Parker 05 - The Darkness (17 page)

threatened to kill Paulina Cole's daughter was the same

man who just blew Brett Kaiser halfway to hell.

19

It sure didn't look like a financial company. In fact, if

Chester had told Morgan that they made rivets and

girders, or maybe the occasional swamp creature there,

he would have been more likely to bite.

They were somewhere in Queens, a borough just off

the island of Manhattan but a world that couldn't have

looked or felt any more different. It wasn't that Morgan

hadn't traveled to the outer boroughs, but as soon as he

landed his first job the rest of New York City became a

foreign territory. He used to have friends in Queens,

Brooklyn, Staten Island. But when you work fourteen

hours a day, you hardly have the energy to get out there.

So he kissed that life goodbye, and hadn't thought much

about it since.

For a brief moment, as they were driving up to the front

gate of what looked like an abandoned factory, Morgan had

second thoughts. They only lasted a moment, but they were

pure, pungent. A shot of hesitation mixed with an ounce of

fright, stirred with a straw of what the hell am I doing here?

Did he really know this guy, Chester? Sure he came

with a recommendation from Ken Tsang, but Ken was

dead so obviously his hunches didn't always pan out.

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But then Morgan remembered his debts. His mortgage.

That bank account that had swollen so large and was now

deflating like a punctured balloon. Even if this turned out

to be nothing, even if Chester was full of crap and offered

him nothing more than being a three-card monte dealer

in Times Square, it was worth the trip. Not like he had any

plans today, and even if there was a one percent chance

of paying off his mounting debts, it was worth the trip.

As the Town Car approached the gate, Morgan saw a

man approach from the other side of the chain link fence.

He was big, about three hundred pounds big, and Morgan

couldn't be sure but what looked like a rifle or machine

gun of some sort dangled from his left shoulder.

Morgan's eyes went wide, and he turned to Chester.

Chester seemed to notice this, and he smiled.

"Not to worry," he said. "That's Darryl. He's part of

our private security force, and he's the best there is. We

run a relatively small business, and have had to relocate

our operations over the last few days, so security is at a

premium. This might not exactly be what you're used to,

but I'm sure you won't mind."

Morgan shook his head as though agreeing with Chester's assessment, but he couldn't help but stare at the black

muzzle pointing at the ground, wondering how often, if

ever, it had been fired. And if so, what it had been fired at.

When the gate opened, the car drove through. Gravel

crunched under the tires, and Morgan caught this armed

man, Darryl, eyeing the backseat window intently as the

car came to a stop. The driver got out, and Morgan went

to open his door.

"Not yet," Chester said. Morgan looked at him, confused, but then the driver came around to Morgan's door

and opened it for him. The driver bowed down, and

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Morgan slid out. Though this odd gesture in front of some

sort of run-down warehouse confused him even more,

Morgan did not let it show.

Chester came around to him and said, "Follow me."

The blond man led him up the driveway to a door. It

wasn't quite a front door, since this building didn't seem to

have been built with traditional comings and goings in mind,

but Chester punched a security code into a small black

keypad and an LED light turned from red to green. Chester

turned the latch, opened the door and ushered Morgan in.

They were in a gray stairway, steps leading up and

down. Chester took the path upward, and beckoned

Morgan to follow. They went up two flights of stairs.

Morgan could see numerous cameras lining the stairwell,

each with red lights. At the top of the third-floor landing,

Morgan noticed that the camera was in fact moving,

panning over the entire stairwell.

"Security measures," Chester said. Morgan nodded.

Again Chester punched numbers into a keypad, and Morgan heard a latch unlock. Chester smiled at him, and

opened the door.

"Go on in," he said. "Take any open seat."

"Thanks," Morgan said, and stepped into the room.

And if he'd been confused before, this just took it to a

whole new level.

The room inside was wood paneled, as though it had

been transported from some high-end hotel. In the middle

of the room was a long, dark mahogany conference table,

polished and gleaming. Track lights illuminated the entire

room. But what struck Morgan more than anything was

not the room's decor, but rather the dozen young men,

dressed to the nines just like him, surrounding the table.

20

Morgan didn't know what to say. The other men turned

to see him when he walked in, but then turned away. They

all had looks on their faces that looked startlingly like his

own: confidence on the outside, but eyes that showed

confusion, discomfort, and above all desperation.

Every face was cleanly shaved, every suit neatly

pressed. The ties were knotted perfectly, and the room

reeked of designer cologne. There were young men of

every race and ethnicity. Black, white, Asian, Indian,

Arab. Tall, short, fat, skinny. Some had full heads of hair,

some looked to be going prematurely bald. None of the

men looked to be older than their early thirties, and some

looked barely old enough to have graduated college. Yet

every one of them looked like a hungry dog waiting for

a meaty bone.

Morgan felt Chester's hand on his back, and a soft

voice said, "Sit down, Morgan." The voice had become

much firmer than Morgan was used to.

There was an empty seat in between a lanky Indian

man and a chubby white guy with a red face and thick

shoulders who was fiddling with his cuff links. Morgan

walked over and sat down. The chairs were red leather,

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141

plush and comfortable. Morgan debated leaning back,

but noticed that all the other guys were sitting straight,

waiting for something, not wanting to be viewed as too

aloof. Morgan guessed that they were all there for the

same reason he was: money.

There was something oddly familiar about the grouping, and it didn't take Morgan long to realize what it was.

