The Darkness - Jason Pinter [123]
there is a better feeling than seeing the same fat, stupid
men who sent you to die line your pockets, I don't know
what it is."
Reeves came over and placed the pad and pen in front
of me. Then he stepped back and folded his arms behind
his back. I could tell he wasn't happy about this, wasn't
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Jason Pinter
happy I knew the depth of his involvement. But Ramos
kept him fed. And that was good enough.
"You write your article, including the facts I've told
you. Once it is written, Leonard and I will go over it to make
sure it doesn't contain anything that we don't approve of.
After that we will e-mail it to your boss, Mr. Langston."
"And then what?"
"And when it runs, we can assure you that Amanda
Davies will live a long, happy life. Well, a long life at least."
"And me?"
"Having saved a life, you can go to your grave with
the nobility many men do not."
"And you get to promote the Darkness even more."
"The New York Dispatch is only read by half the city,"
she said. "With your paper we'll get the other half, too."
I eyed the pen, wondering if there was a way I could
use it. Not that I'd been trained in any Bourne-esque dojo
where they taught you how to kill two people with a
single pen.
"Mr. Reeves here will watch you. I don't expect your
finest work, Henry. Time is of the essence."
I didn't know what to do. Amanda's life versus thousands of people who would read about this drug and be
tempted to buy it. I pictured Amanda, sitting at home, while
the city burned around her. Then I pictured her grieving at
my funeral, not knowing I'd given my life for her.
What the hell could I do?
Before I could do or say anything, there was another
knock at the door behind Eve Ramos. It startled her very
briefly, and I took a step forward.
She opened it, and standing there was Rex Malloy.
"Eve," he said. "We've got a problem."
"What kind of problem?"
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"Sheffield and Parker," he said. "They didn't come
alone."
Ramos stood there, unsure what to make of what
Malloy had said. We had come alone. What the hell was
Malloy talking about?
Suddenly I heard a loud noise come from outside the
compound. A second explosion, then a third, rattling the
floor, reverberating. Somebody was shooting at the warehouse from outside. Eve Ramos's eyes narrowed as she
stared at me. I had no answers.
They didn't come alone.
Had somebody followed us?
"Get up, Parker," Ramos said, her voice gone to steel.
She marched over and grabbed me by the hair, pulling me
up. I stood, wrenched away.
"Get off of me."
Then I realized where the gunfire had come from. We
weren't being shot at from outside. Somebody inside the
compound was firing at someone outside.
Then it dawned on me.
We had been followed. By Jack O'Donnell.
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The first volley of gunfire drove them to dive behind the
police cars, bullets strafing the metal, punching quartersized holes in every car. Jack O'Donnell felt a pain in his
arm as he hit the ground, dirt kicking up around him.
He was surrounded by two dozen of New York's finest,
and now that the level of violence had escalated there was
sure to be SWAT and helicopter backup. But for now it
was just this ragged old journalist and a bunch of cops
who'd walked into a buzz saw.
"Is this normal?" Jack shouted when the gunfire stopped.
Chief of Department Louis Carruthers, his back
pressed up against a blue-and-white, shook his head. "Not
in the least. It only means one thing, so you'd better keep
your head down."
"What's that?"
"It means they're not planning to be arrested."
Jack slowly picked himself, peeked over the hood of
a car, just in time for another round to rip up the car and
force him back to the ground.
His heart was beating a million miles a minute, but
something besides fear coursed through the old lion.
Neither Henry or Curt knew Jack had followed them all
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the way from Parker's apartment, and it gave Jack a slight
bit of pride to know he still had a little left in the old oil
can. But when he saw the two men