chester wanted to meet at one,
such an odd time. Something about the whole deal
smelled not quite right, but Ken Tsang was nothing if not
a bloodhound for straight-up cash, so if he ended up
working with this guy there had to be money involved.
Just when he was thinking about what kind of payday
could be involved, a shiny black Lincoln Town Car pulled
up right in front of Morgan, the tires screeching to a halt.
Morgan watched as a driver exited, an older white guy
wearing one of those hats that said he'd probably been
driving rich folks around most of his life, and opened the
back door. When nobody came out, Morgan stepped
forward. Chester was sitting inside. He was wearing a
sharp gray suit and sunglasses, his blond hair a striking
contrast against the black leather.
Chester tapped the seat next to him and said, "Get in."
Morgan nodded and slid into the backseat, pulling
the door closed behind him. The car sped off as swiftly
as it stopped. Morgan turned to see Chester staring at
him, smiling.
"Glad you could make it," he said. "You ready to make
some money?"
Morgan smiled right back.
The car cruised effortlessly downtown, turning left
onto Fifth Avenue. Morgan felt a slight lump rise in his
throat as they sped by his old office building. It wasn't
right that he was gone. All his life Morgan Isaacs had
dreamed of making his living in finance, working for a
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bank or a hedge fund, having a different, brilliant suit for
every day of the week. He would have one of those
massive corner offices, a bar stocked with decanters filled
with the most expensive liquors money could buy. He
would have a beautiful young secretary, some hot girl just
out of college who had no desires in life other than to
work until the day she met someone like him, someone
like Morgan, who could satisfy their every need and pay
the bills so she would never have to work another day in
her life. She would have dinner ready, shop (but not too
much), be a doting mother and always have a good reason
as to why Daddy came home late.
He wouldn't be one of those absentee fathers. No,
Morgan actually looked forward to having children. He
wanted vacations to the Greek islands, ski trips to Telluride.
He wanted a pied-a-terre in France, a vacation home in the
Bahamas. He wanted to send Christmas cards and have
picture frames littering his massive desk. He wanted everything. Right now, sitting in the back of this shiny black car,
with a perfect stranger next to him on whom Morgan's
future might well depend, this was most definitely not the
direction Morgan had expected his life to take.
This was not too much to ask, Morgan thought. Everything was going perfectly until the economy went
downhill faster than an Olympic skier and soon he was
out on his ass with thousands of other men just like him.
Men with GPAs in the high threes, impeccable references
and several internships and jobs from which they could
draw experience. Even if (and this was an if the size of
the Grand Canyon) a job opened up, it would be like
trying to get a drink at a hot bar at one in the morning.
Thousands of people pushing and shoving like barbarians
to get the attention of one person. Was one resume really
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better than the other? It didn't matter. But Morgan had
Chester. Good old Chester.
"Anything stand out to you?" Chester said as they
passed through midtown.
"Um...it's a nice day?" Morgan said, not sure what
Chester was getting at.
Chester smiled. "It is that. But look at the streets.
Notice anything?"
"Uh, not really."
"Not really," Chester said. "Exactly what I noticed."
"Wait, what do you mean?"
"These streets, they used to teem with professionals. It's
lunch hour and you can count the suits on two hands. What
is the financial workforce down, ten, twenty percent?"
"At least," Morgan said.
"These streets used to mean something," Chester said,
his voice almost wistful, making Morgan wonder if Chester
had ever held a job here. His attitude and dress were corporate all the way, but he was loose enough to hang with
the boys at a steak house or strip joint. Morgan's guess was
that Chester was in upper management, the kind of guy
everyone else reported to who could act with a little disregard. The kind of guy Morgan couldn't be...yet.
"Did you know," Chester continued, "that over a hundred thousand people have lost their jobs in this city in
the last two years? I mean, Christ, think about it. Think
about how many of those hundred thousand used to work
here," he said, gesturing to the towering skyscrapers that
housed floors and floors of seasoned pros. "Think how
many of them used to walk these streets. And now think
about how many of them are sitting at home right now,
