Eyes of the Dead: A Crime and Suspense Thriller (The Gardens Book 1)

by Adam Netherlund

  “Get us out of here, man!” Mitchell said. He had one hand on the center console and another above the window, near the seam of the door.

  “I am trying.” Berlin clenched his jaw. Mitchell was right. He needed to do something. Something fast.

  Mitchell lunged, and instantly hit the dashboard, as the SUV smacked into their backside. They came one after the other like a battering ram. The SUV would pull away and then come back for another blow, each one longer and more powerful than the last.

  “These guys are givin’ me a headache. Ain’t no way I’m gettin’ any sleep tonight.”

  “Tell me about it,” Mitchell grunted.

  They came again, but Berlin dodged them, ducking into oncoming traffic. The cars scattered, flying left and right, one clipping the front end of the SUV. Not enough, though. Not enough to do any real damage. Berlin struggled with his control of the wheel, his grip loose and clumsy. The car swayed from side to side, careening aimlessly down the road.

  “Dammit,” Berlin said.

  Berlin knew what was next. The school zone was approaching fast. This was the last thing he wanted, school to let out and a bunch of kids run down by a pair of cops and their assailants.

  Yeah.

  Berlin checked the rearview mirror one last time, before making a last ditch effort. The SUV was coming on strong, the intensity building, the mirror vibrating, and he braced for the crash. But yet, nothing came. There was no crash, no noise. There was nothing.

  “What happened?” Mitchell asked, confused and disoriented.

  Berlin slowed down. He checked behind Mitchell in the blind spot, then over his shoulder to check his own blind spot. Nothing. He checked the rearview mirror again and saw that the SUV had dropped back into traffic.

  Cold feet?

  “What the heck? I don’t get it.”

  “I’m not sure that I do, either, Mitch.” Berlin let out a deep sigh and told himself to relax. His head pounded, the jack hammering sounds echoing throughout his head. Wiping the sweat out of his eyes, he checked one last time to be safe and saw that they were gone. It was like the skirmish never even happened. “That did happen, right? It’s not just in my head or anything.”

  “Oh, it happened.”

  Berlin jerked the car over to the side of the road and it struggled, choking, on what sounded like its last dying breath. They stopped outside of the school, the gold and black school buses lined up on the opposite side of the road. Kids watched in amazement, from the bus windows, frozen in time. Berlin couldn’t even dream what state the car was in if the kids’ expressions were any indication.

  Front row seats, kids. Too bad you missed the big show.

  Berlin turned in his seat to look at Mitchell. “You good, Mitch?”

  Mitchell had his head back on the headrest, breathing deeply. Finally, his head swiveled in Berlin’s direction, his face glistening with sweat. “Yeah, I’m okay. You?”

  Berlin eyed the side mirror to look behind them, but it proved hopeless. It was covered in a thin film of dust and grime. “Yeah.”

  “We better call it in,” Mitchell said.

  One thing was for sure. Now Berlin knew that they had pissed someone off. Although this wasn’t the break that he had in mind, this worked, too. In a weird sort of way.

  CHAPTER 24

  They had managed to get back to Headquarters, but not without their fair share of grappling with the banged up car. Upon starting up the car, Berlin heard the dragging. But he surmised that it might have been something else—like the car was towing an invisible haul after its battle with the black bull. Mitchell chided him, eventually getting on Berlin’s nerves enough that he gave in, and pulled the car over to the shoulder. Sure enough, once out, they found the rear bumper, hanging precariously from one end. The other side of the bumper sat on the pavement. Its end, now a light faded blue, was worn and beaten down. Berlin retrieved a roll of duct tape from the trunk and firmly re-attached it. He gave it a gentle nudge with a foot and left it at that. They now stood inside the parking garage at Headquarters, staring at the car.

  “Ecker’s not gonna like this,” Mitchell said. He was referring to the new car that Berlin was planning on taking.

  “It’ll be fine. He doesn’t need to know.”

  “What? We can’t just not tell ’em.”

