The Darkness - Jason Pinter [115]
Theodore Goggins would leave his apartment and head
toward wherever it was that the refills were being kept.
All we could do was keep each other awake through
our silences and the knowledge that something foul was
lurking just beneath the streets of our city. But it wasn't
until the next day that we realized just how deep those
sewers ran.
46
Saturday
It was six-thirty in the morning, and we were both awake.
My brain was fogged over with that thick haze that comes
from a night spent ingesting too much coffee while thinking too much about terrible things that would keep you
up under normal circumstances.
Curt's eyes were open, too, but they were more aware,
less troubled. He seemed less like someone running on
fumes, like I was, and more like a hawk poised to strike.
Waiting for that moment when his prey poked its head
from the shadows. And at six-thirty, that's when our prey,
Theodore Goggins, poked his head out from his uptown
apartment.
"Right there," I said.
"I see him." Curt quickly combed his hair, opened the
mirror above the windshield to get rid of the whole "I
stayed up all night in a car" look. Whether that kind of
makeover could be done without trained professionals
and Heidi Klum, I wasn't sure.
"Same drill," Curt said. "I follow our man to his destination, then I call you. We're not going to have a ton of
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time because I have no idea where this guy is headed. Just
be on alert."
"I'm going to head over to the West Side Highway," I
said. "Better to have access to a faster road. Just in case."
"Good thinking, Parker. I'll call you when Goggins
takes me...wherever," Curt said. "And Henry?"
"Yeah, Curt?"
"Be careful. I don't know how this day is going to
unwind."
I nodded, didn't need to say anything. Curt knew I was
game.
"Okay, let's get this party started."
"Some party. Six in the morning."
"Can it, buddy. Stay focused."
"Good luck, Curt."
He exited the car, walked over to a sidewalk newspaper salesman and bought a copy of the Gazette. At least
he was supporting my paper.
Theodore Goggins left his apartment wearing a different suit, this one straight black, with shiny shoes and
another sparkling blue tie. He headed south on Columbus,
right toward where Curt was standing reading the paper.
When Goggins passed him, Curt waited thirty seconds
before starting his tail. After they'd both disappeared, I
started the car and headed west on 110th Street. The
morning sun was rising above the trees as I drove on the
south side of Morningside Park. The lush green foliage
was such a stark contrast to the brick and stone just south
across the street.
Suddenly I realized that the West Side Highway had just
two entrances near my location: one on 125th Street and
the other on Ninety-sixth. They were a mile and a half apart
from each other, and given Manhattan traffic it could be
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fifteen minutes easily from one exit to the other. If I chose
the wrong one, I could miss Curt and Goggins entirely.
I slowed down briefly approaching Riverside Drive,
then made a decision and turned south toward Ninetysixth. I figured Goggins went south; best guess was that
his pick-up point was south of our location.
I pulled the car over on Ninety-sixth and waited for
Curt to call.
Thankfully, I didn't have to wait long.
My phone rang less than fifteen minutes later. It was
Curt. He was breathless, panting.
"I almost lost him," Curt said. "Stupid MetroCard was
out of cash. Anyway, get your ass downtown to the meatpacking district."
"On the way," I said, putting the car into Drive and
easing onto the Henry Hudson Parkway. "Where to?"
"You know the Kitten Club?"
"Um...yeah. Unfortunately. Why?"
"Our friend Theodore Goggins just walked inside."
"You're kidding me," I said. "I knew Shawn Kensbrook was dirty, but he's got his hands full in the mud."
"You think this is the new depot where the lackeys get
their refills?"
"It would make sense," I said. "I've been to the Kitten
Club and that place has more unexplored territory than
the Jonas