Blind to Sin Page 12

  Behind them cars whizzed past on the road, paying no attention to anything else. Their days just went on. The guard passed Herrick’s paperwork back to him.

  “I’m going to raise the gate. When I do, pull just beyond it. A car will come meet up with you and escort you to your parking spot. You will then meet with Major John Christenson.”

  The guard stepped back and pressed a button. The candy striped gate in front of them raised and Herrick drove through. He was careful to do as he was asked, immediately pulling over and waiting. Nearly two minutes later, a green military Jeep pulled up in front of him. The driver waved for him to follow. Herrick did.

  They took two left turns and parked in front of a two-story brick building. Herrick got out of the car and nodded at the Jeep driver, who drove off. He entered the building and found a man with the nametag Christenson standing at the front desk waiting for him.

  It wasn’t Jiminy Cricket.

  The major didn’t hold out his hand for a handshake. Instead his arms were folded and he looked like he was about to scold Herrick. The memories started to rush back to Herrick and he quickly balled his fists to try to suppress the tremors.

  Not here. Not now.

  “What can I do for you?” the major asked.

  Herrick surveyed the room. It was plain and dated, as if constructed in the seventies. The walls were wood paneled. A ratty old couch, the kind you’d find in a fraternity house, was pushed up against the far wall. In front of it was a table with old magazines on it. Other than Herrick, the major and a man behind the reception desk doing paperwork, there was no one else in the room. The air conditioner was blowing so hard it made Herrick shiver.

  “I’m looking for someone.”

  The major didn’t respond.

  “I am working a very important investigation. A few days ago, I was up in Vernon asking questions when a man came by to talk to me. He threatened me.”

  Herrick watched the major’s reaction. There wasn’t any.

  “When we were done talking, he thought we went our separate ways. But I followed him. All the way down here. He pulled in through the gates, and that’s when I ‘lost’ him. I’d like to talk to him today.”

  The major nodded. “You get a name?”

  “No. He referred to himself as, um, my conscience. In my head I’ve been calling him Jiminy Cricket.” Herrick smiled.

  The major didn’t. “Let me get this straight. You drove all the way down here to talk to a guy you followed from Vernon. And you’re calling him Jiminy Cricket?”

  Herrick nodded.

  “You’re wasting my time. You know that, right?” The major’s voice sounded like coffee going through a grinder.

  “I’m just trying to get some information.”

  “This is ridiculous. Go home.”

  Herrick opened his mouth about to say more, to try to convince the major to talk to him.

  Before he could utter a word, the alarms on the base started going off. Without missing a beat, both the major and the man behind the reception desk bolted out into the parking lot. Herrick had to fight the nerves down again.

  The alarm got even louder. Outside, people were scattering, running, trying to figure out just what the hell was going on.

  Herrick watched through the window, trying to force himself to join them. He’d left his ASP at home, but if there was a security issue, at least he could be an asset. He glanced at each face as they sprinted by.

  And then he saw him. One man not running, but walking like he was out for a late night stroll.

  Elliot Cole’s buddy. The one Donne said he beat the hell out of.

  Manuel. With a big ass black eye.

  HERRICK SPRINTED out the door toward Manuel, who was casually getting into a Jeep. One of those deep green Jeeps with a star on the side of it. An instant later the engine roared to life. The alarm bells still clambered, and military men were running toward the entrance.

  Herrick wished he didn’t leave his ASP home. He ran hard. The Jeep backed out of its spot, turning away from all the running guards. Herrick leaped for the Jeep and grabbed the door handle. He pulled hard and it opened, but nearly ripped his shoulder out of its socket. The Jeep braked and with his free hand, Herrick reached into the car and grabbed Manuel by his shirt. Pulling Manuel toward the open door, Herrick hoped he would slam on the brakes and stop the Jeep completely.

  Instead, Manuel punched Herrick in the face. Herrick’s head snapped back and he lost his grip on the shirt. He stumbled backward and the Jeep accelerated away. Herrick rolled in the dust, his shoulder screaming in pain.