  “Sure we can,” Berlin said. “We need wheels, Mitch. Unless you’re planning on bringing the family minivan into work tomorrow, this’ll have to do.”

  “Whatever, man,” Mitchell said. He looked over at the adjacent parking spot where they left the busted up Crown Vic. “You’re just gonna leave it there and not tell anyone?”

  “They’ll figure it out,” Berlin said.

  “Any idea who was in the SUV?”

  “I think that’s pretty self-explanatory, don’t you?”

  “Clay?”

  “Seems more his style. Who else has tinted windows, a thing for big cars, and doesn’t mind running police off the road?”

  “I dunno,” Mitchell said. “Pretty brazen, if ya ask me. Ya really think he’d come after us—for what—payin’ him a visit? Hardly seems the way to go about it if you wanna be left alone.” He paused. “Maybe your guy, Leonard, called somebody after we left.”

  “It’s possible,” Berlin said. The more he thought about it, though, the more he had his doubts. There was only so much time between, leaving Leonard and getting back on the road. Hardly enough time for the goon squad to catch up with them. No, this was something else. Either they were being watched while they worked the case, or they had picked up the tail after seeing Exodus Clay.

  Either way, someone wasn’t happy.

  Things weren’t going according to plan.

  Which also meant that someone had made a mistake somewhere. Someone had doubts. Doubts about their ability to stay unnoticed. For once, Berlin felt a tinge of excitement.

  Berlin opened the car door and stood outside, looking at Mitchell.

  “So, that’s it? End of discussion?”

  “That’s it, Mitch,” Berlin said. “I’m tired. I’m banged up. I’m calling it a day. We’ll get back to it tomorrow. I got a hunch. Want to play it out.”

  “All right. I’m gonna need to see if Jaden will give me a neck massage. Freaking killin’ me.” Mitchell waved, walking off into the lot while he rubbed his neck.

  “Hey, Mitch?”

  Mitchell turned.

  “You know if that kid Sully hangs out anywhere? Like, The Ale House or somethin’?”

  Mitchell peered at him. “Sully? He’s probably at The Barking Spider. Game night tonight.”

  “All right, thanks.”

  If Mitchell had said anything else, he didn’t hear it. He was already pulling out of the parking spot and heading straight for The Barking Spider.

  ***

  Patrick Sullivan took a sip of his Sam Adams, but held it at the ready, his eyes transfixed on the widescreen television in the center of the room. He and Berlin sat at the bar on stools, wedged in between two large gentlemen who both donned Gardens Reapers jerseys. The dinner hour was approaching and there wasn’t an empty seat in the house. A sea of red, white, and black jerseys crisscrossed throughout as nearly everyone, including Sully, wore the city’s team colors. Berlin still wore his work clothes, coming straight from the parking garage to the bar.

  Sully spun around on his stool, facing the bar again. “You want me to what? Surveil you? Did I hear that right?”

  “You got it, kid,” Berlin said. “Some strange things have been happening lately. I need someone to be my eyes and ears out there.”

  “Why not Mitch? Isn’t that what partners are for?”

  Berlin shook his head. “Not for this. I need someone good with a camera. Besides, Mitch is usually with me. We’ll be busy.”

  Sully sipped at his beer. “Well…”

  Berlin saw that this wasn’t going to be as clear-cut as he thought. Sully looked like a good kid. He had the kind of face that you’d be f
ine with your daughter dating: genuine, loving, but with a bit of naivety to it. He’d have to play this differently if he wanted Sully to cooperate. Maybe play a little hardball. “You wanna be a CSI forever?”

  It was mean, and Berlin regretted saying it, but he knew in the end that it would work.

  Sully’s face flushed with anger, those loving eyes turning cold and irritated. He might as well have been breathing dragon fire at Berlin as he stated, “I like the work. It suits me just fine, thank you.”

  You got him. Just a little more.

