Racing Through Darkness

by G. K. Parks

  “Do we know what he’s negotiating?” I asked, feigning confusion.

  “Not yet. The ADA’s been back and forth, making calls. We’re all assuming it’s something big, but it’s very hush-hush.” He propped his leg on the opened bottom drawer and leaned back. “Don’t think I believe for a minute you don’t know what’s going on in there.”

  “How could I?”

  “That’s what I thought.” He checked the time. It was almost eight p.m. “Why don’t we call it a night? Whatever they’re working out, I’m sure they’ll wait until tomorrow morning to finalize the deal. He’s confessing, right? Is there any reason to believe there might be immediate action necessary?”

  “Not if he’s still negotiating a deal.” I considered calling Mercer for an update but decided better of it. If something transpired, he’d phone. “Well, since I suddenly have some extra cash, do you wanna split some takeout? Maybe chill out at my place?” I glanced at Heathcliff’s empty desk. He was called away to work a homicide. “Someone still needs to return my spare key.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll meet you there.” He rummaged through the top desk drawer and handed me my house key.

  Leaving the precinct, I detoured to a pizzeria, called Bastian for an update, and then went home. There were no new developments at the Estes’ estate. Unlocking my door, Thompson was twenty feet behind me, coming up the steps. He followed me inside, and as I pulled plates from the cupboard, he went to the fridge and opened two beers.

  “Spill,” he insisted as we settled down at the table.

  “There’s a lot I can’t tell you at the moment.” He looked annoyed. “But what I can tell you is Estobar Santino is responsible for orchestrating the kidnapping. Theoretically, it was with the best intentions.” Thompson gaped at my statement. “I know. It’s total bullshit. But if Estobar is to be believed, Miguel Estes is evil incarnated. There’s a long history of domestic abuse, and I don’t know what else. He has a gold mine and practically controls a good portion of a country or enough to make him untouchable, so maybe his business manager will have some incriminating evidence to pass along.”

  “So what? We revoke Estes’ passport and deport him. The only thing I’m interested in is nailing the fucker who is responsible for taking Catherine.”

  “I know.”

  “Aren’t we on the same page?”

  “Yes, but it’s complicated.”

  “Then uncomplicate it,” he growled, pushing back from the table and giving me a cold stare.

  “Thompson,” my voice was soft, almost wounded, “do you trust me to make this right?” We stared at one another for the longest time.

  Finally, he let out a sigh and picked up the beer, taking a long swig. “I do. But that doesn’t mean I like not knowing what the hell is going on.”

  “Okay.” I heard the vague ticking of the wall clock. “As soon as I can, I’ll give you a pile of documents that explains all of this. Until then, I need you to be patient and give me some leeway.”

  “Who does it incriminate?”

  “Besides Santino, I can’t tell you.”

  He shook his head, frustrated and possibly furious. “You’ve done right by Nick, even if it took him awhile to see it.” He looked at my taped knuckles. “We have your back. Just make sure none of us regret it.”

  Throughout the meal, Thompson continuously studied me, wanting to broach the subject but aware I wouldn’t budge. The awkwardness continued as the silence lingered. Despite everything we’d been through from my first private sector case until now, a friendship had never been forged. We lacked common ground. Unlike O’Connell and Heathcliff, Thompson rarely opened up about anything, just like me. Maybe we were just too similar.

  He just popped the top on a second beer when his phone rang. “Duty calls,” he muttered, putting the beer down and answering. Listening to only his half of the conversation, it was hard to decipher what was happening. “I’ll be there.” He hung up and turned to me. “We’re sending some officers to pick up Miguel Estes. Santino made numerous allegations against him. Do you think any of them will pan out?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Want to ride along?” he offered, picking up his keys and double-checking that his cuffs and gun were still attached to his belt.

  “No, but I might stop by the precinct.”

  He gave me a skeptical look on his way to the door. As soon as the door shut, I raced to the phone and dialed Mercer. Amazingly, he answered, and I told him what was about to happen. Whatever he was going to do, he needed to do it soon. Hanging up, I loaded my nine millimeter and left my apartment. There was a chance someone might need assistance.

