The Darkness - Jason Pinter [11]
was found by a garbage scow a few blocks from the
Ninety-first Street transfer station. Do you know if that
was where the body was dumped from?"
"That isn't public knowledge yet, and I think I'll get a
reprimand if I tell you guys anything else. Listen, I gotta
run, but we'll release more info as it comes. Meantime,
you two are smart enough to put two and two together."
"Actually, I'm waiting for Jack to teach me that."
"Yeah, take it easy, Henry. Mr. O'Donnell."
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Jason Pinter
"Officer," Jack said. When Curt was out of earshot, Jack
said to me, "Hundred bucks says the body was dumped
from the transfer station."
"Why?"
"This whole thing...the body pulverized, the bag
attached to a buoy, I mean, who does that? Once this
story breaks, every lowlife in the city will know that Ken
Tsang was mutilated in an ungodly way."
"Not to mention the garbage connotation. That he's
nothing but filth."
"That, too."
"But if this message is going to dealers, who's sending it?"
"The same people who killed Hector Guardado. And
most likely your brother, too," Jack said. "My guess is
Hector might have some more info for us."
"Hey, Jack, you might have missed the memo, but
Guardado's dead. Kind of hard for him to be a source
of new info."
"The man's got friends. Colleagues. Let's wait until
the news breaks, and then tomorrow morning we see
which of Hector's old friends are scared enough to talk."
4
They could hear whispering from behind the door before
they'd even knocked. The three of them walked down the
hallway, the floor covered in cigarette butts and crack vials.
The two men walked in front, the woman trailing them
behind. She wore a jacket over a tank top, her arms loose
by her side. The man on the left was blond, trim, and
grinned like he'd been looking forward to this. The other
wore a long coat and a scowl, and was in no mood to smile.
The men behind the door had been waiting for their
arrival. The whispering was excited, impatient. So when
the two lead men finally did knock on the door, it opened
barely a moment later.
The bodyguard who opened it was massive. Six foot
six at least, and well over three hundred pounds. There
was perhaps muscle under the flab, but he was no doubt
employed as much for his ability to absorb bullets as for
his ability to fight. The man looked like he could stop a
tank shell in that gut.
"You Mr. Malloy?" the behemoth asked. The woman
looked at the younger of her two accomplices, the blond
man in his early forties. The blond man nodded.
"At your service."
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Jason Pinter
The bodyguard stared at his sunglasses. Or more
specifically, what held them up. "Man, what happened
to your ear?"
The blond man ignored the question. "We're here to
see Mr. Culvert."
The bodyguard looked at the woman standing behind
Malloy. She had dark skin and luminous green eyes. Her
skin was the color of cinnamon, and she looked a few
years older than the blond man. Her body was toned,
sinewy, her breastbone visible above the curve of her
tank top. The bodyguard let his gaze hover over her an
extra moment, then ushered the three people inside.
The apartment was located inside a largely unoccupied
building in Harlem. The man they were going to see
owned the premises, and other than letting family members stay from time to time, he kept it mainly for business
dealings. And that's what this meeting was about. Business.
The bodyguard ushered them down a hallway into a
room that was lit only by two weak floor lamps. The
windows were blacked out, and there were no phones or
other electronic devices present. Three couches were
arranged in a semicircle, and sitting on these couches
were four men. Three of them were dressed all in black
trench coats, and were just as big as the guy who opened
the door. Machine guns were strapped to each of their
chests. They made no efforts to hide them.
The one man who was unarmed was dressed in a
simple track suit, and wore enough gold chains to bring
down a hot air balloon. He was thirty-two