  “A favor then,” Berlin said. “I’ll owe you.” He took a swig of his own beer. When Sully ignored him, he gazed into the mirror across from them and began to watch the hockey game in its reflection. The Reapers were down by two late in the first period. The bar had grown quiet since the visiting team, the Blazers, had scored their second goal. Berlin was pretty sure that he had caught the replay at one point or another since he had arrived. The goaltender, Hill, had gotten sloppy and tried to play the puck on the boards. He got caught red-handed and couldn’t make it back to the net in time before Worthington slid one past the goal line on him. It was silly. A typical Patrick Roy moment.

  “Come on, kid,” Berlin repeated. “Don’t make me beg.”

  Sully sighed loudly. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

  Success.

  Berlin nodded and went back to his beer, proud of himself. With Sully now on board, he could relax a little and concentrate on things that were more important than his suspicions. Maybe he could get him to check in on Lexi Scott, too? He’d feel a lot better if there was someone like Sully that was keeping an eye on her instead of a pair of patrolmen.

  “How do you wanna do this?” Sully asked, interrupting Berlin’s playful banter with himself.

  Berlin scanned the room. Everyone appeared to be having a good time, despite the score of the game. If past games were any indication, the Reapers would come back in the final minutes in the third and tie it up. Probably win it in the shootout. It was the Reapers’ way this season. Always fighting. They didn’t know the meaning of the word quit.

  Berlin asked Sully if he knew where he lived.

  “No, why would I?”

  “All right.” Berlin went into his pockets and fished out a pen.

  “Here, use this,” Sully said, as he slid over a napkin.

  Berlin wrote his address down on the napkin and slid it back. “We start tonight. Be at my house after the game. Make sure you bring your gear with you.”

  “I can swing by home and get it. Need to check on my Pop, anyway.”

  Berlin smiled. “You still live with your family?”

  “Don’t laugh. It’s not like that. Dad just had open heart surgery.”

  Berlin nodded, slightly embarrassed. “I woulda figured you for a momma’s boy,” he said as he got up from his stool.

  “Oh, I am,” Sully said. Now he smiled.

  Berlin snickered.

  “Yo bud, you done with this?” a gruff voice asked.

  Berlin turned to his left. He could smell the waft of stale beer on the man’s breath before they were even face to face. It was accompanied by a salty, bitter smell that began to nauseate his stomach. The man gestured at Berlin’s stool.

  “Have at it, boss,” Berlin told the gruff.

  The man quickly snatched up Berlin’s stool and settled in to make himself comfortable. Sully absentmindedly swiveled in his seat away from the man. He gave a nod to Berlin on his way out.

  Just as Berlin closed the door behind him, the crowd erupted inside. Cheers of glee and guttural screams from the men echoed throughout. If Berlin didn’t know any better, he would have thought that the ground shook beneath him.

  ***

  While he waited for Sully to show up at the house, Berlin checked his phone messages. They included a call from a telemarketer, requesting a consultation about his furnace, a survey on grocery shopping habits, and the last one was another phone call from Abigail Reed.

  Abigail had been trying to get in touch with him for the past several weeks. Since Kate’s funeral, Berlin had basically gone into hiding. He didn’t answer his phone, return calls, and very rarely opened his mail. He avoided being at home. When he was here, he’d grab a bottle and eventually pass out on the sofa. He was a slave to the job when the job wanted him. He let it consume him.

  Deep down, though, there was a part of him that was beginning to regret his choice of lifestyle. Was it right?

  What would Kate have to say about all this? You drinking all the time. Wearing dirty clothes. Not eating properly.

  He was a right mess.

  Was he hurting her mother by refusing to talk to her? Abigail didn’t know any better. She was just trying to help him. Comfort him.

  She lost a child, for crying out loud. Show some respect.

  He mulled the answer over, while clicking the Play button on his machine.

  “Joseph,” it began. “We know you’re busy. You’re always busy.” The ‘always’ was spoken with such disdain and resentment that he almost deleted the call right there. “We’d really like to see you. Talk to you. Can you please get in touch with us?”

  Berlin paced through his kitchen, while listening to her voice. Memories of Kate flooded into his mind as her mother spoke, a distant hint of Kate’s own voice lurking underneath. He reached for the glass from his top cupboard. It featured a wide body and brim with a sturdy bottom. He pulled out two ice cubes from the tray in the freezer and dropped them in the glass. Pouring himself a double of whisky, he swished it around in the glass before the liquid gold sloshed onto the counter.