  Arriving on scene an hour later, there was a single police cruiser with its lights still flashing outside the Estes’ house. From the disarray and frenzied security guards, it was apparent Miguel Estes had already been escorted from his estate. Parking my car, I pulled my credentials and headed for the cruiser. A single cop was inside the vehicle, filling out a form. Knocking on his window, I held up my identification, and he rolled down the window.

  “Can I help you, Ms. Parker?”

  “I’m guessing I arrived late to the party.” I glanced at the house. “Are Rosa and Adalina still inside?”

  “No, ma’am,” he responded, his attention diverted to the form. “I believe Mrs. Estes had her driver take her to the precinct.”

  “I see. Thanks.” Getting back in my car, I looped around, looking for signs of the ex-SAS, but I didn’t spot anything out of the ordinary. Maybe Mercer already made his move. If not, Rosa and Adalina were on their way to the precinct. Perhaps there was a third option no one considered, but after the kidnapping, any sympathy for Rosa would be squelched immediately. We were out of options and possibly out of time. In a last ditch effort, I went to the precinct with the hopes of seeing an end in sight.

  Forty-five

  Thompson was in Moretti’s office with someone whose presence screamed federal agent. They were discussing what to do concerning Estobar Santino and Miguel Estes. From the constant in and out between the two interrogation rooms, I knew Santino must be in one and Estes was in the other. Lawyers, diplomats, and an alphabet soup of law enforcement agencies crowded the halls at the precinct. As I navigated the hallways, hunting for Rosa or Adalina, I heard only snippets. Piecing together different aspects of conversation, it sounded as though Santino had spelled out a laundry list of crimes against Estes. Not only did he give up the identities of the Four Seasons and implicate himself, but he claimed Miguel was involved in drug trafficking, smuggling, and violent behavior. I only knew one of those to be true. Allegedly, payoffs were made to drug cartels, Customs agents, and numerous law enforcement officials because of the constant physical abuse. At least I knew why the DEA, ATF, and ICE agents were standing around, looking bored.

  “Parker,” I spun at the sound of my name and came face to face with Agent Palmer, “I thought we were dealing with kidnappers, not a shit storm of international crimes.”

  “You know the saying, go big or go home.”

  “It’s true what they say about you, isn’t it?” he asked. “Trouble follows you like a rabid dog.” I shrugged. “The AG’s office has been on the phone with the consulate. Right now, we’re deciding if we want to keep Estes or let his own people deal with him.”

  “He’s too powerful. No one will touch him if he goes home.”

  “Hence the problem. We need to determine if he’s aiding any terrorist organizations, large-scale drug cartels, or if his illegal dealings have impacted American freedom.”

  “Maybe you should first determine if Santino’s claims can even be substantiated. The guy’s responsible for a triple kidnapping. He might be crying wolf.” Not to mention, I put the idea in his head to paint Estes as the antichrist.

  “The FBI and Interpol are checking the allegations, but there’s no solid proof yet. We tried to locate his wife to substantiate some of these claims, but no one’s seen her since Miguel was picked up.�
�� At least that answered one of my questions.

  “Well, it looks like your hands are full. No reason anyone needs a P.I. hanging around and taking up space. If anyone needs me, I’ll be at home.”

  * * *

  Instead of going home, I went to Mercer’s. When I arrived, Bastian was alone. The place was emptied out, and he was doing a final cleaning to remove any and all traces that they were ever here.

  “Can I come in?” I asked from the slightly ajar door. “Or do I need to put on a hazmat suit and a hairnet first?”

  “Love,” he smiled, “glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor. Although, if you plan to hurt me, let’s do it outside because cleaning up blood is a pain in the arse.”

  “Where is everyone?”

  “It’s done. Julian picked up the women. By now, they should be in the air. Hans and Donovan are escorting them part of the way, and then they will split off and go home.”

  “So they left you holding the bag?” I remarked as he wiped off a few light switches. It made me feel good to know I wasn’t nearly as paranoid as Mercer’s team.

