“Yeah.”
Had he missed something? Was Sully in danger as well?
He’d put in a call with dispatch and get a BOLO put out. It couldn’t hurt.
“Hey, Berlin?”
Berlin stopped at the doorway. “Yeah?”
“You got this,” Mitchell said, making a fist. “Go get him.”
“I will. You focus on getting better. How’d Jaden take it?”
“All right, I s’pose.”
“She still hate my guts?”
Mitchell smirked and gave him a wink.
***
Berlin parked the loaner car on Church Street and gaped up at the ugly building that he had called home for the last several months. It was so frustrating to finally be back on the job, only to lose it again due to his recklessness. Maybe Norton was right. Maybe too many innocents were getting killed by his hands.
Maybe the job isn’t right for me anymore?
Yeah? What would you do? the other voice asked him.
I could start my own PI business.
Either way, after tonight, he knew that he’d have his answer. He was sure of it. One way or another, it was going to end tonight.
But first, he was going to have to get inside Headquarters.
Easier said than done, Bub.
He climbed the staircase two at a time, moving with purpose. Once he reached his floor, he pushed open the door to the Squad Room and averted his eyes. He rhymed off in his head in a little sing-a-long, Nothing to see here, folks, move along. Nothing to see…
“Berlin?” a voice called.
Dammit. That didn’t take long.
“Yeah?” Berlin asked as he turned to find Detective Angel Montoya, standing behind him.
Montoya frowned. “I heard what happened and I’m sorry, but, if Ecker sees you, he’s gonna throw a hissy fit. You can’t be here right now.”
All he could do was to smile and say, “I know. I’m trying to make it quick. Hey, I hear you have a vacay coming up. That must be nice.”
Montoya glanced around the room. “Yeah. Should be a blast. Taking a cruise down to the Caribbean.”
Berlin tried to smile. He was awful at small talk. It just wasn’t his forte. “Well, be safe. Make sure to take lots of pictures.”
“You bet. I really need to get some me time, ya know?” Her smile slowly faded. “Crap, Ecker’s coming. You better make yourself sparse.”
“I can’t.”
“Just…here, what do you need? I can get it for you and we’ll meet outside.”
A few minutes later Berlin was standing next to his loaner car, tapping his foot to the bass beat of some hip-hop song that blasted from a nearby car stereo.
The sky had darkened considerably, gray clouds coming from the east. Rumbles of thunder echoed in the distance like a slow moving freight train. It would only be a matter of time before the storm would be right over top of him. He envisioned that he would do the same thing to Simmons, once he got his hands on him.
Montoya came out of the building and jogged across the street. “I can get in a lot of trouble for this, you know?” She handed over a large, heavy manila folder.
“I know,” Berlin said, taking the package. “I wouldn’t have asked, but you offered. I’ll take what I can get at this point.”
“You sure about this? From what I hear, those guys in The Pack don’t mess around. That quiet one? The Asian? He chopped some guy’s ears off at a bar one time. Can you believe that?”
Berlin stared at her.
Montoya smiled timidly. “Sorry. I guess what I mean to say is, are you really going to go after him? You really think that’s such a good idea?”
“I have to,” Berlin said. It felt good to have conviction. It was high time that he started to act on what he preached.
“I don’t like it. You should tell someone,” she said. “Take some backup with you.”
“Not this time. This time it’s on me. I have to make it right. She asked for my help once before and I let her down. I won’t let it happen again.”
Montoya was quiet, chewing on her bottom lip. “Look, it’s not like I’ll be able to change your mind at all, so just promise me one thing. Call me if you need me, okay?”
“I will. And thanks, Montoya,” he said, sticking out his hand. They shook and he got back into the loaner car. “I owe you one.”
Montoya gave him a mock salute as he pulled away from the curb. It felt good to finally have some friends.
CHAPTER 44
‘…Those guys in The Pack don’t mess around,’ is what Montoya had said.
Well, we’ll see about that.
Berlin knocked on the door not once, but twice. And when there was still no answer, he decided that enough was enough.
No more games.
Berlin brought his foot out and began to smash it into the wooden frame. It shook and trembled with each successive kick. Before long he could hear shouting from within the room, but he wouldn’t stop. Not anymore.
It was the last kick that did it. The door splintered and shattered into a million little pieces near the doorjamb. The door swung open.
“What the—” Terry Richardson began, turning in his chair in the direction of the crash. The rest of the group followed suit, their mouths agape, gawking at the tyrant that had just interrupted their game of cards.
“Where is he?” Berlin demanded, his voice full of fury and hatred. He stood in the doorway, splinters of brown wood littering the floor.
“Who?” Richardson said, still in disbelief.
“You know damn well who—”
Richardson threw down his hand of cards and pushed out his chair, standing in a hurry. “No, I don’t, Detective. And look at what you did to my door.”
“This guy is crazy,” the one with the wild red hair said. He stood, his chest heaving up and down, looking at the other men.
“Fuck your door. I don’t care about your damn door. Now, tell me where he is,” Berlin hissed.
Richardson casually looked at the rest of the group, who were stock-still. He came back to Berlin and said, “You’re lookin’ for Simmons, is that it?”