  “We know you’re hurting, Joseph,” Abigail continued. “We understand why you haven’t returned any of our messages. We really do.”

  Berlin drank a mouthful of the rich, subtle, amber-colored drink and let it wash down his throat. It hit his empty stomach and made him feel warm inside.

  Did he eat today?

  “But please, do get in touch with us. We just want to hear the sound of your voice again. To know you’re okay. To know your safe.”

  That last word hung in the air.

  Safe.

  He couldn’t keep their daughter safe. It shouldn’t matter what happens to him. He didn’t deserve special treatment. Not by them. Not by anyone. The bottle stood next to his glass. It shimmered in the dying sun’s last breath of light. Berlin reached for the machine and pressed the Delete button. He would call. Someday. But not today.

  He grabbed the bottle and poured himself another double.

  Kate had never felt so far away.

  CHAPTER 25

  “Yo, Berlin!”

  Berlin awoke to the shouting and incessant banging on his front door. He scanned the room in a daze, his head swirling in a thick fog.

  Christ, what’s that smell?

  “You alive in there?” Berlin now recognized the voice. It was the CSI. Sully.

  I must have passed out, Berlin thought.

  Berlin sat up and rubbed his eyes. He was sprawled out on his living room floor, a dark liquid spread out all around him. He dabbed a couple of fingers into the large puddle and smelled.

  Whisky.

  He found the empty bottle tucked underneath the sofa a few feet away. It had joined the small remnants of candy wrappers, dried pizza crust, and dust bunnies. It would just have to remain there.

  Berlin stood as best as he could, sliding in the liquid. He still wore his work clothes. He knew that he couldn’t let Sully see him like this, though.

  Think, think.

  He sighed and went to the door hesitantly. He opened it a crack and poked his head out, shielding most of his sopping wet clothes behind the door. Sully greeted him and said, “What’s shakin’? Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “Nah, it’s cool, kid.”

  Sully’s eyebrow perched on one side. “You sure? You don’t look so hot. I can come back if you want?”

  Berlin thought about the request. It would make things easier.
“Ya know, that might be best. I uh…I just woke up and I’m really out of it. I tried to catch some shut eye, but I must have gotten a little carried away.”

  Sully tried to look behind Berlin, but the house was dark. He wouldn’t be able to see much. “Yeah? Okay. How long do ya need?”

  “Just give me like ten or fifteen minutes.”

  “You got it,” Sully said. He turned on a heel and walked back to his parked car that sat on the street.

  Berlin shut the door and laid his head against the back of it.

  Stupid. You’re a stupid man.

  ***

  Sully returned to the house exactly fifteen minutes later. Berlin showed him inside and they sat down at the kitchen table. Berlin couldn’t help but to feel anxious and a little jumpy since he woke up in the pool of booze. He figured that it was best to avoid the room altogether. But what about the smell? Would it carry in here? Kate would have sprayed some Febreze or something similar, but he wasn’t sure if he had anything like that left.

  “You mind?” Sully asked, holding a cigarette between two fingers. He held the open pack in his other hand in case he had to tuck the cig back into the package.

  Berlin shook his head. “No, it’s all right. Was thinkin’ of crackin’ some windows in here, anyway.”

  Sully gave a sniff. “It does feel kinda stuffy in here.”

  Berlin brushed it off. “Yeah, I work too much. I don’t really spend a lot of time here, so it gets neglected from time to time.”

  Sully nodded. Berlin wondered how much the kid knew of his past history. Or, even his present situation. If he did, the kid didn’t bother to broach the subject.

  Sully lit his cigarette and immediately asked for an ashtray. Berlin slid over an old McDonald’s cup that had been hanging around on the table for God knows how long amidst the newspapers, other cups, and dirty glasses. Sully took a drag and exhaled slowly. “Why don’t we start at the beginning? Why do you want me to tail you? For real, now.”