The Darkness hp-5 Read online

  Eve hard. Some of us thought Chester and Eve might have been seeing each other behind closed doors, but we never knew for sure.”

  I felt something then, a twinge, a faint bell going off.

  I decided to go after it. I had a feeling we were close to the truth.

  I pulled my cell phone from my pocket, searched through my e-mail in-box and found the message. Clicking on it, I opened the attachment. When it finished loading, I handed it to Williams Hollinsworth.

  “Do you recognize that person?” I said.

  Hollinsworth squinted, adjusting his glasses to view the grainy shot better.

  “It’s hard to tell, with the angle and the picture quality being, well, substandard. But if I had to guess…no…it couldn’t be.” He looked at me. “Chester Malloy?”

  “Close,” I said. “You knew both Malloy brothers. Look at the ear.”

  Hollinsworth took another glance, then nodded. “I remember Rex’s ear. We used to call him Potato Head because his ear looked like a mashed potato. But everything else is wrong. The hair. Rex’s hair wasn’t blond.”

  “You’re right there,” I said. “Rex’s wasn’t. Chester’s was. Rex Malloy is alive, and he’s taken on his brother’s look, his dress, even coloring and styling his hair like

  Chester used to.”

  “Okay,” the professor said, “so you say. But so what?

  I haven’t seen Rex Malloy in almost twenty years.”

  “About a week ago,” Jack said, “Rex Malloy kidnapped a woman and threatened to kill her daughter.”

  Hollinsworth’s head snapped up, his eyes wide open.

  “He did what?”

  “You heard me,” Jack said.

  “Jesus, how do you know this?”

  “Because the girl who took that photo was paid ten thousand dollars by Malloy to help him.”

  “I don’t understand,” Hollinsworth said. “Why would he do such a terrible thing?”

  “The woman he kidnapped was a reporter,” I said.

  “Like us. He blackmailed her into writing an article for her newspaper.”

  “I don’t read the papers,” he said.

  “So I gather. I just happened to bring a copy with me.”

  I took out the copy of the Gazette with Paulina’s article and slid it across the table to Hollinsworth. He picked it up.

  And as soon as he read the headline, I knew the whole story was about to unravel.

  “That’s…that’s impossible,” he said.

  Hollinsworth ripped open the paper to Paulina’s story and read the entire piece. We sat there, watching his face, studying it, transfixed by the multitude of emotions that ran through it.

  When he finished, the professor dropped the paper to the floor. The man’s shoulders were slumped, his eyes nearly closed. He stared at the floor.

  Then finally he said, his voice barely above a whisper,

  “I never thought they’d do it.”

  “Do what?” I said.

  “Darkness…Ramos…Rex and Eve were always talking about some new drug Noriega’s people were developing, something that if synthesized properly would be twice as potent but half the cost. But the way they were talking about it…it wasn’t kosher. I always got the feeling that if we didn’t keep tabs on them they could-”

  Then, before William Hollinsworth could say another word, the door to his office banged open. Standing in the doorway was a young man wearing a suit along with a baseball cap. His hair was blond, but I noticed a tuft of black hair beneath it. He was wearing a wig.

  And I knew what he was going to do even before he pulled the gun out.

  Suddenly the world became a blur, and before I could get out of my seat the young man was holding a small, black gun and pointing it at William Hollinsworth.

  The professor’s eyes went wide and I heard him scream, “No!”

  Then there were three deafening blasts, and three gouts of blood erupted from the former Special Forces agent’s chest.

  I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, watching helplessly as Hollinsworth toppled backward in his chair, a horrific spray of blood covering the back wall of his office, decorating the space with grisly red where the professor himself had declined to hang any decorations.

  The shooter’s eyes met mine, and to my surprise there was no anger or malice in them, but pure and simple fear.

  His head shook as our eyes met, and suddenly he turned and ran away.

  “Jack, call 911!” I shouted, jumping from my seat and racing into the hallway.

