Parker 05 - The Darkness (29 page)

big difference between blood and ink. It's a shame you

never learned that."

"Enough of this crap," Jack said. "Do you want to

hear what we found or not?"

"Fine," Paulina said, folding her arms across her chest.

I could tell this was a practiced look, sternness crossed

with just a hint of pouty sexuality. She was used to pressing just hard enough to elicit a reaction, but not hard

enough to drive people away. Jack had information she

needed, but she wouldn't stay quiet without letting him

know what she thought. And it was then that I realized

Paulina didn't write that article just to get publicity, she

did it because she truly loathed Jack.

"Does a girl named Pamela Ruffalo ring a bell?" Jack

said.

Paulina didn't give any indication that she recognized

the name. "No. Who the hell is that?"

"She's a student at Smith College," Jack said. "A

junior, I believe, according to her Facebook page."

As Jack spoke, I could see the blank look on Paulina's

face changing. She recognized the name from somewhere.

"What does Pam have to do with any of this?" she said

in an argumentative tone, hoping Jack would answer her

in a way that would vindicate Pam. Not only did Paulina

know Pam Ruffalo, but for some reason whatever Jack

was going to say was going to hit her--hard.

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239

"A few months ago, Pam Ruffalo began posting to a

personal blog. She talked about a lot of things on the site,

one of which was her relationship with her new girlfriend. A girl named Abigail Cole."

Paulina watched, and I could have sworn she didn't

blink for a minute straight.

"Keep talking," she said.

"She posted a lot of photos on the site. But she never

posted any photos like the one you described the blond

man having that night."

"So if she didn't post those photos," Paulina said, "why

do you think she was involved?"

"Pam shut the blog down, according to records, just a

few days after you were abducted. In the days leading up

to the cancellation, there was nothing to suggest that there

was anything wrong in her life. Did you ever tell your

daughter what happened to you?" Jack said.

I was surprised, looking at Jack, to see a hint of

sympathy in his face. He had no love for Paulina Cole as

a reporter, but considering her as a human and a mother

outweighed that.

"Yes," she said. "A few days after it happened. I went

up to Smith and told her about it. Only to keep her safe."

"Do you think it's fair to assume," Jack said, "that Abigail

told her girlfriend what you told her? That she told Pam?"

Paulina stood there, then wiped at her eyes which were

reddening. For some reason I felt ashamed watching this.

"It's possible," Paulina said. Jack nodded slowly.

"Henry was able to log on to Facebook and contact a

few of Abigail's friends. Through them, he found the

photos you referred to, the beach shots. They were taken

by a girl named Samantha Isringhausen, who then uploaded them to her account."

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Jason Pinter

"I called Samantha," I said, "in her dorm room. When

I asked her about the photos, specifically the one of

Abigail in front of the hole, she told me that when Pam

saw it she immediately asked for the only copy. She loved

that picture so much that she never wanted it to be seen

by anyone other than her. Samantha agreed, and said after

sending the file to Pamela and uploading the rest, she

deleted them from her digital camera."

"So the only person who had that photo," Jack said,

"was your daughter's girlfriend."

"Wait," Paulina said, tears starting to run freely now.

"Are you saying..."

"I'm saying that the man who attacked you that night,"

Jack said, "got the photo from Pamela Ruffalo, your

daughter's girlfriend. She sold your daughter out."

32

Paulina didn't move. Her entire upper body trembled as

she looked from Jack to me and back again. Then she

stared at me long and hard, without taking her eyes away.

I couldn't understand why at first, but then I realized that

she trusted me more than she trusted Jack.

Paulina was hoping I would tell her that none of this

was true.

Instead I walked up to Paulina, and I'll be damned if

I know why I did this, but I took the woman's hand in

mine and held it.

"It's true," I said. "We haven't spoken to Pam or Abigail yet."

"Why not?" she said.

Jack replied, "Because you're Abigail's mother. And

you're a reporter, too. Because this part of the story needs

to be reported by you."

"How can I..." Paulina said, trailing off. "My daughter, she'll be..."

"She'll hate you," I said, "for a while. But eventually

she'll know the truth. And she'll respect you for it."

Paulina laughed bitterly. "My daughter hasn't respected me in a long time."

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Jason Pinter

"Well, if she doesn't respect you," I said, "she'll sure

as hell love you for it."

"What about you two? What happens next?"

Jack said, "We'll be waiting for your call. Your promise to Henry still stands. We did our part and will continue

to."

Paulina nodded. Then she looked at her watch.

"I can be there in a few hours," she said.

"So go," I said.

"Yeah. Right." She looked at her hand, still held in

mine, and pulled it back. Then she ran it through her hair,

and straightened her jacket. "I'll call you once it's done."

As Paulina turned to walk away, Jack called, "Don't

we get a thank-you?"

She turned back, glared at Jack. "I'll thank you once

that blond bastard is either behind bars or in the ground."

Then Paulina Cole walked away.

"I think that's the closest she's ever come to a real

thank-you," Jack said. "I had a wager with myself, fiftyfifty odds that she slapped me before she left."

"You might have just saved her daughter's life," I said.

"I think that's at least enough to avoid a slap."

"Eh, women like Paulina don't always need a reason.

Especially when they feel like they've lost some sense of

power or authority, they get it back by lashing out. It's a

gimmick for sure. In a way, I respect her more for that.

She's so confident, she didn't even feel the need to slap me."

