could pull this off.
But he knew, without a doubt, that Henry Parker
could.
44
“You’re insane,” Amanda said, watching as I went
about straightening up the apartment. I had already
cleaned up my dirty socks, stacked the magazines into a
neat pile, organized the DVD collection and even cleaned
the stove top.
“They should be here in less than fifteen minutes,” I said.
“Who the hell are you expecting? Martha Stewart? It’s
a freaking drug dealer, Henry. They’re not going to care
if your floor is clean enough to eat off of. In fact, they’ll
probably be a little suspicious if the place doesn’t look
like, oh, I don’t know, somewhere a junkie might live.”
“I don’t have to be a junkie,” I said. “Just a guy who
wants a late-night hit to calm my nerves.” I smiled at her.
“It has been a long week.”
She was right, of course. I was cleaning more out of
nerves than anything.
I didn’t know what to expect. Curt’s call had come out
of the blue, something about getting a lead on 718 Enterprises. He had a plan, he said, but to me it sounded like
a plan he’d hashed up in about thirty seconds.
Not that it mattered.
To this point, all of the investigating I’d done on 718
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Enterprises, this shadowy person known only as the Fury
and this new drug called Darkness had been done in just
that: darkness. I hadn’t written a single word of copy for
the Gazette, and as far as I knew the police had no leads
and didn’t seem to be banging down a whole lot of doors
to get them.
With Curt in the game, at least I knew whatever we
found would get sent up the ladder. If I could trust him.
Not that I had much choice. And if Curt was somehow
in on all of this, there were far easier ways to get to me.
To get to people close to me. But deep down I didn’t
believe there was any chance he would turn. Curt was a
good cop, respected the badge. Hell, he’d even taken a
bullet because of me. You couldn’t buy that kind of
loyalty. At least as far as I knew.
And Jack took it surprisingly well. I fully expected him
to put up a fight, to tell me that he’d put as much effort
and risked as much of his reputation on this story—if not
more so—than I had. And that gave him every right to be
present. I expected him to suggest hiding in the closet, in
the bathroom, or to actually pose as my pothead uncle or
something. And I would have to let him down, gently, and
tell him that if whoever came got even a whiff of Jack’s
presence, he would not only be putting our careers on the
line but perhaps something much, much more.
But Jack just left.
He made sure I had his cell phone number, and made
me promise to call him when I knew more. I told him I
would, and I meant it. But right now it was all Curt and
myself. I could tell from Curt’s call he was having the
same doubts I was. Wondering who to trust, feeling like
his world had been closed off. Something had happened,
and I wasn’t sure what yet, but Curt had decided that he
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was going to trust me with this. And it was all I could do
to not let him down.
As I picked up around the apartment, Amanda followed me dirtying it up. Finally I gave up and realized
she was right. Better off looking like an apartment two
people actually lived in rather than a setup. Or an apartment in which the tenants could actually afford to hire a
cleaning person.
Ten minutes later, we were both sitting on the couch,
finishing the last of the wine.
“Are you sure wine is okay?” I said. “Not too highclass? He won’t think we’re some sort of rich couple?”
“That bottle of red cost twelve ninety-nine. I think
we’re safe.”
We sat there, waiting, my stomach fluttering. And then
the buzzer rang and the nerves went away.
I pushed the call button and said, “Who is it?”
“It’s Vinnie.”
“Come on up.”
Unlocking the front door, I looked at Amanda. Her
face was a mask, no nerves either. She wanted me to
crack this story, too. I smiled at her, knowing how much
she was risking for this.
I waited by the door, shifting back and forth. When it
rang, I waited three seconds before opening it. You know,
so the guy wouldn’t know I was actually waiting by the door.
Opening the door, I saw a man standing there. He was
about five foot ten, black, a bit chunky but barely winded
from walking the three flights up to our apartment.
He was wearing a suit, pinstriped, slightly rumpled,
and his striking blue tie was loosened just slightly.
“Hey,” I said, again wondering if that was the right way
to start the conversation.
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“Can I come in?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Vinnie” stepped inside and let the door close behind
him. He walked over to the dining table and set his
briefcase on it. I tried not to stare, but remember that it
wasn’t too long ago when another drug-filled briefcase
sat on my table.
And a man had died because of that.
I pushed it from my mind, but couldn’t help but realize
I’d never actually spoken to a real dealer before. Not that
I’d had no experiences with illicit substances—it was
college, and unlike former presidents, I did inhale—but
whenever drugs were present they seemingly appeared
out of nowhere in little plastic bags. I assumed some of
my friends had connections, but down the road I realized
I was just blissfully ignorant. I didn’t want to have to
involve myself, didn’t want to think of myself as trading
money for it.
