Parker 05 - The Darkness (6 page)

bleached of all personality, she couldn't wait for the day

when she could feel his warmth next to her every night,

where she could lean her head on his chest whenever she

felt like it and listen to the beating of his heart. She craved

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that intimacy, that security. He needed it, too, she knew

it. But if it took a few extra months to build protection

for the rest of their lives, she supposed she could wait.

The alternative would have been unbearable.

When she used her spare key to open the apartment

door, she had to fumble around in the hallway for the light

switch. It wasn't by the door like it would be in a normal

apartment. The hallway light was part of some intricate

module by the entrance of the atrium that controlled all

the lights in the house. That was one of the things she

loved about Henry's previous apartments. There were no

modules, and definitely no atrium.

Once she found the panel and turned on every light in

the house before finding the one to her bedroom, she

went inside, stripped out of her work clothes and threw

on a pair of shorts and a tank top. Darcy and her husband,

Devin, were out at their summer home in Oyster Bay.

Every weekend they begged Amanda to come with them,

and every weekend she declined. She hated being the

third wheel, and having to do it four and a half days of

every week (they usually left for Long Island early on

Friday) was enough. And while sitting at the edge of a

beach, dipping her toes into the luscious water of the

Long Island Sound seemed like the perfect antidote to the

stressful Manhattan life, it didn't mean a thing without

Henry. And he wasn't the "dip your feet in the water and

laugh like a fool" kind of guy.

He had two modes: work and play. When the switch

was on Work, Henry was as driven and ambitious as

anyone she'd known. When it was on Play, there was

nobody else in the world but the two of them. Everything

faded away when he held her in his arms.

And she loved both sides of him unconditionally.

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45

Amanda called Henry's cell. It went right to voice mail.

"Hey, babe, hope you're having a good day and Jack

hasn't led you off a cliff or something. Give me a call

when you get a chance."

When she hung up, Amanda turned on her laptop and

put Aimee Mann on high. She was a massive fan, but

found she couldn't listen to her favorite song, "Wise Up,"

as often as she used to. The lyrics were about finding what

you thought you wanted most, only to realize that once

you had it, it wasn't what you thought it would be. Every

time she heard it, she thought about their relationship.

She'd never been a goopy girl, the kind who read her

horoscopes or gossiped over cosmos while wearing

outfits that cost more than the GDP of the Congo. She

wasn't superstitious either, but she didn't want to think

about losing what she wanted. What she had.

She figured if Aimee knew what she and Henry had

been through in their few years knowing each other, she

wouldn't take offense.

Kicking her shoes off, Amanda lay back on the hard

bed, wanting to think about nothing until it was time to

get up for work the next morning. The one thing she did

like about Darcy's place was that the girl didn't spare the

pillows. The guest room had no less than a dozen pillows

of various shapes and sizes covering the bed. Amanda had

spent her first week deciding which ones were right, and

picked the right half-dozen to fall asleep to. When she and

Henry lived together it always drove him crazy. Mainly

because he would wake up on one side of the full-size bed

with one nostril covered and a feather sticking out of the

corner of his mouth.

Amanda groaned as she rolled off the bed, blowing a

hair strand from her eye. Darcy and Devin had a fifty-six-46

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inch flat screen in their bedroom, one of those cool wallmounted units that seemed to hover without wires or a

bracket. It probably cost more than her education, so

Amanda figured she'd make use of it.

The remote control was some digital monstrosity that

took Amanda ten minutes just to turn on. She was

always amused by Darcy's taste in television, so she decided to see what her friend had recorded. The DVR

listed thirty-two episodes of
Sex in the City,
ten of

Gossip Girl,
three of
Desperate Housewives...
and this

morning's newscast. Amanda laughed. One of those

things didn't quite fit.

She pressed Resume Playback on the news program,

and saw swarms of cops roaming around what appeared

to be a crime scene. A reporter's voice-over spoke of

some horrendous murder, some young man's body found

pulverized in the East River. The reporter was using her

"ultra serious" tone of voice reserved for crimes that were

not just bad, but truly terrifying. Amanda felt her heart

beat faster. Why the hell had Darcy taped this?

"Kenneth Tsang was survived by his mother and father

and young sister. According to the police there are no

suspects at this time, but sources confirm that the brutality

with which the killer or killers ravaged Mr. Tsang's body

was done with some sort of message in mind. And since

the city medical examiner Leon Binks has confirmed that

over one hundred of Mr. Tsang's bones were broken

before the body was found in the river, that message will

be heard loud and clear."

Amanda shook her head. It was still hard to fathom just

how much evil there was in the world. How normal

people seemed to be at risk leading normal lives.

And then she realized why Darcy had taped the segment.

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47

Standing by a yellow line of police tape, talking to a

uniformed officer, was Henry.

Amanda watched. Henry was just doing his job, but

something about him being so close to death always

unnerved her.

When the clip ended, Amanda walked back into the

guest room and grabbed the cell phone. She dialed Henry's

number at work. It rang through and went to voice mail.

Then she tried his cell again. Right to voice mail.

"Henry...it's me. I know I just called, but I just wanted

to say I love you and please be safe."

Amanda hung up the phone and put on her pajamas.

Then she tucked herself under the warm covers and

turned off the light. Not for sleep. That wouldn't come.

Not until the phone rang. Not until she knew for sure

Henry was on his way home.