  Herrick turned to find three guardsmen aiming rifles at him. They screamed to freeze and to raise his hands. He tried to do both. The alarms stopped ringing, but left a buzzing in Herrick’s ear. He counted to ten in his head and prayed no one had an itchy trigger finger. Loud alarms tended to set people with guns on edge. He didn’t want to find out how good the guards’ aim was.

  No one took a shot.

  Christenson suddenly appeared, and stepped to the side of the guard, not in front of them like you’d see in a movie. The major wasn’t an idiot, and wasn’t about to get himself shot by some hair trigger. But he did yell out that they should lower their weapons.

  He had to yell it twice before they listened. Christenson shook his head as they did. Once they lowered their weapons, he walked over to Herrick. His face was as red as a British soldier’s uniform.

  “Come with me,” he said. “Damn it.”

  THEY WERE in a room much like an interrogation room at a police station. Herrick hated rooms like this, and it was the last place he wanted to be. Not while Manuel was getting away.

  Again.

  “Are you going to let me go?” Herrick asked. It was a pain in the ass to waste time here.

  Christenson shrugged. “Depends on what you have to say. You know attacking a military vehicle raises some eyebrows.”

  Herrick frowned. “I was hoping you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have come.”

  “I’m a private investigator. It’s my job.”

  “You carrying?”

  It felt like a shadow crossed over Herrick’s face. They had already searched him.

  “First off, I don’t do guns,” he said. “Second, you’re really wasting my time.”

  Christenson nodded. “While we had you in here, I looked you up.”

  Herrick rubbed his chin. He figured that was what they were doing while he stewed for an hour. Thank God he didn’t have to take a piss.

  “You know about what I did in the sandbox, then?”

  Christenson sniffled. “You shot a kid.”

  “One strapped with a bomb, who had already killed one of my best friends and was going to kill the rest of us.”

  “You did your job.”

  Herrick’s turn to nod. “And I’ll never shoot anyone again.”

  “Never say never.”

  Herrick balled his fists.

  “I have big time respect for a man like you, Herrick. But you swung at a Jeep with one of my guys in there. Probably a reason for that.”

  “That was someone I know.”

  “Jiminy Cricket?”

  “No, actually. But they’re probably connected.”

  The silence hung in the air. Christenson looked up at the ceiling.

  “Fuck,” he finally said.

  Herrick waited. Behind Christenson, the walls were bland, a faded beige bordering on white. Herrick wondered why these rooms were always so boring. No pizzazz. Maybe because the more bored you were, the more likely you’d be willing to talk. Herrick wasn’t in the mood to spill the beans on his dad, Cole and Donne, but he worried he wouldn’t have a choice.

  “Why are you looking for him?” Christenson asked, as if Herrick hadn’t already answered that question nearly two hours ago. Probably just stalling for time.

  Herrick reminded him of the answer. Then asked, “I wasn’t. But why was Manuel?”

&nb
sp; “I don’t need to tell you anything. You walked in here and broke government property.”

  “You know about me. You said so yourself. I’m a good guy. I’m not here to mess around. You also know Manuel probably set off the alarms so he could get away. I mean, you all went running to the front gate and he waltzed out the backdoor essentially.”

  Christenson flared his nostrils. “Manuel is—was—one of ours. But…the name Neil Haskins mean anything to you?”

  Herrick shook his head no. The last name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

  “No idea why it would. He’s faceless. Lifelong Army brat who didn’t like the real thing. So he took the weekend job with us. He met Manuel Parada here. They fell in love. I don’t know much about Neil. Before he came here, his dad moved him around. Bruce Haskins was his dad, I think. I’m trying to remember from his file. I think he went into medicine.”

  And that’s when Herrick’s stomach turned to ice. He took a deep breath. The name Neil Haskins wasn’t a familiar one. But Jim was.

  Herrick stood up. “Can I go?”