Now there was no choice.
“Hey,” the guy responded. “You called for Vinnie, right?”
“That’s right. But you don’t look like a Vinnie.”
“You don’t look like an asshole, so don’t be one.”
“Sorry, just making conversation. How’s your night
going?”
“What are you, a fucking reporter? Shut up and let’s
do this.”
I decided less talking was better.
“So what can I get you?” he said.
“This new thing…Darkness, right? What will fifty get
me?”
“Fifty will get you three tabs. That’s an introductory
offer. After that, it’s twenty-five a pop.”
I took out my wallet, counted out fifty, and handed it
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321
over. He counted quickly, then unlocked his briefcase
and pulled open the flap. He rummaged around inside as
I tried not to stare. I looked over at Amanda on the couch.
She was sitting there reading a magazine and sipping her
wine, acting like this was a totally normal evening occurrence. Monday we go to the movies, Tuesdays are date
nig
hts, Wednesday we invite over our dealer. Just like all
normal city kids.
“Vinnie” took out a small bag with three tiny black
rocks inside. They looked like pebbles, the exact same
rock that was featured in Paulina’s article.
He handed me the drugs and closed up the briefcase.
“Pleasure doing business with you. One quick thing.
If you’re going to reorder tonight, make sure you have
cash on hand. We’ve had, um, troubles with people who
ordered and then didn’t have the money to pay.”
“People really reorder this stuff the same night? Is it
that good?”
“Vinnie” laughed.
“If we don’t hear from you within the next few days,
it’s ’cause you ran out of money or you’re dead. So let’s
just say I’m hoping to see you again real soon.”
As Vinnie turned to leave, I looked at Amanda. She
peeked up from her wine. I rubbed my pointer finger and
thumb together and mouthed Tip?
She looked at me like I was insane and gave her head
a quick “no” shake.
Vinnie opened the door, nodded, and left.
I ran over and put my ear to the door. Vinnie was a big
guy, and his footsteps were easily heard as he clomped
down the stairs.
I waited ten seconds and then called Curt Sheffield.
“Henry, I saw him go in. Did he leave?”
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“He should be leaving the building any second now.”
“Got it. You know the plan, right?”
“You’re going to follow him on foot, I take your car
and wait for you to contact me. Then I meet you with the
car and we tail him to wherever he refills on dope.”
“You got it, boss. Keys are in the tire well, wait until you
can’t see our friend anymore before you come down. Last
thing we need is this guy to think you’re following him.”
“Got it. I’ve done this before.”
“But don’t wait too long, I don’t want to chance somebody stealing my ride. You don’t exactly live in the safest
neighborhood, bro.”
“Hey, Curt?”
“Yeah, Parker?”
“Are you sure about this? Am I really the guy you want
tagging along with you tonight?”
Curt was silent for a moment on the other end.
“I hear what you’re saying. Fact is, I don’t know who
to trust right now. Just the other day I got a tip on some
fired banker who might have been running drugs, cat
named Morgan Isaacs. We were just about to put a tail on
him when the guy disappears into thin air. Nobody knows
where he is, not even his parents have seen him in weeks.
Doesn’t add up.”
“Morgan Isaacs,” I said. “The man who killed William
Hollinsworth had a money order on him made out to
Morgan Isaacs. If that was Isaacs, he was hired to kill
Hollinsworth.”
“Which means he’s no longer in this country, or no
longer of this earth,” Curt said. “I got that feeling. So right
now, you’re the only man I trust. I know why you’re in
this, Henry. You want to know the truth about Stephen
Gaines, and I want to get rid of this crap that’s turning
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our city into Beirut. Two paths, same destination, my
friend.”
“Then I’ll meet you there.”
“See you soon, Parker. Oh wait, here he comes. Later.”
“Good luck, Curt.”
We both hung up.
I looked out the window and could see Vinnie exiting
our building. As soon as he stepped outside, he put his
cell phone to his ear. Then he nodded a few times, clicked
it off, put it in his pocket and headed east. The subway
was in that direction.
When Vinnie rounded the corner, I saw Curt Sheffield
trailing him, walking briskly but with enough distance
that hopefully our mark wouldn’t notice. I silently wished
Curt luck again.
“That wasn’t so bad,” I said to Amanda. She’d put
down the magazine and wine. Standing up, she went over
to the table and picked up the baggie with three rocks of
the Darkness.