When I got home it was close to midnight. I sloughed

off all the detritus from the day: wallet, keys, loose change,

cell phone. The phone was off. I'd forgotten to turn it back

on after Jack and I had left the crime scene. I turned it back

on, saw there were two messages waiting for me.

My heart sank when I heard Amanda's voice on both

of them. In the first she seemed relaxed. The time stamp

meant she'd likely sent it just after getting home from

work. The second was sent less than half an hour later,

but she sounded worried, hesitant. I had no idea what

could have happened in that short time frame, but the

moment I erased the messages I was calling her back.

She picked up before the first ring was finished.

"Henry?" her sweet voice said.

"Hey, baby, it's me."

"Are you home?"

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"Sure am. Pretty exhausted, but it's been a hell of a

day. I'll fill you in tomorrow."

"Are you home for good?"

"You mean tonight?"

"Yeah."

"Yes...just getting ready for bed."

"Do me a favor. Make sure your door is locked."

"Is everything okay?" I didn't know where all of this

was coming from. "Do you want me to come over?"

"No. Just promise me you'll stay safe."

"I promise," I said.

"Good. Thanks, Henry. Now get a good night's sleep.

I'll talk to you tomorrow."

She hung up, but something gnawed at my gut. Like

Amanda knew something I didn't.

6

Tuesday

I was on the corner of Fifty-seventh and Sixth. It was

seven-thirty in the morning. Jack had told me to meet him

at eight-thirty. So unless he showed up an hour early just

to prove a point, I'd be the first one there. Of course you

could make the argument that I showed up an hour early

just to make my own point, but that was semantics. I

wanted and needed Jack to respect my work ethic. If my

professional accomplishments hadn't yet convinced him,

he'd just have to witness it firsthand.

I was still a little on edge from my conversation with

Amanda. We'd spoken briefly this morning before she left

for work, and something was definitely wrong. Again

she'd told me to promise that I'd stay safe. She'd never

done anything like that, at least not without cause or some

psycho killer breathing down our backs. I'd see her tonight.

We'd talk, and hopefully everything would be all right.

They needed to be. I needed that much stability in my life

right now, and I needed her to know that I was reliable.

At eight-fifteen the familiar tweed jacket rounded the

corner. Jack was clutching a large coffee and munching on

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a bagel. Cream cheese was stuck in his beard. He nodded

as he drew close, said, "Henry. Way to be on time."

"I could say the same thing to you. Hey, got a little

cream cheese there." I motioned to his beard. He ran his

hand through it, but all that did was spread it around. I

laughed, which Jack didn't take kindly to. He took a napkin and wiped himself down thoroughly, finally getting

it out.

"Better, Dad?" Jack said.

"Better, sport."

"Good. Now that the silliness is over, let's go talk to

some of these 718 guys."

"I don't know all of them," I said, "but the ones I did

meet got pretty vicious. Two of them, Scott Callahan and

Kyle Evans, are dead. Two others I didn't know, Guardado

and Tsang, are dead, too."

"They must have a hell of a life insurance policy,"

Jack said.

"I don't get it," I said. "Stephen Gaines worked for

these people. He ends up dead. Tsang has his bones

ground to powder, and there are still people dealing for

these clowns. I mean, if your colleagues are dropping like

flies, why do you stay on? Why not go to the cops, spill

on whoever's paying you? Seems like you have a better

chance of staying alive at least."

"That's a good question, Henry, and it's one that we're

going to have to answer because obviously these people

disagree with your assessment."

"Survival," I said.

"Come again?" replied Jack.

"Human instinct. The number-one priority is survival. If

someone isn't opening up, it's because they want to survive.

Ken Tsang, that wasn't just a murder. It was a message."

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51

"I think I've seen that kind of message before."

"Yeah? Where?"

"Wrote a story once where I had to interview the foreman after an accident at a quarry. The foreman told me the

victim's body looked like the bad guy after Indiana Jones

smushed him in that rock crusher. Said he looked like

something that was squeezed out of a tube of toothpaste."

"You know, sometimes I feel I'd be better off not

knowing about all your previous stories."

"Thought it might be pertinent," Jack sniffed.

"Come on, the building where 718 operates out of is

over there."

We entered the building, and I wasn't shocked to find

a different security guard on duty than I remember. He was

an older man, mid-sixties, with a tuft of gray hair parked

on the top of his head like a wind ornament. He had on

thick reading glasses and was reading a newspaper. We approached, and I said, "We're here for 718 Enterprises."

The man looked up. I could see a crossword puzzle on

the table in front of him. Only three of the words had been

filled in. And let's just say he wasn't aware the word

nuclear
had an
a.

"Sorry, come again?"

"718 Enterprises," Jack said. "Can you ring them up?"

"Just a second." He pushed the newspaper away and

brought out a large binder. Opening it, he began to flip

through pages, studying the telephone numbers with his

index finger. I watched as he scanned, unable to see the

numbers for myself.

"I'm sorry, there's no company here by that name.

718 Enterprises, you said?"

"That's right. They definitely work here," I added.

"I've been here before," I lied.

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The guard curled his lip up, flipped through the binder

again. He looked confused, frustrated. "Sorry, nothing

here by that name."

"Hold on a second," I said. I took the logbook from

the counter, began to look at all the people who'd signed