  “What? No. We’re not done.”

  “I need to get out of here.”

  “What’s the matter? I don’t understand.”

  Herrick couldn’t explain. Not until he talked to his dad. Because Bruce Haskins was the world’s biggest psychopath.

  Someone even his dad wouldn’t work with. In fact, Herrick had only heard stories.

  And all of them ended with someone dying.

  DONNE HAD his own mission.

  Kenneth had sent him out for supplies. It was an odd feeling, not worrying about using his credit card. Not worried about being followed. At least not by law enforcement.

  Because Herrick’s girlfriend, Sarah Cullen, had been trailing him for about two blocks now. He checked the time in the window of the bank as he strolled past it and saw it was after three o’clock. He wondered what time she got out of work.

  And how she found him.

  He shook his head absently at Herrick’s carelessness. He must have told her. Of course it was his fault.

  Donne walked another block and then turned into a Starbucks. He got in line and waited. He wondered how much she wanted to be seen, and if she would just keep walking. She didn’t. Less than sixty seconds later, Sarah walked in. Donne exhaled. He turned toward her.

  “Hi, Sarah,” he said.

  She frowned. “You’re not surprised.”

  “I was surprised about three blocks ago. I got used to it. Want a coffee? I’m gonna get one.”

  “We have to talk.”

  Donne nodded. “Coffee first.”

  Sarah sighed, gave him an order and went and took a seat at a table across the room. Minutes later, Donne joined her.

  “I want to talk to you,” she said. “Not Matt, not Matt’s dad. You.”

  Donne took a sip of his coffee. Sarah did the same with her latte. They didn’t speak. Donne waited. He didn’t really have time for bullshit. He had computers to buy.

  “Why are you dragging Matt into your world again?” Sarah finally asked.

  Donne sat back. The Starbucks chair creaked under his weight. “I’m not dragging him into anything. His dad needs him.”

  “For what? His dad is a criminal—”

  “Was a criminal. He’s out of jail now.” Donne realized he had no idea what she knew. He wasn’t about to let even simple verb tenses get himself into trouble later. Donne had slipped up enough in life. A guidance counselor wasn’t going to get him into more trouble.

  Not today, at least.

  “When I was a kid,” Sarah said, “in—I think—ninth grade, my friends and I used to go to the movies all the time.”

  Donne sighed. He didn’t have time for this shit.

  “Anyway, we used to movie hop, right? Buy a ticket for one movie and then see a second. You have to time it just right, but—”

  Donne said, “I know what you’re talking about.”

  Sarah fiddled with her coffee cup. “Anyway, one of the girls who came with us, her name was Lisa. She liked to steal candy from the concession too. We lived in a small town and, well—”

  “Wait a minute. Are you trying to sell me some bullshit about your past to keep me from using Matt?”

  Sarah drank her coffee. She didn’t say anything.

  “You work at the school, don’t you, Sarah?”

  “Yes.”

  “Think you’re a little out of your league in this conversation?”

  Sarah tilted her head and squinted. “And you aren’t? Matt told me about you. You gave yourself up to the cops as some form of penance. And you think you can handle dealing with the people Matt’s dad deals with?”

  Donne’s coffee steamed as the cup rested on the table. “What do you do at the school? A teacher?”

  “Guidance counselor.”

  Donne nodded. “So you deal with kids in trouble. Troubled lives and all that?”

  “Poor kids. Abusive parents. Gang members. I’ve heard it all. I worked kids through a lot of bad shit.”

  Donne leaned across the table. “I’ve seen worse than any of them. And Matt? You know Matt’s story—he’s seen, and done, bad shit too. So why are you worried about them?”

  Sarah put her cup down hard. “You don’t get it. Where’s your sense of humanity? Matt is just getting his feet back under him. Things are really, really good between us. He has people—kids—who depend on him. And you’re helping him throw it all away.”

  “Matt’s a big boy.”

  “So are you.”

  “We need him.”

  “Why?”

  Donne didn’t say anything.