  Peeking out from the doorway to make sure there wasn’t a muzzle waiting for me, I saw the coattail of the man rounding the corner and heading for the lobby.

  I ran after him, screaming and shouting echoing in the halls behind me. I couldn’t sense anything else; my world narrowed to a tunnel.

  Turning the corner at the end of the hall, I heard some sort of commotion and a loud crash. Again I leaned out from the corner, only to see that the shooter had tripped over Carolyn’s desk and was gathering himself up.

  Carolyn was screaming, holding her head in her hands and she stared at the man with terror etched on her face.

  Then I saw it. The gun. It had fallen from his grasp and was sitting mere feet away.

  I had one chance.

  Without thinking, I sprinted forward and threw my weight into the man’s back.

  I heard a humph as his breath was driven from him, as we both fell forward onto the ugly brown carpeting.

  The man swung his elbow around at my head, but I was able to duck it. As he did so, the ball cap and wig fell off, revealing the man’s hair and face.

  His hair was short, black, and he was breathing heavy, sweating. One thing was for sure, this man was far from any sort of professional.

  The suit. Something snapped together in my mind, and I knew why this man was here.

  Then I heard him pleading with me.

  “Let me go! Please!”

  What kind of killer said please?

  I held on tighter, tried to get a better grip to immobilize the man. I needed to hold him down long enough for someone to help me incapacitate him until the cops arrived.

  “Get off him!” I heard somebody scream. I turned around slightly to see Carolyn hovering over us holding her desk lamp. It was a big thing, brass colored, metal and a foot and a half long. We both looked, and then she swung the pole at us.

  Then I felt a massive crunch on the back of my neck, and for a moment the world went black. I could feel the man getting out from under me, so I blindly grabbed at him. I managed to catch my fingers inside some sort of pocket, which tore away as he escaped.

  When the darkness cleared, I looked up to see Carolyn standing over me. Her hand was covering her mouth as she stammered.

  “Oh my God! I’m so sorry, I was trying to hit him!

  Are you okay?”

  I nodded, but felt exactly like I’d been hit with a metal pole on the back of my neck. Carolyn dropped the lamp and went over to help me up.

  When I got to my feet I looked around. My stomach lurched when I realized that he was gone. Not only that, but the gun was gone, too.

  I ran/stumbled out into the street, hoping to see a flash of suit jacket, something. But the street was empty.

  Business as usual. If anybody had seen where the shooter had gone, they weren’t letting on.

  I turned around and jogged back inside where Carolyn was still blubbering. That’s when I saw Jack enter the lobby.

  His shirt was covered in blood, and his face was a terrible crimson mask. He looked at me, his lower lip trembling.

  “Hollinsworth,” I said.

  “He’s gone,” Jack replied.

  “Goddamn it!” I yelled. “Who the hell knew we were coming here?”

  Jack came over to me and held out his hand. I thought he was going to hug me, so I said, “Not now, Jack.”

  Instead he walked right past me, leaned down and picked something up off the floor.

&nb
sp; “What is that?”

  Jack stood back up and showed me. It was a piece of black cloth from the pocket I’d ripped during the struggle.

  Beneath it was a folded piece of paper. Jack opened it.

  “What the hell…” I said.

  In Jack’s hand was a money order. It was made out for fifty thousand dollars to a Morgan Isaacs.

  “I bet this guy knows,” Jack said.

  The payee on the order was a man named Leonard

  Reeves.

  40

  “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,”

  Morgan said.

  That his heart hadn’t exploded yet was shocking, but every pore in his body seemed to be leaking sweat, every nerve ending on fire.

  Once he was able to get away from the guy who’d tackled him, Morgan found the car waiting for him just like Chester had said it would. The door was open, and somehow Morgan managed to dive into the car a split second before it went speeding off.

  Once inside, he found Chester waiting for him, a huge smile on his face.

  “The gun,” Chester said.

