The Darkness - Jason Pinter [48]
plans today, and even if there was a one percent chance
of paying off his mounting debts, it was worth the trip.
As the Town Car approached the gate, Morgan saw a
man approach from the other side of the chain link fence.
He was big, about three hundred pounds big, and Morgan
couldn't be sure but what looked like a rifle or machine
gun of some sort dangled from his left shoulder.
Morgan's eyes went wide, and he turned to Chester.
Chester seemed to notice this, and he smiled.
"Not to worry," he said. "That's Darryl. He's part of
our private security force, and he's the best there is. We
run a relatively small business, and have had to relocate
our operations over the last few days, so security is at a
premium. This might not exactly be what you're used to,
but I'm sure you won't mind."
Morgan shook his head as though agreeing with Chester's assessment, but he couldn't help but stare at the black
muzzle pointing at the ground, wondering how often, if
ever, it had been fired. And if so, what it had been fired at.
When the gate opened, the car drove through. Gravel
crunched under the tires, and Morgan caught this armed
man, Darryl, eyeing the backseat window intently as the
car came to a stop. The driver got out, and Morgan went
to open his door.
"Not yet," Chester said. Morgan looked at him, confused, but then the driver came around to Morgan's door
and opened it for him. The driver bowed down, and
The Darkness
139
Morgan slid out. Though this odd gesture in front of some
sort of run-down warehouse confused him even more,
Morgan did not let it show.
Chester came around to him and said, "Follow me."
The blond man led him up the driveway to a door. It
wasn't quite a front door, since this building didn't seem to
have been built with traditional comings and goings in mind,
but Chester punched a security code into a small black
keypad and an LED light turned from red to green. Chester
turned the latch, opened the door and ushered Morgan in.
They were in a gray stairway, steps leading up and
down. Chester took the path upward, and beckoned
Morgan to follow. They went up two flights of stairs.
Morgan could see numerous cameras lining the stairwell,
each with red lights. At the top of the third-floor landing,
Morgan noticed that the camera was in fact moving,
panning over the entire stairwell.
"Security measures," Chester said. Morgan nodded.
Again Chester punched numbers into a keypad, and Morgan heard a latch unlock. Chester smiled at him, and
opened the door.
"Go on in," he said. "Take any open seat."
"Thanks," Morgan said, and stepped into the room.
And if he'd been confused before, this just took it to a
whole new level.
The room inside was wood paneled, as though it had
been transported from some high-end hotel. In the middle
of the room was a long, dark mahogany conference table,
polished and gleaming. Track lights illuminated the entire
room. But what struck Morgan more than anything was
not the room's decor, but rather the dozen young men,
dressed to the nines just like him, surrounding the table.
20
Morgan didn't know what to say. The other men turned
to see him when he walked in, but then turned away. They
all had looks on their faces that looked startlingly like his
own: confidence on the outside, but eyes that showed
confusion, discomfort, and above all desperation.
Every face was cleanly shaved, every suit neatly
pressed. The ties were knotted perfectly, and the room
reeked of designer cologne. There were young men of
every race and ethnicity. Black, white, Asian, Indian,
Arab. Tall, short, fat, skinny. Some had full heads of hair,
some looked to be going prematurely bald. None of the
men looked to be older than their early thirties, and some
looked barely old enough to have graduated college. Yet
every one of them looked like a hungry dog waiting for
a meaty bone.
Morgan felt Chester's hand on his back, and a soft
voice said, "Sit down, Morgan." The voice had become
much firmer than Morgan was used to.
There was an empty seat