“Amanda, you’re not going to…”
Before I could say another word, she walked over to the
bathroom, opened the bag and dumped the rocks into the
toilet. Then she flushed it. Once she was sure the rocks were
on their way to some sewage treatment plant, Amanda
came over to me and planted a massive kiss right on my lips.
“That’s the closest I ever want that stuff to us,” she
said, her arms warm around my neck.
“Same here. You know the reason I’m doing this is to
stop whatever this stuff is from getting out there more
than it already is.”
“I know that. And I hope you do. But given a choice
between that and you staying safe… Just come home to
me, Henry. That’s all I want.”
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“I will,” I said. “And hopefully I won’t have to say this
too many times, but don’t wait up for me.”
She sighed. “I won’t wait up for you, but that doesn’t
mean I won’t be thinking about you.”
“I’d never tell you to stop doing that,” I said.
She kissed me again and said, “Now go help Curt.”
I nodded, grabbed my coat from the closet, gave her
one last look and headed outside.
45
Curt drove a Ford Fusion. The key was in the tire well
just like he said. As I climbed into the car and adjusted
the seat, I couldn’t help but think Curt was a pretty conscientious guy to own a hybrid. I started the car and put
my cell phone in the cup holder by the armrest, just to be
sure I wouldn’t miss it if he called.
For the next few hours, most likely, Curt would be on
his own. He wasn’t supposed to call me unless there
was an emergency, as anything that could lead the dealer
to know he was being followed was curtailed until we
met up later.
So all I had to do now was wait.
I picked through the CDs. Some good stuff. Jay-Z, Lil
Wayne, T-Pain. Then, underneath all of them, I found a
Barry Manilow CD and I cracked up. When this was over,
Curt would surely have to explain himself on that one.
An hour in, I ran to the corner deli and got a big,
steaming cup of coffee and a muffin. So far this was the
lamest stakeout ever. I wasn’t even staking anything out,
I was just sitting in a car on the side of the street, waiting
for a call so I could then follow someone. I couldn’t
complain, though. It wasn’t too long ago I did just what
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Curt was doing, following one of these dealers, trying to
find out just where their stash was hidden.
And then I found it, but when we went back it was
gone. They obviously hadn’t given up, but had simply
moved to a new location.
Tonight we were going to find out where 718 Enterprises was hoarding their stash. Then Curt would take it
down with his f
ellow boys in blue, Jack and I would get
the exclusive, eyewitness story, and everyone would go
home happy.
At least that’s how it all played out in my mind. What
happened next was something, far, far different.
Two hours into my stakeout of, well, nothing, my cell
phone rang. It was Curt.
I picked up it, said, “Hey. Where are you?”
“One-hundred-twelfth and Amsterdam,” Curt said. “I’m
pretty sure our boy is going home for the night. He just took
off his tie, and he’s swinging that briefcase like it’s full of
air, not powdered substances. Start making your way over
here. I’ll call you when I get a more precise location.”
“On my way,” I said.
“See you soon, Dick Tracy.”
Starting the car, I pulled onto the street, turned my
beams on and began the drive over to 112th and Amsterdam, just on the western edge of Morningside Heights.
It was a foggy night, a fine mist surrounding the yellow
streetlamps, casting an eerie glow over New York. Most
cars had their windshield wipers on. Mine made a rapid
snick snick every thirty seconds, wiping the condensation
away in a perfect arc.
The streets uptown weren’t particularly crowded for a
Saturday night, most of the Columbia University crew
were either in bed or already at the bar and beginning their
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long trek to drunkenness. Meanwhile I was in a car,
heading to meet my cop friend, hoping to finally put to
bed once and for all who had killed my brother. And who
was poisoning the city.
This neighborhood was familiar. I’d met a guy up here
named Clarence Willingham, the son of a small-time
dealer who’d been killed by the Fury twenty years ago.
Clarence was still trying to come to grips with his father’s
murder and his family’s history of drug abuse and dealing. It was only then that I learned the truth about how
close Clarence was to my own family. Secrets. Sometimes I wondered if more secrets were kept from us in the
light of day as opposed to the dark of night.
I idled on the corner of 110th, right where Columbus
Avenue turned into Morningside Drive. I’d just put the
car in Park when I was jolted by a rapping on the passenger side window. Whipping around, I saw Curt Sheffield’s
face peering in at me, his eyes squinting as rain began to
fall harder around him.
He mouthed the words open up and I unlocked the door.
As he slid inside, Curt ran his hands through his hair,
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