Blind to Sin Read online

  “You just got out.” Jesus wiped his nose. “That ain’t you anyway. Not if you can help it.”

  “It is who I am. Maybe it’s time to embrace it.”

  Jesus looked at the three men who escorted him in. They were standing at the front door, staring down two college kids who came in to pick up their take-out.

  “Why you telling me this? Why you want to meet up with me?”

  “I need information. I want to know what Cole and Manuel have been up to the past few years. This whole situation is weird.”

  “Tell me what you mean.” Jesus’s voice had lost some of its bounciness.

  “It has all the makings of ‘one last job,’ except Cole is hiring people to pull the job. He could have done it himself.”

  “Including you?”

  Donne shook his head. “He didn’t want me on the job. He tried to kill me.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t trust you. I wouldn’t.”

  Donne didn’t any anything.

  “I am going to have to look into this some more. That phone you called me from. It’s a cell.”

  “Burner.”

  “Keep it for a little while. I will get you some information.”

  “That’s what you do, Jesus.”

  “This time, though—you’re gonna owe me.”

  A waitress came over again, but Jesus waved her away. The restaurant was strangely quiet. Donne expected more chatter, but Jesus’ men were keeping that clamped down.

  “How?”

  Jesus shrugged. “We’ll talk about that when I get you your info.”

  “There are a lot of loose threads here. Keep an ear out for a man named Haskins too.”

  Jesus leaned across the table. “Oh, Jackson. What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Story of your life?”

  Donne didn’t respond. Jesus threw a twenty on the table. Then he got up and patted him on the shoulder. Then he walked to the front door.

  “I’ll be in touch very soon,” he called. “Maybe, don’t even leave.”

  The bell on the door rang as he opened it.

  Donne finished his iced tea.

  COLE WASN’T scary. He never was. At one point in her life, Tammy actually loved him. After Kenneth went away, Tammy would curl up in Cole’s arms and just lay there. No sex. No kissing. No talking. Just warmth and quiet. She loved him. And, she was sure, he loved having her.

  But now?

  As Cole towered over her, face contorted in rage, waving his gun in the air and ranting, Tammy didn’t flinch. She stared at him.

  “He’s gone! You just let Donne climb out the window and run?”

  “Elliot.”

  “How could you? He’s going to ruin everything! He’s out there doing God knows what.”

  “Elliot!”

  “You ruined everything! You did.” The gun barrel was directed at the ceiling and Tammy waited for him to put a bullet in the plaster.

  “Elliot,” she said.

  “What?” he screamed.

  “Why did you tell me I still had cancer?” She didn’t shout.

  “What?” he repeated. This time not as loud.

  “I saw the reports on your desk. I am cancer free. Tell me why you did this to me.”

  Cole opened his mouth and closed it. He lowered the gun to his side. A shadow fell across his face.

  “There’s always been a plan,” he said.

  “Maybe you could fill me in on it.” Tammy didn’t move as she spoke.

  “Because,” he said. “Because…” His nose scrunched up.

  Tammy waited.

  “Because how else would I convince him to do this? How else?”

  The air went out of Tammy. She sat back down on the bed and waited until her lungs—what was left of them—filled again. This wasn’t about her. It never was. What the fuck? It was about some long time ago brotherhood. And Cole screwed with her over that. Lied to her.

  Put her through hell.

  “You need to let me go, now,” she said.

  Cole tilted his head.

  “Now. I’m out.”

  He lifted the gun.

  “You’re going to shoot me, Elliot? After all this?” Tammy spread her hands. “Go ahead. I have nothing left.”

  Cole held the gun steady. Tammy took a deep breath and stood up. Walked into the gun, pressed the barrel against her chest. She felt it hard against the surgical scar.

  “There is nothing else you can do to me, Elliot,” she said. “You’ve pushed me far enough.”

  The barrel made a mark in her skin. She could feel it.

  Cole stared at her.

  Tammy looked over his shoulder at the books on the bookcase. Which one would she take with her?

  “Let me go,” she said. “You’ve lost me now. And you know it.”

  The gun remained pressed against her chest. The pressure from the barrel hurt more than the incision did. Tammy’s breath was even. The air was cold.

  “Or shoot me.” Tammy waited a beat. “Either way, make up your mind.”

  Manuel wasn’t there. He promised he would help. But she picked the wrong time. Now she was counting on Cole having some sort of conscience. She held her breath, waiting for the shot to come.

  Cole put the gun down.

  “Where was Donne going?” he asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  Tammy walked out the room. She kept walking, nightgown and all, until she was halfway up the road.

  HERRICK FOUND himself in Manhattan, in his dad’s hotel, just as Kenneth was leaving. And not just for the afternoon. The totally packed up kind of leaving. Herrick spotted Kenneth in the lobby with three black duffel bags, struggling to avoid people trying to check in as he headed toward the door. He couldn’t stay out of Herrick’s way, however.