“What does he want with Simmons?” Drugan asked.
Berlin took long strides across the room, his footsteps sounding like thunder, and came up to Drugan. “I need to find him.”
Drugan smiled nervously. “What’s this about, boss?” he asked Richardson.
Richardson watched Berlin with suspicious eyes. “I’m not sure, Shea. Just sit down. Uh, Detective, a word?”
The two men stepped over the broken shards of wood and went out into the hallway. Richardson took a deep breath, before saying, “What’s this about, Berlin? I can’t believe that you just did that. You’re not even supposed—”
Berlin cut him short right there. “I’m running out of time, Richardson. Tell me where he is.”
Richardson glared at him. “Why? What’s happened?”
Berlin sighed. He had no time for this. No time for more games. No time for departmental dick wagging. “I’m only gonna say this once, so listen closely. Your boy, Simmons? He’s the one that killed Scott.”
Richardson turned away. He looked back into the room at the rest of the group and noticed that they were still watching, and potentially eavesdropping, so he walked several paces away from the opening that was once the office door. “How…how do you know?”
“I know, Terry,” Berlin said, trailing closely behind. “You’re going to have to trust me on this.” Berlin watched him closely for a reaction, but there didn’t seem to be one. “Wait. You knew?”
Richardson laughed nervously. “Well, no. I didn’t know. Of course not. But there were things. Things that seemed odd.”
“Like, the way he ran out for his errands all the time? Those sorts of things?”
“Yeah, but—”
“He’s been playing both sides, Terry. I imagine that the reasons you’ve been having so much difficulty in catching the bad guys lately is because h
e’s been leaking information to the other side. In particular, anything related to Exodus Clay.”
“That bastard,” Richardson spat. Then he looked up at him with dejected eyes. It was the worst kind of defeat, being sold out by one of your own and by someone that you had entrusted. “What can I do?”
“I need to find him, Terry. He has Lexi.”
“You serious?”
“We’re wasting time here, Terry.” Gone was the ranting and raving madman that had busted through here earlier. In his place was the empathetic detective.
Richardson licked his lips, as he was apparently struggling with dry mouth. “Uh…there’s this girl. She—”
Berlin shook his head. “Dead.”
“What?”
“Loose end, I guess. She’s gone. Perished in the fire at the Scott residence.”
“He killed her?”
“Terry, please—”
“Look, I don’t know, that’s the truth,” Richardson said. “He comes and goes as he pleases. I don’t know where he goes. It’s not like he has some hideout, ya know. I didn’t—”
“Forget it,” Berlin said. He began to walk away, but stopped mid-stride and said, “I’ll tell you what, though. If I find out that you’ve been lying to me, too, once I’m done with him, I’ll be coming back for you. Understood?”
Richardson stood in the hallway, his arms held out to his sides. “I swear.”
Berlin continued down the hallway, leaving Terry Richardson speechless outside the broken door. He hoped that Richardson was telling the truth. Deep down Berlin was pretty sure that he was, but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to throw his weight around.
Richardson had been a thorn in his side from the word go, and now it was his turn to be the thorn in his side.
It felt good.
It felt like fire.
Consuming him and every little thing.
***
Berlin had stopped for a burger, realizing that he still hadn’t eaten much all day. The encounter with Richardson left him sapped of any kind of strength and stamina. If he had his way tonight, he was going to need those two things and then some. He crumpled the wrapper, gathered his empty fry tray and tossed them both back into the brown paper bag.
It felt a little weird and out of the ordinary, not to have Mitchell with him in the car. Even if he did leave pizza crust crumbs all over the seats. Berlin wiped them away, picking up the large package that Montoya had given him at HQ. He broke the seal on the envelope and took a look inside.
Perfect, he thought.
Inside was another Glock handgun, since IA had taken his away, as well as some extra magazines. Berlin hoped that Montoya got away with it cleanly and that no one suspected anything. He’d hate to put her in a tight spot.
But now, where should he go? The questions rattled around in his head, much like the rain that had started outside that fell from the dark skies overhead and pelted the windshield in wet circular splashes.
His cell phone buzzed from his pocket.
“This is Berlin,” he answered quickly.
“Berlin? It’s Sully,” the caller responded.
“Sully?” Berlin had to think twice, putting a face to the name again. “Sully. Jeez, kid. We’ve been getting worr—”
“Berlin, we’ve got a problem,” Sully stammered.
“Tell me about it. I got—”
“No. You don’t understand. This is…I don’t even—”
“What do you—”
Sully cut him short again. “Shut up a minute, will ya? I don’t have a lot of time here.”
Berlin leaned on the steering wheel. The kid had his full attention now. “Okay. Slow down, kid. What’s wrong?”
“I did what you asked, but—”
“Kid?”
“Shit. They’re…I gotta—”
Then the line suddenly went dead. Total utter silence.
“Yo. Kid?” Berlin pulled the cell phone away from his ear and stared at the screen. It faded to black, and then reverted back to the home screen. He tapped the phone icon and looked back at his recent calls. He tried to call Sully’s number again, but it went straight to voice mail. “Hey, it’s Berlin. We lost the connection, I guess. Give me a shout back ASAP, kid. I want to know that you’re okay.”
