Parker 05 - The Darkness (30 page)

Theo told him. According to his partner, this stuff, the

Darkness, was the most potent and addictive substance

to hit the populace since opium. It was cheap, it was

strong, and it gave you a rush every single time.

Morgan had no desire to try the stuff. Theo didn't seem

to care either. When you had a good thing going, like they

did, you didn't gum up the works by losing your head.

At the end of their first day on the job, Morgan and Theo

had sold nearly ten thousand dollars' worth of product.

Over a full year, that amounted to well over three

million dollars.

And they were just one team out of God knows how

many.

And they were working, according to that Leonard

guy, the slow shift.

If all his calculations were correct, and this enterprise

had as many teams as Morgan supposed they did--then

this was a billion-dollar industry.

To be a part of something like that, with potential for

rapid growth, you didn't take any chances.

It was unbelievable to think that Ken Tsang, who was

a relatively smart guy as far as Morgan was concerned,

would be stupid enough to rat out his partner. At first,

when Morgan found out he was dead, there was a fleeting

moment of remorse, of sadness. Now, he thought of Ken

Tsang like a homeless person you saw on the street.

Nothing more than pity, nothing less than scorn because

whatever predicament they were in, it was most certainly

of their own doing.

Morgan's tongue tasted nothing, and he laughed, realizing he'd finished his beer several minutes ago.

For the last few months, Morgan Isaacs had spent his

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nights on the couch, sitting alone, tipping back beers and

watching basketball games with teams he didn't give a

rat's ass about. The nights usually did not end until around

three o'clock in the morning, when, tired of infomercials

and out of snacks, Morgan would pass out on his sofa,

covered in a thin blanket, where he would sleep until the

sun woke him up midday.

It was a sad, dreary existence, but Morgan felt to some

extent that this was his penance, a punishment for not

living up to the promise he'd seen in himself.

How could he be a confident boyfriend--or lover at

all--with no income? How could he buy a girl a drink

knowing that he was three months behind on his credit

card payments? How could he buy his buddies a round

when there was a chance the card would be declined?

None of that existed anymore.

Morgan's first paycheck would give him more than financial breathing room. It would give him his life back.

Morgan picked up his cell phone, scrolled through

his address book until he found her name. And then

Morgan smiled. Svetlana. When in doubt, go with the

Russian model.

Svetlana was beautiful and nearly six feet in heels,

with jet-black hair, legs that were longer than a New York

City lamppost, and a body that would make Putin himself

kneel and beg for mercy.

She was a tough one. Her father was a doctor, and he'd

been killed recently or something, and Svetlana refused

to ever discuss it. Not that Morgan minded; if anything

he preferred that they keep their relationship as uncomplicated as possible.

The sex was freaking mind-blowing, and damned if he

didn't miss that the most. And now that he could treat her

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again like he did in the old days (well, at least he was

getting there), he felt that sizzle, that confidence that had

been robbed from him all coming back.

He dialed the number and held it to his ear, praying

that she wasn't somewhere without service or, God help

him, with another man. If she was, Morgan might just

have to kill him.

"Who is this?" the female voice said on the other end.

It wasn't said with any sort of real curiosity, but with

anger because she knew exactly who was calling.

"It's me, babe," Morgan said. "What are you doing

right now?"

"What am I doing?" she said. God, he loved that

accent. "I am sitting on my ass because my worthless

friend Sabina decided to go on a date with some lawyer.

So I was about to open a bottle of wine when you called.

Why the hell are you calling, Morgan?"

"What are you wearing?" he said.

"What am I wearing? What the hell is wrong with

you? Why does that matter?"

"Because I want you to pick out your hottest outfit

right this minute, put it on and meet me at the Kitten Club

in half an hour."

"And why would I do that?" she asked, her hesitancy

melting.

"Because I'm back, sweetheart, and I'm going to get

us both wasted and then I'm going to make you thank

God you were born a woman."

"Morgan?" she said.

"Yeah?"

"I'll be there in fifteen."

34

She didn't remember the drive taking this long. Maybe

because last time, time was of the essence. Or maybe last

time there was an excitement about seeing her daughter

for the first time in months.

As the yellow lines sped past in a blur, as the trees on

I-95 merged into one long emerald line, Paulina thought

about those days nearly twenty years ago when she first

held Abigail in her arms. She was so tiny, so fragile, and

Paulina remembered breast-feeding her, thinking that this

small person was dependent on her for love, for life. And

though she'd never wanted that feeling to die, it had done

just that a long time ago.

Paulina had never wanted to be one of those corporate

mothers who took a week off for maternity leave, was

back in the office like nothing had ever happened while

her child was raised and cared for by nannies with calloused hands and heaving bosoms. She never wanted her

daughter to grow up hearing somebody else's voice read

her bedtime stories, never wanted her daughter to feel the

same sense of loneliness that Paulina had as a little girl.

Abby would be her daughter forever, and she would

not let her daughter grow up without a true mother.

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Of course, life didn't work out that way. As soon as

they wanted her to take on bigger stories, she jumped at

the chance. Paulina told herself that it was only for a

short period of time, that she would make money and

make a name for herself so that when she finally stepped

back from the job, she would have created a better life

for Abigail.

But Paulina never stepped back.

