Read Online Parker 05 - The Darkness by Jason Pinter - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jason Pinter
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the sign for the company, he hadn't
witnessed the young men marching in and out of the
building with full bags. I was the only witness, at least
the only one who was on our side.
"Mr. Talcott, do you read the news?"
"Of course I do. I'm quite fond of Mr. O'Donnell's
work, as I said."
"Do you read it regularly?"
"I would say so."
"Well, then do you recognize the name Stephen
Gaines? Or a company called 718 Enterprises?"
This time Talcott's "no" was hesitant. There was rec-68
Jason Pinter
ognition on his face, but he wasn't about to incriminate
himself.
"Let me give you a little backstory. Stephen Gaines
was murdered a few weeks ago. Shot in the head in a
dingy apartment in Alphabet City. It was in the news
quite a bit, especially after the primary suspect was
cleared."
"That does ring a bell," Talcott said. "So much strife
in the news these days, who can remember a name? But
the case does sound familiar. Boy's father was accused
of the crime, wasn't he?"
"That's right. Want to know something else?" I said.
Talcott seemed unsure of how to respond, so he simply
said, "Sure."
"Stephen Gaines was my brother."
"I--I'm sorry to hear that. My condolences."
"See, my brother worked with those two guys, Scott
Callahan and Kyle Evans. And my brother confided everything in me." This part was BS. We'd had one conversation lasting thirty seconds and I didn't even know he
was my brother at the time. "And he told me that Scott
and Kyle were employed--that's a loose term--by 718
Enterprises. Who worked out of your building. Now, if
you still don't remember them I can get you the documentation and you'll see it at the same time we print it." I
looked at Talcott's desk. Saw a photo of him with a
woman and young boy on a beach, all three beaming. "I
don't know how I'd explain to my son why Daddy's
picture is all over the news."
Talcott turned a ghastly shade of white, and rocked back
in his chair. The chair, unfortunately, did not lean back with
him, and he nearly toppled over before righting himself.
Talcott cleared his throat before suddenly leaning
The Darkness
69
down to rummage under his desk. I felt my fingers gripping the sides of the chair--was he going for a gun?
My nerves quieted when I saw what Talcott was reaching for a bottle of Glenfiddich single malt, aged twentyone years. Slightly less dangerous than a gun, though
from the shaking of his hands my guess was that after we
left, Talcott would drink enough to make him sleep like
he'd been shot.
He brought up a small tumbler, filled it to the brim, and
downed it, closing his eyes. He looked at us, slight embarrassment on his face. Then he pushed the bottle toward
us.
"No thanks," I said. "I didn't have breakfast."
Jack looked right past the bottle. I watched his reaction, but there was none.
Talcott coughed into his fist. His eyes were a little
watery. I got the feeling he didn't particularly enjoy the
scotch, but needed it enough to get around that small detail.
"You don't know what it's like out there," he said.
"Out where?" said Jack. "What are you talking about?"
"The economy is in the toilet. The dollar is barely
worth the paper it's printed on."
"I cash my paychecks," I added. "We know this."
"But companies...they're getting hit the hardest. There
aren't as many customers to go around, and the customers that they do have, well the money they pay doesn't
buy what it used to."
"What's your point?"
"Sixteen-twenty Avenue of the Americas, we've lost
a dozen tenants from that building in the last two years.
Two years! And you know how many tenants have moved
in? One. That's a few hundred grand that we used to be
making that just disappeared in the wind."
70
Jason Pinter
Talcott paused, eyed the bottle.
"We needed the extra money."
"And..." I said.
"That company...718 Enterprises...they never leased
the property," Talcott said. "They were never officially on
our ledger. They never paid us a dime."
"Then why
witnessed the young men marching in and out of the
building with full bags. I was the only witness, at least
the only one who was on our side.
"Mr. Talcott, do you read the news?"
"Of course I do. I'm quite fond of Mr. O'Donnell's
work, as I said."
"Do you read it regularly?"
"I would say so."
"Well, then do you recognize the name Stephen
Gaines? Or a company called 718 Enterprises?"
This time Talcott's "no" was hesitant. There was rec-68
Jason Pinter
ognition on his face, but he wasn't about to incriminate
himself.
"Let me give you a little backstory. Stephen Gaines
was murdered a few weeks ago. Shot in the head in a
dingy apartment in Alphabet City. It was in the news
quite a bit, especially after the primary suspect was
cleared."
"That does ring a bell," Talcott said. "So much strife
in the news these days, who can remember a name? But
the case does sound familiar. Boy's father was accused
of the crime, wasn't he?"
"That's right. Want to know something else?" I said.
Talcott seemed unsure of how to respond, so he simply
said, "Sure."
"Stephen Gaines was my brother."
"I--I'm sorry to hear that. My condolences."
"See, my brother worked with those two guys, Scott
Callahan and Kyle Evans. And my brother confided everything in me." This part was BS. We'd had one conversation lasting thirty seconds and I didn't even know he
was my brother at the time. "And he told me that Scott
and Kyle were employed--that's a loose term--by 718
Enterprises. Who worked out of your building. Now, if
you still don't remember them I can get you the documentation and you'll see it at the same time we print it." I
looked at Talcott's desk. Saw a photo of him with a
woman and young boy on a beach, all three beaming. "I
don't know how I'd explain to my son why Daddy's
picture is all over the news."
Talcott turned a ghastly shade of white, and rocked back
in his chair. The chair, unfortunately, did not lean back with
him, and he nearly toppled over before righting himself.
Talcott cleared his throat before suddenly leaning
The Darkness
69
down to rummage under his desk. I felt my fingers gripping the sides of the chair--was he going for a gun?
My nerves quieted when I saw what Talcott was reaching for a bottle of Glenfiddich single malt, aged twentyone years. Slightly less dangerous than a gun, though
from the shaking of his hands my guess was that after we
left, Talcott would drink enough to make him sleep like
he'd been shot.
He brought up a small tumbler, filled it to the brim, and
downed it, closing his eyes. He looked at us, slight embarrassment on his face. Then he pushed the bottle toward
us.
"No thanks," I said. "I didn't have breakfast."
Jack looked right past the bottle. I watched his reaction, but there was none.
Talcott coughed into his fist. His eyes were a little
watery. I got the feeling he didn't particularly enjoy the
scotch, but needed it enough to get around that small detail.
"You don't know what it's like out there," he said.
"Out where?" said Jack. "What are you talking about?"
"The economy is in the toilet. The dollar is barely
worth the paper it's printed on."
"I cash my paychecks," I added. "We know this."
"But companies...they're getting hit the hardest. There
aren't as many customers to go around, and the customers that they do have, well the money they pay doesn't
buy what it used to."
"What's your point?"
"Sixteen-twenty Avenue of the Americas, we've lost
a dozen tenants from that building in the last two years.
Two years! And you know how many tenants have moved
in? One. That's a few hundred grand that we used to be
making that just disappeared in the wind."
70
Jason Pinter
Talcott paused, eyed the bottle.
"We needed the extra money."
"And..." I said.
"That company...718 Enterprises...they never leased
the property," Talcott said. "They were never officially on
our ledger. They never paid us a dime."
"Then why
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