Everyone at the table, their clothes, their mannerisms,

their style and smell, all reminded him of men he used to

work with.

Morgan looked back at the doorway, wanted to see

Chester's reaction to all of this, but the blond man had

closed the door. Morgan noticed there was another small

keypad on this side of the door he'd entered from. The

LED light on it was red. They were all in here until

someone let them out.

There were few noises. Chubby played with his cuff

links. A black guy at the opposite end seemed to have the

sniffles. A young guy with red hair and a pocket square

was rubbing what looked like a razor burn on his neck.

And then the door at the other end of the conference

room opened. Every eye in the room turned to face it,

pupils wide, breath being held.

In strode a man who stood about five foot ten. Brown

hair, neatly trimmed and parted to the left. He wore a

suit that Morgan guessed to be Brooks Brothers, maybe

Vestimenta. There was a gold watch on his left wrist,

and a thick silver wedding band as well. He had wide

eyes, narrowed ever so slightly. He wore a pair of smart,

stylish glasses and gave off an air of both confidence

and wealth.

He stood at the doorway for a moment, his eyes traveling around the room, gazing over every single person seated.

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And then he walked over to the head of the table, put his

palms on the wood, hunched over and stared at them.

"I know why you're here," he said. "I know why you

all went to bed early last night, got up this morning, took

hot showers, broke out those shave brushes and dolled

yourself up like you were going to the fucking prom. I

know why you did that."

He looked at the chubby kid, fingers squeezing one

cuff link like a pig trying to get the hot dog out of the

blanket. "Son?" the man said.

"Sorry?" Chubby replied.

"Those things aren't going to fly away. You don't need

to keep touching them."

"Sorry," Chubby said. He stopped fidgeting, and

placed his hands on his lap.

"Anyway," the man continued, "my name is Leonard

Reeves. But you're not here to be my best buds, so let's

cut to the chase. Two years ago, I was making one point

two million. I had a sweet corner office at one of the most

prestigious firms on Wall Street. I had it all. When people

say they had it all, they're usually bullshitting you, but

man, I had it all. Beautiful wife who could've put those

Swedish bikini models to shame. A penthouse spread

overlooking Central Park with a terrace bigger than most

people's homes in the Hamptons, and a secretary that I

could tell wanted to blow me every time I stepped into

the office. Everyone in my life acted like I walked on

water, and that's how I felt as well."

Chubby smiled. He must have liked that mental image.

"But then, just like that, I lost it all. Every cent. My

company got bought by another, larger corporation. Overnight my millions in stock options were worth less than

the Pope's cock. I owed three million dollars on my

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143

mortgage. When I hadn't found a new job in a month, my

wife left me. For one of my best friends, who was lucky

enough to be working at the same company only in a sector that didn't overlap. She divorced me on the grounds

that I was emotionally distant, which, to be honest, I

probably was."

Morgan heard a few muted laughs, but they were respectful rather than dismissive. They'd all been there. Or

knew those who had.

"So I got thrown out of my apartment," Leonard said.

"My parents offer me a place to stay, but I refuse. Stupid

decision, I gotta say, because you know where I end up?

On the street. Borrowing money to buy drugs that I can't

pay for. One day I wake up in an alleyway on a Hundred

and Thirty-eighth Street with three broken fingers and a

dislocated kneecap."

He held up his left hand. Three of the fingers were held

at an awkward angle. Morgan grimaced looking at them.

"I'm in the hospital, but of course I don't have insurance. Second day I'm there, a guy comes to visit me. I

don't know him from the inside of my ass, but he tells

me all my bills are paid for. He tells me he knows who I

am, and where I've come from. His name was Stephen

Gaines, and he saved my life. Want to know how Stephen

saved me?" Leonard said.

The room nodded.

"He gave me my life back. More importantly, he let

me become a man again. See, once I lost my job, lost my

wife, lost it all, I wasn't a man anymore. I was a dickless

nothing wandering the streets waiting for someone to put

me out of my misery. And Stephen took me from that, and

he gave me my life back."

"What did he do?" Chubby asked. Leonard smiled

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and walked over to Chubby, knelt down and stared at him

in his bright red face.

"He let me earn again."

Chubby nodded, and suddenly Morgan realized he

was doing the same thing.

"I know each and every one of you," Leonard said. He

looked at Chubby. "Franklin LoBianco. Laid off from

Morgan Stanley three months ago.You're listed as owning

a four-bedroom apartment on Madison and Thirty-fourth.

Nice neighborhood, Franklin, but I bet you're wishing

you didn't splurge on that four-bedroom now."

Franklin lowered his head.

Leonard walked around the room and stopped by a

young Indian man with a slight goatee and an earring.

"Nikesh Patel," Leonard said. "You were the chief financial analyst at a hedge fund that was worth one point two

billion dollars. But then that fund blew up, and you were

without a job. I bet it makes paying for your parents'

home in New Delhi rather difficult."

Nikesh opened his mouth questioningly, but shut it as

Leonard walked around the room some more. Morgan

went rigid as Leonard stopped right by him and looked

down at him.

"Morgan Isaacs," Leonard said. "A few years ago, you

bought your apartment for one point eight million dollars.

I'm sure at the time it seemed like a good buy. A good

investment. But records show that that same apartment

was listed two months ago at one point five. Then one

month ago at one point two. Now, it's currently off the

market. Figure between costs and renovations, you're out