He made a move to put his phone back in his pocket when it rang again for a second time.
“Sully, hey, thought I—” Berlin began.
“Sully? Who the hell is that?” the caller said.
“What? Who’s this?”
“A little birdie told me that you’ve been looking for me, Detective.”
Berlin hesitated for a fraction of a second. He thought that maybe it might be a crank call, but there was no denying it. “Simmons.”
“Bingo,” Simmons replied.
Berlin scratched at his chin. His hands were trembling. How should he play this? “What do you want, Simmons?”
“Let’s make a deal.”
“A deal?”
“This is what you’re gonna do. We’re gonna trade. Hand over Scott’s files, along with 400K, and I’ll give you the girl.”
How could he come up with that kind of money? “What do you need it for, Simmons? Don’t you still have all that dirty money from Clay?”
Simmons laughed. “Not enough, man. I need some insurance. I need to leave this godforsaken city…for good.”
“Do you really think you can run? We’ll find you, and I’m including Clay in that scenario.”
“Oh, are you two in bed together now?” Simmons chuckled. “I’m not worried about Clay. Not really worried about you, either, for what it’s worth. Third time’s the charm, I think.”
Berlin mulled it over. How was this going to work? Was he really expecting to get the money and just leave town scot-free?
“I just want the money, Berlin. Get me the money and I’ll give you the girl. I don’t want her, anyway.”
“How do I know that you won’t hurt her, or that you haven’t hurt her already?”
“She’s fine,” Simmons said. Berlin could tell that he was smiling on the other end. “But make no mistake, I will hurt her, if I have to. Hopefully it won’t come to that, though, right?”
“You’re all talk, Simmons,” Berlin said. “Does Richardson push you around, too? Is that how you got the bloody nose? Or was that Scott? I hope he got at least one good punch in before you cut him down.”
Simmons snickered. “Listen to you. Tough as nails. What’s happened to you? They said that you would be easy. Easy to make go away. You were supposed to let this case fall through the cracks like so many others.”
What?
“What are you going on about now, Simmons?” Berlin asked him.
“The money and the files, Berlin. You have one hour.”
Berlin was shaking his head. “I can’t do that in one hour and you know it.”
“I’m out of time and thanks to you, I gotta run. You’ll figure it out.”
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Don’t hurt her.”
“Aw, have you grown fond of little Lexi? Listen closely.” Berlin focused on his voice. “I’ll rip her goddamn heart out if you don’t give me what I want. I’ll start with the fingers first, though. How about that? One hour.”
Then the call went dead.
“Simmons?” Berlin called out desperately. “Simmons?”
One hour.
Berlin looked down at the phone in his hands, his grip tightening, the case groaning from the strain. What was he going to do? It was too much money. He couldn’t just walk into HQ and demand that kind of cash. Not even Ecker or the Chief would approve it.
No way. Not now.
Not with him getting tossed, and put back on leave.
No, he’d have to think of some other way. Richardson? They have cash all the time for their buy-bust programs, don’t they? No, that won’t work. Unless…
Well, there was one way.
CHAPTER 45
Alexandra Scott heard him say the words, ‘I’ll rip her goddamn heart out,’ and nothing more from the other room. It was the first sound of voices that she had heard in hours.
How long had she been here? It felt like she had been there so long already.
Who was he talking to? Could it be Detective Berlin? Would he come to save her?
The questions encircled her brain along with the urge to escape. Her stomach ached either from hunger or nervousness, she couldn’t tell which. Her hands felt clammy, the wrists being the most painful. They were handcuffed to the arm of the wooden chair. Her feet and torso were luckily still mobile. She could see the red rings taking shape on her wrists, and she wondered how long the marks would last. If she’d ever be free of them, that is.
She wanted to escape. Hide.
She wanted it to be over.
Then what? Your house was on fire last you saw. Remember?
There’s nothing left. Tim is gone and now your house, too.
She was in a room, no larger than 12 x 12, a near perfect square. There was very little in the room, lit by only a single light overhead. A few cardboard boxes sat in the corner, stacked on top of one another, along with a desk with no chair. The chair had been brought over to the center of the room for her to be cuffed to it. The boxes were old, spotted with what appeared to be mold. They were sinking into one another, caving in on multiple sides.
She wondered what this place was used for and whether or not she was still in the city. Was this his hideout? Was this where he took people? Took people to take care of them? Had Tim been here?
Don’t think like that.
You’re not going to die. He won’t…he wouldn’t do it.
The stains on the floor proved otherwise. Grungy, red-brown spots blotted the concrete floor in chaotic patterns. Something hideous and grotesque had happened here, possibly many times, over a stretch of time.
An ache began to form in the back of her throat. Then her chest felt heavy.
So hard to breathe.
Was she having a panic attack?
Stop looking! Stop looking at those damn stains. That won’t be you.
Eyes of the Dead: A Crime and Suspense Thriller (The Gardens Book 1) Page 24