  “No. I offered to work cleanup. Jules will be back.” He shut the doors to the rooms as he finished cleaning them. “Have you decided what to do with the documents?”

  “Not all of them. Not yet.” My tone was sobering, and Bastian entered the living room and sat on the sofa.

  “We’re not running. Julian will take full responsibility if that’s what you decide, and I’ll go with him. What happened to your friend was a mistake. More importantly, the fact that we knew where his niece was and who had her and did nothing,” he met my eyes, “that is unforgivable.”

  “I’m not asking for an apology.”

  “Good because you won’t get one.” He surprised me with that comment, and it must have shone on my face. “There are a lot of things we’ve done that aren’t pretty. Getting our hands dirty happens more than it should. Wet work is sometimes necessary, always costly, and never easy to stomach. Frankly, love, if you don’t turn us in, at some point, someone will stop us one way or another.”

  “Why do you do it?”

  “Someone has to.” I always said the same thing when confronted with the same question. In all honesty, we weren’t that different. “Regardless of what you think, we’re not soulless mercenaries. We don’t perform contract killings. The business card reads ‘Kidnapping and Recovery,’ and that is mostly what we do. We’ve done it dozens of times. Each time is completely different, but this one,” he blew out a breath, and his fingers danced as if wanting to flip a lighter, “it was too close for Jules. He didn’t want us here. He wanted to save the damsel in distress, and he was willing to sacrifice everything to do it.”

  “Why?” There was more to Mercer’s story than I imagined, and I never expected Bastian to be so forward.

  “It’s not for me to tell.” He let out another breath. “God, I’d kill for a cigarette.”

  “I thought you didn’t contract kill,” I joked, and he gave me a small smile and went back to wiping the place.

  When he was done, he came into the living room where I was still sitting on the couch. “Any insight concerning what will happen to us?” He seemed intrigued by the prospect.

  “You said Mercer would take full responsibility, so why are you willing to go down with him?”

  “We’re a team. I owe him everything.”

  “Okay.” That was something I understood, and that sentiment decided what was getting turned over to the cops and what was getting destroyed. “Word of advice,” I offered, “find the line and don’t cross it.”

  “Thanks, love.”

  * * *

  After leaving Bastian, I stopped at home and retrieved the stack of papers before going to the precinct. Detouring briefly at a twenty-four hour diner, I ordered two extra large coffees to go and continued on my way. Placing one in front of Thompson, he looked both annoyed and relieved to see me.

  “Don’t ask how or where I got this,” I passed the papers across the desk, “but that’s everything on the kidnapping. It will verify parts of Santino’s confession, maybe disprove other aspects, and who knows, maybe there’s even some shit in there concerning Miguel Estes.”

  “My god,” Thompson swore, scanning the pages and going into the roll call room, which was now full of most of the alphabet soup agencies I’d seen earlier. I took a sip from my cup and tried to determine what to do now.

  “Parker,” Mercer called, emerging from the stairwell.

  I met him near the double doors. “Why are you here?”

  “Did you make a bloody decision?”

  “You’re off the hook, unless I change my mind.” I glowered at him. “How did your rescue attempt go?”

  “They’re safe and far away. I’m certain Estes will never find or hurt either of them again.” His conviction was startling and slightly threatening. “But,” he searched my eyes, “I wouldn’t mind having a few moments alone with him.”

  “Too bad.” Miguel deserved whatever Mercer planned to do, but there had been enough bloodshed and innocent people getting caught in the vindictiveness. “I gave you a free pass. Get the hell out of here.”

  “That’s it?” It sounded like a challenge, and with those two words, something inside me snapped.

  “Oh sorry, I almost forgot,” I stepped back and threw a hard right jab to his face, “that’s for Nick.” Mercer barely flinched, and I swung again with a right cross. “That’s for Catherine.” He faltered slightly, only further infuriating me by lacking the decency to go down, so I threw an uppercut, landing on his jaw and knocking him back into the wall. “And that’s for me, you goddamn son-of-a-bitch,” I shrieked.