  Morgan handed it to him, his hand shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. Chester took the revolver and put it into a valise on the floor below him.

  “You okay?” he said.

  “I don’t know,” Morgan replied. “He’s dead. Oh man, he’s really, really dead.”

  “How many times did you shoot him?”

  “Three.”

  “Did all the bullets hit?”

  “I think so. I was pretty close, but everything…man, everything just went crazy after that.”

  “It’s a good thing you got away,” Chester said. “You’re a resourceful man, Morgan.”

  “Thanks,” he said. Morgan’s heart rate was finally beginning to slow down.

  The car sped down Broadway, and Morgan was pleasantly surprised to see that nobody was following them.

  “No cops,” Morgan said. “Nobody, they…”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Chester said. “I’m just glad you’re all right. You did a great job, Morgan. I knew we could trust you.”

  Morgan beamed inside. “You always can, sir.”

  “Yes,” Chester said, “I know that now.”

  Chester leaned over and put his arm around Morgan.

  It was an odd gesture, but for some reason Morgan felt strangely comforted.

  “Hey, uh, can I get the second part of the payment now? Just don’t want to forget.”

  “The money, of course. I knew you wouldn’t forget.”

  Then Morgan felt something sharp pierce his neck, and then a terrible burning sensation began to creep its way into his bloodstream.

  He jerked backward, and Chester moved away. “What the hell was that?” he cried.

  Then he saw the syringe in Chester’s hand, and Morgan knew exactly what the man had done.

  “Sleep,” Chester said.

  Morgan tried to reach for the man, but suddenly his entire body felt weak. His arms hung limply at his sides, as Morgan felt his body begin to slump down in the seat.

  “Why…” he said. “I…I would have done anything for you…”

  “I know that,” Chester said. Morgan caught the slightest hint of remorse in the man’s face. “And you gave as much as you possibly could have.”

  “My mom…” Morgan groaned, barely able to make out the words.

  “She’ll never see you again.”

  “I…”

  “We’re here,” another voice said from the front seat.

  It was the driver. Morgan hadn’t had time to see him when he jumped into the car.

  The driver turned around briefly to talk to Chester.

  That’s when Morgan saw who was driving the car.

  Theodore Goggins.

  “Sorry, man,” Theo said. “No hard feelings.”

  “Tell them to chop the car and burn the body,” Chester said. Then he looked back at Morgan. Morgan’s eyelids were falling. He could feel his heart slowing down, draining him. It was all he could do to retain a small sliver of light to see the man who’d killed him.

  “Good night, Morgan. I hope wherever you’re going you find all the money you can possibly dream of.”

  And then Morgan Isaacs died.

  41

  I told the cops everything I knew, which wasn’t much, even though it was apparently too much. I didn’t recognize the shooter, didn’t know where he’d come from, who hired him, or why he wanted William Hollinsworth dead.

  Well, that wasn’t entirely true.

  There was no doubt in my mind that Hollinsworth was killed because somebody was frightened of what he was going to tell me. And for good reason. Hollinsworth had confirmed several things before his death, and every one of them scared me to death.

  I sat in a coffee shop with Jack, the two of us frazzled beyond belief. I’d called Amanda and told her what happened. Her voice told me that she was deathly afraid for me, but I couldn’t come home just yet. We were so close; after all this time so many of the pieces were coming together.

  What still itched at me was the police response to

  Hollinsworth’s murder. I’d been around death before, had seen it up close. I’d seen death as personal as it got. And regardless of who was killed, whether it be the most respected cop or the lowliest drug dealer, there was always a police response.

  But when Hollinsworth was killed, the response was a simple blue-and-white patrol car and a small forensics team.

  It was more like a motel cleaning crew than a homicide investigation.

  I’d asked the officer in charge, a round, pleasant man in his early forties named Hanrahan, if they were expecting more on the scene. He laughed, but not in a condescending way, a way that told me I shouldn’t expect more.

