by Jason Pinter
The woman took the knife and drew it across the wall, leaving a bloody smear. Just a few strokes later, the F was visible. When she completed the rest of the word, and the apartment was sufficiently coated, they left the building and waited for Detective Sevag Makhoulian to report the crime.
5
Amanda Davies arrived home at eight o’clock. She called it home even though it was anything but. The reality was it was the home of her friend and coworker
Darcy Lapore, and Darcy was campaigning for most altruistic human being on the planet by allowing Amanda to stay there.
Living here wasn’t what she’d expected after coming to New York for law school. She figured she’d graduate from NYU near the top of her class, which she did, then find a cushy job in some high-profile firm and become one of those high-powered career women who had brassy blond hair (hers was auburn, so this would be tricky), wear smart Hillary Clinton pantsuits, get married at thirty-six, kids at thirty-nine, realize by fifty that you never really spent much time with your family, sixty before you realized you were never really happy in your marriage and my, didn’t life go by fast?
Instead, she met a guy named Henry Parker who changed her world. Well, part of it was her own doing, choosing the not-for-profit sector of legal aid rather than one of those cushy jobs. She didn’t make the money most New York lawyers did, but she was pretty sure she slept better at night.
It took a few years, but looking back Amanda realized how much of her life she’d missed. It was as if she’d taken her expected life and turned it around. Her parents had died when she was young, and after being shuttled back and forth for years, she was adopted by a kind couple named Lawrence and Harriet Stein. The Steins were everything foster parents could be. Except for real parents.
Amanda went through the first twenty years of her life without knowing a real relationship of any kind, and she didn’t figure that would get any better.
Then she met Henry in extraordinary circumstances, literally picking him up on the side of the road, later to find out he was wanted for murder. Thankfully he was innocent. That would have been a deal breaker.
They’d leaped into a relationship faster than either of them knew what they were doing, and for a while it was good. Really good. Then just as they met under extraordinary circumstances, so were they torn apart. Henry broke up with her for reasons that he believed were noble, but devastated them both. And after some tentative patchwork, they’d decided to give it another go. Slowly this time. They were starting like they should have from the beginning. Movies. Dinner. Holding hands while walking through Central Park, picnic lunches on the Great Lawn.
She’d moved in with Henry too quickly last time. For now, Darcy would do, but every night spent in that cold guest room, with the hard mattress that was meant more for show than for use, with the artificial orchids everywhere and paint so white that it seemed to have been 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 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.
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
Jason Pinter 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.
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?”
“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 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.”
“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.
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 in. Last time I was here, Scott Callahan and Kyle Evans had signed in when they visited 718 Enterprises. But to my surprise, nobody was here to visit the company. Not a single name I recognized.
“Sir, please give that back,” he said, his voice growing impatient. “If you don’t I’ll have security down here right quick.” Figured they’d have security. Old Man River here didn’t look like he was hired to do much strong-arming.
“What’s your name, friend?” Jack said.
“Edgar,” the guard replied.
“Edgar, I’m Jack. My friend Henry here is a little impatient, for
that I apologize. We were under the impression this company was located at this address… How long have you been working here?”
“It’s my fourth day,” Edgar replied.
“Really,” Jack said. His voice was modulated to feign interest, but I could tell that bothered him. “Who else works this shift?”
“Nobody anymore. Building manager called the agency that was looking to place me, said they needed a new morning man five days a week, Monday through Friday.
They didn’t tell me about the last guy, but this is a full-time job. Thank God, because in this economy heaven knows my savings and 401k aren’t worth squat anymore.”
“Thanks, Edgar,” Jack said. “Come on, Henry.” He didn’t say my name like we were partners, but like I was his subordinate.
As we left the building, I said to Jack, “Next time you’re going to do the good cop, bad cop shtick, how about letting me know ahead of time that I’m going to be the bad cop?”
Jack shook his head. “This is about the story, Henry.
Not your pride or your feelings. If I need you to be my patsy to get someone to open up, that’s just what I’ll do.
And I’d expect you to do the same with me if the situation called for it. In fact, if you didn’t, I’d wonder why I was letting you tag along in the first place.”
“Tag along? This is my sto…” I stopped talking. This wouldn’t get us anywhere. “I can tell what you’re thinking.”
Jack nodded. “Whoever did work here packed up and left faster than my second wife left with my collection of antique pens.”
“You think it’s because of Tsang?” I asked.
“No way. At least not entirely. Tsang was killed yesterday. Edgar started a few days ago. If Tsang was connected to 718 Enterprises-and ipso facto your brother-they were long gone before they crushed his bones into oatmeal.”
I don’t know what we should have expected to find, but I guarantee it wasn’t nothing. Not the nothing as in
“well, we got there but didn’t quite find what we were looking for.” There was no trace of 718 Enterprises whatsoever. It was simply gone.