  Someone grabbed my shoulders and hauled me backward. Cops flooded the area, and I heard questions concerning pressing charges and whether or not Mercer was okay. However, I didn’t hear a single response. Thompson had a tight grip and dragged me into another room. “Should I go in there and finish what you started?” he asked, somewhat amused.

  “No.” Even though my hand was throbbing, it felt good. Cathartic.

  “Assaulting someone in the middle of a police station isn’t the way to go.” He chuckled. “Then again, I didn’t see a thing.” He winked.

  The commotion died down almost immediately, and it became apparent Mercer left without uttering a single word. I hoped it was because his jaw was broken, but I doubted it. No one said a thing about my outburst, and I was sure it was because of the role I played in Catherine’s recovery and providing elaboration on Santino’s confession.

  Moretti insisted I remain at O’Connell’s desk for the duration without hitting anyone else. Even though I was an adult, they put me in timeout. Like Mark Jablonsky always said, I didn’t play well with others.

  By morning, Miguel Estes was released. The only pending charges were for domestic abuse, but without Rosa to press charges, it would continue to remain unfounded. His lawyers flanked him on both sides, and an apology was issued by the police commissioner for the inconvenience. Estes had no idea how inconvenienced he was about to be when he got home, but the asshole deserved it. Men who bullied women were nothing more than cowards, and a part of me wished Mercer had gotten some revenge. But now wasn’t the time or place.

  Moretti pulled me into his office, asked a few dozen questions, most of which I couldn’t answer directly, and then thanked me for a job well done. It was time to go home. Everything was resolved.

  “Are you okay to drive yourself home?” Thompson asked. “Or do I have to worry that you might pull over and beat someone senseless just for the hell of it?”

  “I’m good. Thanks for asking.” It was snarky, and the first normal remark I made in far too long. Life was already getting back to normal.

  On my way home, I stopped by the hospital and gave Jen and Nick the good news. Thankfully, he was getting discharged today. He could have gone home much earlier, but Jen insisted, particularly since she didn’t want her hardheaded husband to insinuat
e himself into the investigation when he was on sick leave and still recuperating, but with the investigation complete, the guilty parties dead, apprehended, or being apprehended at this very moment, her concern was no longer valid.

  Adam Dowery, Autumn, told the arresting officers everything he knew to save whatever skin he could. Unfortunately, the other three kidnappers were killed in the firefight and couldn’t corroborate his story, but the police considered his confession good enough for their purposes. It was up to the FBI and federal government to follow through on filing actual charges since kidnapping was a federal offense. Briefly, I wondered who was responsible for the three dead kidnappers. Maybe it was Mercer’s bullets or mine that went through them, but given the firepower Estes’ hit squad possessed, I chose to believe they did it. It was easier for me to stomach, regardless of how unlikely it was.

  “I thought you were getting x-rays.” She turned her nagging on me.

  “I did,” I insisted. O’Connell looked amused, probably thankful she had someone else to yell at besides him.

  “Then why does it look like someone took a meat mallet to your right hand?”

  “I was just paying back what I owed,” I responded. Nick chuckled, and Jen rolled her eyes.

  “Was I mistaken to think this was a male-only thing? Maybe it’s a cop thing.”

  “I’ve never been a cop,” I replied.

  “Maybe not, but you’re family. We might fight and say things we regret, but at the end of the day, we’re still there for one another,” O’Connell replied. “And since that goes for Thompson and Heathcliff too, then you might as well consider yourself an honorary cop.”

  “How many painkillers do they have him on?” I asked Jen, grinning brightly at Nick. Although hokey, truer words were never said. They were my family, along with Martin and Mark. They were all I had and all I needed.

  Forty-six

  Friday evening, I let myself into Martin’s house. I bought a bottle of champagne to celebrate and placed it in an ice bucket on his kitchen counter. Afterward, I changed and went outside to the pool. It was October, and the fall air was crisp and cool. Lighting the fire in the electrical outdoor hearth, I took the remaining stack of documents Bastian dropped off and watched them burn away into nothingness. It would be nice if everything could be this easily eliminated. Stretching out on one of the chaise lounges overlooking the pool, I watched as day turned to dusk and steam from the heated water slowly created a fog.