  “The department is stretched thin as a dollar bill,” said

  Hanrahan. “If we’re the only ones here it’s because there’s nobody else who responded.”

  It felt like a cloud had descended over this city, something far more menacing than Jack or I knew. I thought about my brother, the now prophetic words he’d spoken just hours before he was gunned down in a dingy apartment building, alone and unloved.

  This city’s gonna burn.

  If this city was going to burn, I could already smell the smoke.

  Jack sipped a cup of coffee. Black, he grimaced as he drank it. I had a soda in front of me. Caffeine would have been a mistake. I didn’t need it. The way I felt right now I wasn’t sure my blood pressure would ever return to normal.

  “Somebody knew we were going to speak to Hollinsworth,” I said. “And they knew early enough to be able to send someone to kill him.”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Jack said. “We didn’t decide to go up there until about an hour before we got there. Who knew?”

  “The only person I told,” I said, an icy chill making its way down my spine when I said it, “was Curt Sheffield.”

  Jack stared at me, the mug resting against his lip. He put it down, cupped it with his hands.

  “Is there a chance…”

  “Not in a million years,” I said. “I know Curt. And more than that, I know people. I know how they act. I’ve talked to Curt about this a dozen times since my brother was killed. I would have known if he was involved. I would have seen it in his eyes, I would have heard it in his voice. He couldn’t have known.”

  “He couldn’t be involved,” Jack said, “or you don’t want him to be involved?”

  “Both,” I said without hesitation.

  “Until we know for sure,” Jack said, “you don’t say a word to Curt Sheffield or anyone else.”

  “You either,” I said. Not that I needed to tell Jack. I trusted him, but I wanted to level the field, let him know that my contacts were trustworthy ones.

  “Even Amanda,” Jack said. “You don’t know who has access to her, and information you give her.”

  “Jack, come on…”

  “It’s us or nothing now,
Henry,” he said. “I don’t trust anyone in this city and I won’t until we know what the hell is going on.”

  I heard my cell phone beep. I took it out, saw I had a text message. It was from Curt Sheffield.

  Four people dead in midtown hi-rise. Looks like a triple murder-suicide. Bags of the Darkness found all over the place. One of the victims was Lil’ Leroy.

  I snapped the phone shut. “This is not good,” I said.

  “What happened?”

  “According to Curt, they found four bodies, one of whom was LeRoy Culvert, also known as the rapper Lil’ Leroy.”

  “Damn,” Jack said. “He’s famous enough that even

  I’ve heard of him.”

  “He was found with three other bodies, and they’re all dead, drawn and quartered. I mean the place looks like a bloody Rorschach test. And apparently the cops found drugs at the scene. Darkness.”

  Jack lowered his head.

  “There’s something else…” I said. “Somebody wrote

  ‘Fury’ on one of the walls. In blood.”

  “Just like Butch Willingham. This is how the bloodshed begins. This is how it starts. Things will only get worse.”

  “This will be all over the papers tomorrow,” I said.

  “Front-page stuff, probably, and it will go national. The

  Fury only killed dealers. And once people know what kind of drugs Culvert was killed over…”

  “People all over the country will want it.”

  “Guy had to be worth millions,” I said. “Always saw him drinking expensive champagne and hanging out on yachts. Guy like that only indulges in the good stuff.

  Killing him creates instant demand. This is the best marketing money could buy.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like this,” Jack said. “Even crack…it took a while to seep in. This drug sounds like it’s already swimming in the city’s bloodstream, polluting it from the inside out.”

  “And people are literally dying to get their own taste,” I said. Then I went into my wallet and pulled out a piece of paper.

  Jack’s eyes widened. “You didn’t give that to the cops?” he said.

  I opened the money order made out to Morgan Isaacs, looked at it.

  “Like you said, I don’t trust anybody either now. This is our only lead. And even though I trust Curt, I don’t trust the whole department. We lose this, it might never be seen again.”