  “What happened to you, Jackson? Last year, Matt, he believed in you. I know you can help him get out of this. I don’t care about his dad and I don’t even care about you. But you have a soul.”

  Donne worked his jaw. The low rumble of crowd noise behind him turned to static in his ears. He turned his head and looked out the window, watching traffic go past.

  “I’m a different person.”

  “Jail changed you?”

  Donne nodded.

  Sarah stood up. “It took me a long time to re-build my life too. My friend Lisa? She got us both arrested the night she wanted to steal a car. I spent two years in juvie. You don’t hear about that with kids from Ridgewood. But it’s true.” She took a breath. “Matt doesn’t even know that.”

  Donne watched her hovering over him, cheeks red.

  “I’ve seen shit too. I know jail can change you. It’s funny, isn’t it? How people can end up in the same circle? You, me, Matt’s dad—all circling around Matt’s life. Things happen for a reason. I don’t know why you are here, but I want him to survive this. There’s a future for us. Don’t let what happened to you and me happen to him too.”

  She stormed off. Donne counted to fifteen after she left before he started drinking his coffee.

  KENNETH LOOKED over the computer monitor at Jackson Donne. Donne had to use his second credit card as Visa had finally shut down the one he’d been using. But the computer store, a dinky place on the East Side, accepted the second one and passed the laptop over. Once he got back, Kenneth took it, set it up and started typing. Donne waited until Kenneth looked up.

  “At any given time,” Kenneth said, “the Federal Reserve could have up to sixty billion dollars in cash in its walls.”

  “That’s crazy.” Donne rubbed his face. “Don’t they just keep all of that on a computer chip?”

  Kenneth ignored the comment. “In 2003, twelve billion dollars earmarked for Iraq went missing. Some say it ended up somewhere in Lebanon, but the government wasn’t able to track it down. That’s what I’m working on. How did that cash—real, live hundred dollar bills—go missing? Because if we can figure that out, then thirty million dollars is a drop in the bucket. They’ll never be able to find us.”

  Donne rubbed his face. “I don’t buy it. Thirty mil is a ton of money.”

  Kenneth
shook his head. “Like pocket change to these guys.”

  He went back to tapping away at the computer. Donne walked over to the other side of the beds and stared out the window at the brick wall across the street. He listened to the ambient sounds of traffic and wished he was anywhere else. The city was overwhelming, a shadow hanging over everyone’s head.

  But this was where Kenneth wanted to set up. Away from Elliot and out of the perimeter of the Federal Reserve. You could hide in New York. Or so he thought. Donne didn’t remind Kenneth about Manuel, nor did he tell him about Herrick’s girlfriend.

  Someone knocked at the door.

  Kenneth slowly closed the laptop, and Donne went over to the door and looked though the peephole. On the other side was Matt. Donne exhaled and pulled the door open.

  Herrick stormed into the room. Looked at Kenneth and then to Donne.

  “Come walk with me,” Herrick said. “I need to talk to you.”

  “I think we can both stand to hear what you have to say.”

  “You’re gonna want to hear this alone.”

  Donne shook his head, and Herrick took a step toward him. His cheeks were flushed and a sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. Donne didn’t flinch at the approach. His hands were in fists before he realized it.

  Kenneth stood up. “Go. I don’t give a shit. You can tell me later.”

  They stepped into the hallway and Donne closed the door. Herrick counted to three, long enough for Donne to raise his eyebrows.

  “Manuel’s a National Guardsman,” Herrick said.

  Donne’s stomach felt like it was going to crawl up through his throat.

  “He’s in love with Jiminy Cricket.”

  Pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose, Donne said, “Who?”

  “Haskins. His name is Neil Haskins.”

  The name meant nothing to Donne.

  “The National Guard guy?” he asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “Jiminy Cricket,” Herrick said. “Neil Haskins is Jiminy Cricket. He’s Bruce Haskins son. And he’s dating Manuel, who apparently heals quickly.”