Parker 05 - The Darkness (32 page)

264

Jason Pinter

Chester. And if the guy in Paulina's photo isn't Chester,

but Rex, why call himself Chester? Why not make up

some other completely random alias?"

"Some sort of psychotic tribute perhaps," Jack said.

"Now look at the rest of this squad. Eleven men and

women. The Department of Justice should have records

on the rest of them. We need to know where the rest of

this squad is, and get any more information about Malloy

that we can. Maybe somebody who knew him can explain

why a Green Beret seems to be armpit deep in some new

drug epidemic."

"Noriega was a massive drug trafficker," I said. "If this

Bravo squad was flown in to help depose Noriega, they

obviously had some part to play in the Panama drug war."

"Maybe," Jack said. "But the question remains. Whose

side were they on?"

We split up the list, Jack taking five names and myself

taking six. Our job was to track down the remaining

members of Rex Malloy's Detachment Bravo team and

contact them to find out whatever information we could

about the Malloy family.

The DOJ had every member of the squad on file, but

to my surprise only three of my six were still alive.

And one of those was not Chester Malloy.

The surviving members on my list were Rex Malloy,

Eve Ramos and Frank Loughlin. There were no records

of employment or housing for either Ramos or Loughlin,

and according to the DOJ, Frank Loughlin was serving

twenty years for the murder of a homeless man on the

streets of Atlanta.

Researching the newspaper records, I discovered

Loughlin had pled insanity, his lawyer making the case

that Loughlin still suffered from post-traumatic stress

The Darkness

265

disorder from his time in the military, and that his client

was better served under psychiatric supervision than

under our federal prison system.

Loughlin had been returning home from a movie when

a homeless man approached him on the street. After

asking for change and being denied, the man placed his

hand on Loughlin's shoulder. The ex-Special Forces

agent then threw the man to the ground and pressed his

boot against the man's neck until his larynx was crushed

under the force.

Police testified that when they arrived on the scene,

Loughlin was sitting on the curb by the body, crying.

Nevertheless, the judge disagreed that Frank was missing his marbles, and now the man who once fought for the

United States was rotting in one of its very own jail cells.

Not the kind of irony that brings a smile to your face.

Seeing as how Frank Loughlin couldn't be involved in

this unless he somehow gained the ability to walk through

walls, cross state borders and look like one of his former

squad mates (a possibility considering the amount of

drastic plastic surgery you see in New York), I went to

find Jack to see if he had any more luck.

I found him at his desk, on the phone, writing on a

notepad.

He didn't pay me any attention, just kept nodding as

though the person on the other line could be persuaded

by his nonverbal approval. I took that moment to glance

around Jack's desk.

He'd been back for such a short amount of time, and

since then he'd done nothing to make his desk more personal, nothing to show that a human being actually

worked, breathed and dwelled there.

I wasn't the most sensitive guy in the world and I had

266

Jason Pinter

no need to plaster my workspace with pictures of every

living relative, every birthday party and a child from

every conceivable camera angle, but you could walk by

my desk and know that somebody took the time to make

it more habitable.

There was a photo of Amanda and me taken a few

years ago at a concert at Jones Beach. I had a clipping of

the first article I ever published in the
Gazette,
and the

first piece I ever published in the
Bend Bulletin
from

back in the day when I was cutting my teeth.

Those articles were steps to me. Chapters in a life and

career. I wasn't sure what the next clipping would be. I

supposed I would only know when, well, I knew.

Finally Jack hung up the phone and turned to me.

"Whaddaya got?"

"Very little," I said. "Three of my six are still alive.

One of them is in prison, one has no records of pretty

much anything, and Rex Malloy hasn't been heard from

in almost fifteen years. The kicker, though, is that Chester

Malloy is dead."

"I had a feeling," Jack said.

"Turns out the older brother was killed in action in

Panama. He was in a transport vehicle with his brother Rex,

Eve Ramos and William Hollinsworth when they made a

wrong turn and ended up on a street not far from Noriega's

headquarters. They were approached by members of the

PDF who tried to detain them, but when the squad resisted

they opened fire. As far as I can tell Chester Malloy was

the only casualty, but according to news reports, all four

members of the team were seriously injured."

Jack stroked his beard, thinking. Either that or he was

ignoring me. But since I doubted that, he just continued

to stroke his beard.

The Darkness

267

"That give you good luck?" I asked.

"Been doing this my whole adult life. So depending

on your perspective, probably not."

"What did you find out?"

"Well, not as much as you, but between the two of us

I think we know exactly where to go."

"What did you find?"

"Of my five squad members, four are dead. The only

living Bravo Detachment member is Bill Hollinsworth.

Hollinsworth was deployed as a Special Reconnaissance

officer. His job was to gather intelligence on the enemy

and their tactics."

"This is the guy who was in the car with the Malloys

when they came under fire."

"Exactly right. And get this. Hollinsworth is a professor of American history, post-World War II at Columbia."

"What you learn in war you teach to future generations," I said.

"If he was in Panama, he probably knows Rex Malloy.

I called over there. Hollinsworth has office hours today

until six."

"We should meet with him right away," I said.

"No worries, Henry. I already called the history department and they said he never leaves until six on the dot. And

apparently he's not the easiest guy to get along with, because

the lady who answered the phone seemed rather shocked

that we wanted to meet with him. She said students steer

clear of Hollinsworth like you do from matching clothes."