The stories got bigger and bigger, and the chase became intoxicating. And when her name didn't grow at the

pace she wanted it to, she left the
Gazette
and took a job

at their rival. And now, finally, after so long in the

trenches of this industry, Paulina was a name, a brand,

making the kind of money that she always hoped to.

Some people said newspapers were a dying industry,

but if you wrote what people wanted to read, they'd never

bury you. There was always a medium.

And then one day, Paulina looked back and realized

that Abby was gone. A grown woman, a college student,

with her own hopes and dreams and desires and loves.

And Paulina had not been there for any of it.

Which is why this drive felt like the longest hours of

Paulina's life. Because just as she'd reentered Abby's life

the other day, today she was going to pull the shade over

a part of Abigail's life that Paulina had been too busy to

realize had even felt sunshine.

She arrived at the dorm as the sun was setting, casting

a beautiful orange hue over the treetops and green grass.

The red brick of the dorms looked radiant in the glow, and

for a moment Paulina had to stand and watch them.

Then as shadows began to creep across the grounds,

Paulina locked the car door and prepared herself.

She walked up to the front door and dialed Abby's cell.

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She had no idea what her daughter's schedule was,

whether she had evening class, what time she went to

dinner, if she had plans to see a movie tonight.

It didn't matter. She'd wait at the door all night if

she had to.

Fortunately Abby picked up right away.

"Hello?" she said.

"Hey, Abby, it's your mother."

"Oh, hey, Mom." Abby laughed and continued. "You

know when you said you'd try to call more I didn't think

you meant it."

"Oh, I meant it," Paulina said. "In fact, would you

mind buzzing me in? I'm downstairs."

"You're what?"

"I'm downstairs. In front of your dorm."

"Why are you..."

"Just let me in, it's important."

"All right, fine, hold on a second."

The buzzer rang, and Paulina entered. She made her

way to Abby's dorm room and knocked on the door.

Abigail answered, wearing a green tank top and shorts.

A bowl of popcorn was on the coffee table and the television was on. The menu of a DVD was on the screen.

And sitting on the couch was Pam Ruffalo.

Her brown hair was done up in a ponytail, and she was

wearing socks without shoes. Her legs were crossed

underneath her on the couch. She munched popcorn, then

swallowed it when she saw Paulina standing there.

She coughed out a kernel and said, "Hi, Ms. Cole."

Paulina looked at her. Her eyes widened, and she

turned to her daughter, pleading.

"We need to talk alone."

"You don't even say hello back, Mom?"

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"Hi, Pam. Can you ask her to give us a few minutes?"

"Why? What the hell is going on now?"

"Please, Abby, don't ask me to..."

"You asked Pam to leave the first time you came here,"

Abigail said, "and I agreed. I don't answer to you and I

never have, so whatever you say to me you can say to her."

"Abby, she really shouldn't..."

"Mom, I love her. She has a right to know whatever

you have to say to me."

Paulina stepped back, her breath caught in her throat

for a moment. She looked over at Pamela, a massive grin

on the young girl's face at that statement. Abby had a look

of pride, both at her love for this girl and her confidence

in telling her mother off.

"Fine, Abby, if you want to do this by your rules, so

be it. But remember I asked for privacy."

"I'll remember to tell that to the judge," Abby said.

Pam laughed. Paulina had to struggle not to shoot the girl

a dirty look.

And then she looked at her daughter, her young, beautiful vibrant daughter, who might never speak to her again

after today.

"I found out more about that...issue I talked to you

about the other day."

Abigail placed her hand against the door frame. It

was clear she'd tried to put it out of her mind, and

from the change in her stance it looked like she'd succeeded until now.

"What did you find out?" Abby asked, almost perfunctorily.

Paulina looked at Pam again, then back at her daughter.

"Last chance," she said.

"Spill it, Mom."

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"Okay then. I had some friends look into the photo

and the album it came from. Did you know Pam here

had a blog?"

Abigail smiled, turned to her girlfriend. "Of course I

did. She showed me every posting before it went up."

Pamela blushed and said, "At first I wanted to make

sure Abby was okay with it. Then she just trusted me."

"How sweet," Paulina said, her voice emotionless.

"Do you know a girl named Samantha Isringhausen?"

Abigail squinted, trying to figure her mother out.

"You're talking to me like a reporter," Abigail said. "Asking

me all these questions like you're going after a story. 'Do

you know this person? Have you heard of such and such?'

Be an adult, Mom, and tell me what the hell is going on."

"Fine," Paulina said, "but if I'm going to talk to you

like an adult, you're going to have to act like one when

I'm done."

"I'm sure that won't be a problem."

"Your words," Paulina said. Then she nodded at Pam.

"Your girlfriend there sold you out."

"What?" came the confused cry from both girls.

"You heard me," she said.

"Mom, I swear to God, you and me have never really

gotten along, but if you ever want to talk to me again

you'd better have a damn good explanation for this."

"I do," she said, "and take a second to look at your

'girlfriend.' She doesn't seem that angry."

They both turned to Pamela. The girl's mouth was wide

open, but it was more out of protest than surprise. "I don't

know what the heck she's talking about," Pam said.

"Samantha Isringhausen," Paulina said, "took those

photos at the beach. You then posted the album online.

All except for one photo. The photo that man showed me

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the night he threatened your life and burned me to drive

his point home."

"Burned you?" Abigail said. "What are you talking

about?"