The Darkness - Jason Pinter [98]
else are you looking for, Mr. Parker?"
I looked at Jack. He said to Hollinsworth, "We finish
our interview, you can start interviewing us."
He pursed his lips, said, "Fair enough."
38
Morgan couldn't believe how fast his heart was pounding. Even when he used to snort a few lines at a club then
dance until his blood felt like lava, he couldn't remember
ever feeling quite like this. Those nights when he was
high, there was always a sense of floating above the
world, that the Morgan who was doing those things, saying those things, would wake up the next morning a different person.
The world didn't really count when you were out of
it. Everything you did could be explained. This, though,
there was no explaining it. No justifying it. If he accepted
what was being proposed right now, he would wake up
tomorrow the same Morgan Isaacs, remembering every
detail and never be able to wash it away.
Which is, perhaps, to his great surprise, the reason he
didn't feel the slightest hesitation.
The gun was heavier than he expected it to be. You
always saw movies where guys swung guns around like
they were made of tissue paper, aiming them sideways
and backward and doing cool tricks. Not this gun, though.
He held it in his hand, and it felt just fine.
"This is a Glock 36, .45 caliber handgun," Chester
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Jason Pinter
said. He was looking at Morgan with dead seriousness in
his face. Chester had been nice to him during the short
time he'd known the man. A good conversationalist, even
jokey at times, but right now Morgan got the feeling that
if he even cracked a smile Chester would throw him out
of the car.
They were driving uptown, passing by the glistening
Time Warner Center, the natural beauty of Central Park
on the right as they drove up Central Park West. Morgan
never spent a whole lot of time in the Park, or in any
sort of nature. When he wasn't behind a desk, he was
at home with a beer or at a club throwing back martinis
like they were iced tea. At first the idea of traveling all
over the city to hawk his wares worried him. What if
he didn't like it? What if he couldn't take all the time
on the subway, didn't want to deal with the asshole
who often paid with crinkled twenties and smelled like
dirty socks?
But when that money started rolling in, when he saw
the smile on Chester's face, Morgan knew he could hack
it, and hack it quite easily.
"You sure you can do this?" Chester said. His eyes
betrayed no sympathy; he was simply making sure that
Morgan was up to the task.
"Yes," he said emphatically. "I am."
"Well, all right then. Once we pull up to the building,
the office is number A17. You're going to walk straight
past the receptionist. If she gives you a hard time, just tell
her you're going to the bathroom. Her name is Carolyn.
Don't look at her, just walk right past and say, 'Just going
to the bathroom, Carolyn, thanks.'"
"Got it."
"Once you enter the hallway past her desk, make a
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281
quick left, and it's the third office on your right. You
know who your target is."
"I do. Why..."
"No whys," Chester said. "Once it's done, you run as
fast as you can back here. The car will be idling in front
of the entrance. The door will be open. You just climb in,
hand me the gun, and we're gone. The gun will be disposed of before the police arrive on the scene. And we
want you to wear this," he said.
Chester handed Morgan a baseball cap, underneath
which and sewn in to the cap was a blond wig. Morgan
put it on his head, and Chester adjusted it so that none of
Morgan's black hair could be seen.
"Anything to throw them off a little bit. Carolyn will
be the only witness, and she's an old lady. They'll be
looking for a young blond guy wearing a baseball cap."
"Okay."
"We'll drop you off near the subway after we ditch the
car. Call your girlfriend. Have her come over, get her good
and drunk and screw the shit out of her. She'll be another
layer of protection, so to speak. Then wake up tomorrow,
come to work