Parker 05 - The Darkness (14 page)

Vietnam."

"I remember that picture," I said, feeling a chill, remembering the first time I'd seen it in
Time
magazine. "I

remember the prisoner was wearing this plaid shirt. And

the look in the general's eye...like the man he just killed

was nothing. Had meant nothing."

Jack nodded. Then he said, "In the background of that

picture, just over the general's left shoulder, there's a

man. You can't really make out his face or what he's

doing, but he's there."

I looked at Jack. The lines in his face, veins in his hands,

a body that had seen more than I might in two lifetimes.

"That was you," I said. "You were there that day."

"It was actually my wedding anniversary," Jack said

with a slight laugh. "When my first wife asked where I was

that day, I showed her the picture. Suddenly she didn't feel

so bad about my not being able to spend it with her."

"Why do you still do it?" I said. "Once you've been a

part of these...these...moments that change history. I

mean, that's what every reporter dreams of, right? Being

there at the right time. Casting light on something that

was covered in darkness. Once you've done that...how

do you stay motivated?"

"I was never looking for those moments," Jack said.

"If they came, they came. If not, I went right on working. But a real reporter doesn't seek out those moments.

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111

We don't judge what's happening in front of our eyes.

History creates those moments. All we can do is share

the truth through our words. And if we're honest, and

there's a story in that darkness, the moments come.

But I never sought them out. I sought the truth. And if

you keep digging for it, under every goddamn rock in

this world...you'll find a few of those moments."

"If I die having had just one of those moments," I said,

"I'd die a happy man."

"Maybe you already have, Henry," Jack said. "You

just don't know it yet. Maybe this story is even it."

"Well, if it is, Brett Kaiser sure isn't going to make it

any easier."

"Well, let's try the good old-fashioned ambush

method."

"What do you suggest?" I said.

"I'll go to the firm's office, buy myself a big old cup

of coffee, sit in the lobby and wait for Mr. Kaiser to leave.

If security doesn't want a fellow such as myself loitering, I'll simply wait outside. And if they tell me to leave,

I'll tell them to kiss my wrinkly old ass."

"And my job?"

"Why, you're going to wait at Mr. Kaiser's Park

Avenue apartment building and do the exact same thing.

You might even try sweet-talking his doorman. You have

no idea how much information those guys have, and what

they're willing to tell you if you treat them like human

beings. Unlike Park Avenue tenants who usually treat

their doormen like they're one step above pond scum."

"And what if Kaiser shows up?"

"Simple," Jack said. "You tell him what we have, and

ask him to discuss it with you. Guys like this, these alpha

male pricks, hate hiding behind publicists and lawyers,

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Jason Pinter

even if they are one. They don't like being shown up by

punks like you."

"Punks like me?"

"Yes," Jack said, arching his eyebrow. "Punks like

you. At least that's how he'll see you. Actually, I'm kind

of hoping he does see you first. Young guy, you're less

of a threat. Probably figures you write for the school

newspaper. If you see Kaiser, you don't walk away with

less than something we can print that doesn't rhyme with

'Woe Bomment.'"

"I think I can manage that."

"Good. Keep your cell on. I'll call you if anything

happens on my end." I got up to leave. Jack put his hand

on my shoulder, said, "Good luck, Henry. Get this."

I nodded, went over to my desk and packed my things.

15

I arrived at Brett Kaiser's apartment at just after two

o'clock. There was a Korean deli on the corner where I

bought a cup of coffee and an energy bar.

I walked over to the building, a bright Park Avenue

complex that by my count was twenty stories high, with

beautiful western views where you could see all the way

down for miles. There was one doorman on duty, a man

in his early forties wearing a blue uniform and the kind

of top hat you only saw in movies about the 1920s. He

was slightly heavyset, the beginnings of jowls on his

face, a fresh razor burn under his chin.

A cab pulled up, and the doorman approached, leaning

down to open the car door. A slender blonde in her forties

slid out, thanked the doorman and went into the building.

The doorman watched her as she entered the building,

holding his gaze just long enough for me to know that had

she turned around, she wouldn't have been pleased.

When the woman disappeared into the elevator, I approached.

"Afternoon," I said.

The man nodded. "Can I ring someone for you, sir?"

he replied.

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Jason Pinter

"Not yet," I said. "Is Mr. Kaiser home?"

"I haven't seen him yet today."

"Ah, let me guess, you're on the eight a.m. to four p.m.

shift. I guess that means Mr. Kaiser is up and at work

early." The doorman looked at me oddly.

"Sir?"

"No sweat, just making an observation. Name's

Henry," I said, extending my hand. The doorman hesitated. "I'm a reporter with the
New York Gazette.
"

If he'd considered shaking my hand before, that idea

was now gone.

"As I said, sir," he replied, his voice much colder, "Mr.

Kaiser is not home at the moment."

"I know, you mentioned that. I have to ask him a few

questions."

"Questions?"

I had to stop myself from smiling. Here's the thing

about New York City doormen: they love to talk. Your

average doorman opens and closes a door for eight hours

a day, but barely gets more than two words from their

tenants. If you stop to chat, they'll talk your ears blue. So

few people actually
talk
to doormen, that if you gave

them an inch they'd take eight miles.

And I was prepared to give this one a few feet.

"We're investigating a... I can't really talk about it yet.

But hopefully Mr. Kaiser can answer all our questions

thoroughly. And I promise, you won't be mentioned."

"Why would I be mentioned?" he said, that voice

thawing with concern.

"You won't be," I said. "If you knew anything about

Mr. Kaiser, anything suspicious, even something you

thought one day and just dismissed, it would help his

cause and ours. I'm looking for the truth, Mr...."