"If you're disappointed, I can take her place. I have a

mean right hook."

"I think I'll pass," Jack said, "though at least you

wouldn't have nails. Those things leave scars."

As we watched Paulina leave, my cell phone began to

vibrate. Jack heard it, too, said, "Your lady friend?"

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243

I checked the ID, recognized it as Curt Sheffield.

"Hey, Curt," I said. "How's my favorite boy in blue?"

"Been better," he said.

"Dunkin' decided to discontinue their donuts?"

"That's a terrible stereotype perpetuated by the media,

just like you."

"My bad, man. What's up?"

"It's been a hell of a day," he said. "I'll give you the

heads-up because I didn't know about Paulina's story

until too late...but it's true."

"What's true?" I asked, feeling my heart begin to beat

a little faster. It was a strange sensation. The excitement

of another thread unspooling mixed with the dread that

came with Curt's apprehension.

"Homicide down in Chelsea," Curt said. "Gruesome

stuff. I just left the scene, and...it's bad, man. Real bad."

"What happened?"

Jack's composure from talking to Paulina was gone,

as he watched the conversation, trying to decipher my

reaction. I tried to keep a straight face, but when Curt told

me the details I felt my whole body drain of blood.

"We got the call about an hour ago," he said. "A tenant

on the floor above. A girl comes home to find her husband

passed out on the floor. He'd been laid off a month ago,

and took every spare cent they had and spent it on drugs.

When she found out, she told him she was going to leave

him, then divorce him and take all their savings. And

that's when he took a knife from the kitchen and sliced

her head nearly clean off."

"That's horrible," I said. "Who'd you hear this from?"

"The killer himself," Curt said. "The guy confessed to

everything, right before his brain nearly short-circuited.

He'd spent every cent they had around the house on what

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he said was some new drug, something called Darkness

he said. Said it was the best high he'd ever had, and he

wasn't going to give that up for anything, including his

bitch of a wife."

"So Paulina's story was true," I said.

"We've had half a dozen calls today, from robbery to

assault to this, and all of them have one thing in common.

All the perpetrators ingested these little black rocks."

"That'll be all over the news tomorrow," I said. "Not

just the
Dispatch,
but we'll have to cover it, too."

"Best publicity you can get," Curt said. "But man, I

hope Paulina's wrong about one thing, because if this drug

blows up we're gonna have major problems in this city."

"What do you mean?"

"Hell, the NYPD's lost a thousand jobs since last year.

The narcotics division is strapped thin as it is, and our

men and women on the street haven't caught a wink of

this thing. If the Darkness is being sold, it's not being sold

through traditional dealers."

I heard a siren in the distance, and I lost my focus.

Then I heard Curt's voice again.

"Henry, Henry, you there, man?"

"Yeah, sorry, Curt. Just thinking about all of this."

"Yeah, us, too. But listen, Henry, the main reason I

called, I wanted to tell you about one more thing."

"What, this stuff isn't enough? I got enough material

here for a week's worth of stories."

"Yeah, well, try this on for size and tell me if you

want to drop it. I think I found your man. The blond guy

who kidnapped Paulina."

"No shit," I said. "Who is he?"

"I haven't told anyone else yet because, hell, after

what you told me and Paulina's story quoting nonexis-
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245

tent members of the department, I'm officially a member

of the church of paranoia."

"I've belonged there for a while," I said. "So what

did you find?"

I heard Curt take a deep breath and say, "You gotta

swear to me this doesn't come back with my name on it

until you figured out what the hell is going on. 'Cause this

stuff is scaring even me."

"You know you have my word."

"I think you're going to want to sit down for this one."

And when he told me who and what this man was, I felt

my knees go weak. Jack came over and we both sat down

on a bench in Rockefeller Plaza. I thought I was through

with stories like this, stories where the fire was so close it

could burn me. I looked at Jack, wondered how many

times he'd been through the kind of hell I'd gone through.

And knowing it all, feeling the scars beneath my clothing,

I knew there was a chance it could get bloody again.

"What is it, Henry?" Jack said.

The fact that he didn't call me
sport
or
kiddo
or any

one of those nicknames scared me even more.

"Curt," I said. "He found our man."

"Who is it?" Jack asked.

"You know how Paulina wrote, in that article, about

how close this city was to burning down twenty years ago?"

"Yeah," Jack said, his voice soft, monotone. "I lived

through it."

"Well, I think someone's turned the gas tank back on

and is getting ready to light this place up all over again."

33

Morgan threw open his apartment door, tossed his coat

onto a chair and plopped down onto his couch with an

audible thump. He could feel his pulse racing as he

clenched and unclenched his fists.

He couldn't sit there, not with this kind of energy, this

kind of juice flowing through him.

Standing back up, Morgan walked to the refrigerator

and to his delight saw that there were two more tall boys

resting inside, nice and cold. He popped the top on the

first one and guzzled it down in one long messy gulp, then

wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He took the second beer

back to the couch and sat back down, buzzing, feeling

alive for the first time in months.

When he and Theo finally parted ways at five o'clock,

Morgan could scarcely believe how the day had unfolded.

At first he was unsure about this new opportunity. Sure

Morgan had done some blow in his day, never one to throw

a good party off its axis. But he never knew just how high

the demand was for product right now, and he never realized

just how many poor saps there were sitting in their apartments without a job, without hope, all their joy coming in

the form of some fine white powder...or a small black rock.

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247

Morgan had no idea what the stuff did beyond what