"Or you from denture cream," I said.

"Go screw yourself," Jack said. "Come on, let's see

why this guy's friend is poisoning our city."

36

As soon as Morgan Isaacs got off the subway to head

home, his cell phone rang. He didn't recognize the

number, but picked it up anyway, figuring after all the

money he and Theo made that day everything in his life

was taking a turn for the better.

He couldn't believe how well this new drug, these

small black rocks called the Darkness, were selling. It

seemed every customer had either bought recently and

needed a refill, or heard about it from a friend and wanted

a go. It thrilled Morgan to no end that he was carrying a

product that was so desired. It made him feel powerful

again, for the first time since everything was snatched

from him so unfairly.

To Morgan, he wouldn't trade that feeling away for

anything. And he would do anything to make sure it

never left him.

The sun was beginning to descend, and the Manhattan

skyline looked a gorgeous dark blue in the evening sky.

For months, Morgan wondered how long he would be

able to look at that view, if his lack of employment would

force him to relocate, take some job outside the city where

he'd be a nobody, a nothing, working for a company that

The Darkness

269

the
Wall Street Journal
barely knew existed, a company

whose CEO wore a cowboy hat rather than a three-piece

suit. Where the offices were decorated with shag carpeting and the secretaries were all fifty and overweight.

That was a world Morgan refused to live in.

So he took in the crisp air, and remembered why he

fell in love with this city in the first place. And he thanked

his benefactors for giving him the chance to stay.

"Hello?" he said.

"Morgan, it's Chester."

"Oh, hey, what's up?"

"Just wanted to let you know I talked to Leonard, and

he told me you and Goggins cleared almost twenty grand

today. That's quite a haul."

Morgan smiled. He was well aware of how much

money they were bringing in, but he'd learned one thing

in business and that was never to brag to your boss about

how well you were doing. At the end of the month, when

all the receipts were tallied up, you'd get all the praise you

needed. Braggarts were so nineties.

So to hear this from Chester during his first week of

work, to Morgan that was all the praise he'd need for a

month.

"I know you haven't received a paycheck yet," Chester

said, "but you deserve a bonus."

Morgan's jaw dropped. He stopped walking and

leaned up against a mailbox. Then he had to move when

a man asked him to move so he could deposit a letter.

"I...I don't know what to say... Thanks, I guess."

"You've earned it," Chester said. "But you will need

to do one thing for me."

"Anything."

"I'm glad to hear that. And if you do this for me, you'll

270

Jason Pinter

get a hundred grand on the spot. I'll need you to sign one

piece of paper, for tax purposes, but you'll have six figures

to play with by the time you're hungry for dinner tonight."

"You're kidding me, right?"

"Yes, I'm kidding you. In fact, we never want to see

you again. Goodbye, Morgan."

"Wait! I was kidding, too!"

"I know, stupid. Be on the corner of Thirteenth and

Avenue A in half an hour."

"I'll be there."

"One more thing, Morgan."

"What's up?"

"Do you like the suit you're wearing?"

"I guess so. It was one of the first ones I bought when

I got my job in banking."

"Too bad. Because you're never going to wear it again

after today."

37

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Jack said. He was staring out the

window of our cab as we sped uptown to meet William

Hollinsworth.

Rather than responding, I studied Jack's face. For

some reason it made me think about his clean desk, how

for some reason there was something holding him back

from returning fully to a normal life.

We'd never had a chance to have a real talk about

Paulina's article and what it had done to him, and it was

probably for the better. When a man's reputation, and

maybe his soul, is nearly destroyed, the last thing he

wants to do is revisit it. But it was clear that Jack hadn't

quite gotten past it, that he was still between two worlds.

The wistful look on his face confirmed my thoughts.

It was not the look of a face simply admiring the beauty

of a city, but the look of a man who wasn't sure if he'd

ever see these sights again.

Sixth Avenue was crowded, full of taxis, livery cabs

and black company cars carrying executives and bluecollar workers alike home from a long day's work. Traffic

in the city had actually gotten better over the last few

months, but it was a wolf wrapped in sheep's clothing.

272

Jason Pinter

The decrease in traffic was primarily due to a cutback

in both taxis and hired car services, but also a massive

drop in truck deliveries that ordinarily clogged up New

York's arteries during the early morning. With so many

stores and restaurants closing due to massive revenue

drops, there was natural belt tightening in the quantity and

frequency of transports it took to ship in new supplies.

Nevertheless, traveling through the city during the

seemingly endless rush hour times was still a harrowing

proposition, and the fact that it took forty-five minutes

rather than an hour to go from midtown to upper Manhattan was a small victory at best.

We eked past taxis crawling slower than they needed

to, trying to squeeze out a few extra pennies from their

charges. Businessmen who would normally be glued to

their BlackBerries in the backseat, blissfully unaware of

this common practice, now stared at the rising fare ready

to berate the driver for taking his sweet time.

Prior to leaving, I left Curt Sheffield a message filling

him in on where we were headed. He needed to know

what was going on. Like Paulina said, I didn't know who

to trust, but I wanted to leave a trail just in case. I could

trust Curt to follow it if something bad happened.