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115

"Anderson," the man said. "Donald Anderson."

"Well, Donald..."

"You can call me Don."

"Okay, Don. Thanks for being so agreeable."

"Am I?"

"Are you what?"

"Being agreeable." Don blinked as he spoke.

"Yeah, you are. So, are you friendly with Mr. Kaiser?"

"I mean, in so much as he doesn't say much, I've never

gotten any complaints from him."

"No complaints. Any compliments?"

"He's not what you'd call the most talkative guy," Don

said. "He tips over the holidays, kinda gives a little nod

when he's on his way out or back in. Other than that he

don't say much."

"You ever try talking to him?"

"You ever work as a doorman?" Don asked.

"No, I haven't."

"Every tenant's got a different personality. You got to

learn how each person acts and reacts towards you, and

tailor your personality towards that. I swear, my first few

months on the job I felt like I was going crazy, developing one of those, whaddaya call 'ems, split personalities.

Mrs. Delahunt, she walks her dog like clockwork at

seven-thirty in the morning. She always says, 'Say hi,

Toodles!' like she's expecting the dog to talk to me. At

first I couldn't figure out why she treated me like such a,

pardon my French, such a bitch. Then Charles, the evening doorman, told me I had to say hello back to Toodles.

So every day at seven-thirty, I say hi to this little rat dog

Toodles. And every year at Christmastime, Mrs. Delahunt

gives me a tip twice as big as most tenants. All because

I say hello to her freaking dog."

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Jason Pinter

"So how does Mr. Kaiser fit in?"

"My first few months, I tried to be real polite. 'Hello,

Mr. Kaiser. Have a good day, Mr. Kaiser. Welcome home,

Mr. Kaiser.' I never get more than a grunt. One day I must

be thinking about something else--maybe Mrs. Delahunt's

fine daughter--and I forget to say hello to him. I just open

the door, not even thinking, and then I hear him say,

'Thanks, Don.'I swear it was like Christmas came early that

day."

"So what did you do?"

"I realized Kaiser didn't like being spoken to. Gestures

were fine, but man, did he think highly of himself. The

most effective method is a little nod as he comes through

the door. Closer to the holidays, tip time, I might give him

a tip of the cap. But that's all. I don't engage in conversation, I don't say a word to the man."

"Sounds like you've got this down to a science."

"Still refining my game," Donald said. "Always room

for improvement."

"So I need to ask one more question about Mr. Kaiser,

Don, and I'll be out of your hair."

"Shoot. Just promise you won't tell him I spoke to you,

and please don't print my name."

"This really has nothing to do with you, it's just to help

me understand Mr. Kaiser. You've watched all these

tenants for years, right?"

"That's right."

"Is there anything about Mr. Kaiser, either his mannerisms or something else, that strikes you as kind of

strange? Something that stands out as different?"

Don laughed. "Everyone's different in their own way.

There's one guy, a psychiatrist on eleven. Different prostitute every Friday night."

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117

"Um, I don't think I needed to know that," I said. Don

shrugged. "Is there anything about Brett Kaiser, though,

that's different?"

Don scratched his chin. "Actually, this did seem a little

strange, but I guess I got used to it. Every Tuesday night

at midnight, Mrs. Kaiser leaves the apartment. And about

five seconds after she leaves, this guy comes over."

"Wait. She just leaves?"

Donald said, "That's right. Goes to the 24/7 coffee

shop on the corner."

"How do you know that?"

"Every now and then she'll bring me a cup of coffee

and a Danish. The bags were always from that shop."

"Do you have any idea who this guy is? Business

partner? Maybe a lover?"

"Hey, man, I don't know that much about my tenants'

private lives. But I don't think so, as far as the gay stuff

goes. He was a real tall guy. Wore sunglasses a lot, even

at night. Looks a little like a G.I. Joe action figure.

Stands real straight, even less personable than Mr.

Kaiser if that's possible. Even after he'd been coming

over for a few months the guy never even looked me in

the eye. Got the blondest hair I've ever seen, kind of

wavy. He comes out at midnight and stays for just about

an hour. Then he leaves at one, and Mrs. Kaiser comes

back just as he's left."

"Do you have any idea what he's doing?"

"No, sir. Shows up, stays an hour, then leaves. No idea

why or who he is, but he never causes trouble and always

seems pleasant enough."

"What's his name?" I asked.

"Sir?"

"When you buzz him up, what name does he give you?"

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Jason Pinter

"I don't buzz him up anymore. By this point I know

he's okay so I don't bother."

"But at the beginning," I continued, "he must have

given you a name. Do you remember it?"

Don thought for a moment, then he said, "Chester. I

think it was Chester."

"You sure?" I said.

"Not a hundred percent, but I think so."

"What else can you tell me about him?" I said. Suddenly Don stood up straight and took several steps back

from me. He straightened his hat, then stepped forward.

I turned around to see a Lincoln pulled up at the curb. Don

was approaching the backseat door, which he opened,

bending over slightly while holding his hat with his free

hand. When the door was fully open, a man stepped out

and nodded at Don.

He was about six feet tall, slightly stocky, a middleaged man who clearly took care of himself. His black hair

was slicked back into a neat coif, and his skin was evenly

tanned. His watch glimmered in the afternoon sun, and I

didn't need to look closer to know it was real, and had

likely cost nearly as much as my education.

He strode up to the entrance, and I could tell from

the slightly scared look in Don's eyes that this was

Brett Kaiser.

"Mr. Kaiser," I said, matching his pace. Not an easy

feat. "My name is Henry Parker. I'm with the
New York