  “Can I carry one of those for you?” Herrick held out a hand. “Come on, Dad.”

  Kenneth looked up at him—Matt had him by six inches—and scowled. Then handed over a duffel bag. It was light and didn’t clack when it moved, so it had to be clothing. The other two bags rattled with each movement Kenneth made. Herrick assumed those were the computers.

  “Where are we going?” Herrick asked.

  “It’s time to get things started.”

  Herrick refused to reference The Muppet Show, and followed his dad out to the street. His dad stuck out a hand and hailed a cab. A yellow car screeched to a halt in front of them. Synchronicity.

  They got into the taxi.

  “Where to?”

  “Hoboken,” Kenneth said.

  “That is eighty bucks.” The cab driver said it through gritted teeth.

  “That’s okay. My son can take care of it.”

  Herrick didn’t respond. Instead, as the driver pulled into traffic, he said, “We’re going to my place?”

  “Don’t you remember how this worked when you were a kid?”

  Herrick shook his head. “No, I think my nose was in all those basketball strategy books you used to give me when we went on road trips. You didn’t want me to know.”

  Kenneth shrugged. “Had to keep you occupied. I think you always understood what was going on, though.”

  Herrick stared back at him. He didn’t speak.

  “You stage at one place, and then when it’s time to go, you move on. Don’t want the cops to catch up to me.”

  “That really works? Cops are smart.”

  They wheeled through traffic toward the Lincoln Tunnel. Herrick tried to make sure the cabbie wasn’t taking the long route. He didn’t seem to be, and he was managing to avoid red lights. Any time Herrick drove in the city, all he hit was the color red. The shows were getting out now, Manhattan’s nightlife switching from the older crowd to the younger folk out for drinks.

  Even on a Monday, New York never, ever slowed down.

  “We are setting up shop at your place. It’s close to the event, and no one is staking it out.”

  “What ab
out Cole? He knows where I live.” A sliver of ice ran down the back of Herrick’s spine. He dared not mention Sarah.

  “We’re doing this for Elliot. For Tammy.”

  “Dad, this doesn’t feel right.”

  “We’re going the day after tomorrow.”

  The cabbie glanced at them in the rearview mirror.

  “Oh, fuck you. I’m not a terrorist,” Kenneth said.

  The cabbie blinked, then hung a quick right. Into the middle of a traffic jam. Dad should have kept his mouth shut. This was going to cost an arm and a leg now.

  “And then what?” Herrick asked. “What happens when you’re done? Assuming you live through this.”

  Kenneth sniffled. “I’ll be out of your life forever.”

  “You’re blind if you think this is going to work.” Herrick shifted in his seat. “Dad, I’m asking you to be smart.”

  “I need to save your mother.”

  “Mom isn’t sick.”

  “Don’t screw with me.”

  Herrick hated to drop it on him like that. “Mom doesn’t need chemo. Elliot lied to her.”

  Kenneth cracked his neck. “No. You’re lying to me. You think telling me will make me stop.”

  “I want you to be smart. You got out of jail. You’re free, and you’re running right back into the muck. Mom doesn’t need help—not in this way. We need to save her, but not from cancer. She doesn’t have it.”

  “Stop lying!”

  “Dad—”

  Kenneth turned toward Herrick. “You’ve never accepted me or Mom. You needed those books as a distraction from who you are. You went into the Army—”

  “Because you got arrested and I had nowhere else to go!”

  Kenneth pressed his lips together.

  “I had no choice. Mom ran off with Cole. You went to prison. I didn’t want to be around for your trial. I didn’t want to be in this country. I couldn’t handle it. I can teach, Dad. I do it well. And I shouldn’t have to teach you that armed robbery is bad. Isn’t this a lesson you should have learned a long fucking time ago?”

  The cabbie took another turn and suddenly the Lincoln Tunnel’s mouth was in front of them—a dark abyss.

  “You can run, son. You’re a Herrick. This is what we love.”

  “I don’t want to run. I want you to be smart.”

  “You’ve run from me all your life.”

  They drove into the tunnel.

  As the radio staticked out, Kenneth said, “Day after tomorrow, you earn your last name. We’re going to be rich, and we are going to save your mother.”

  Matt Herrick put his head in his hands and didn’t speak until they got to the apartment. Kenneth got out of the cab without even looking at the driver. Herrick paid him with every piece of cash he had.

  Herrick let his dad into the apartment, all the while trying to come up with the words to change his mind. They ignored the elevator—too many people were waiting for it—and took the stairs. But they did so in silence. The only sound was the thunk of their shoes on the metal staircase.

  They pushed the door open and walked down the hallway. Herrick took his keys out. He opened the door only to see Sarah standing on the other side.

  And his mother lying on the couch, her face pale and ashen.

  She said, “Hello.”

  And Kenneth sank to his knees. The duffel bags clunked to the floor next to him.

  “You can’t be here,” he said.

  “Too late,” Tammy whispered.

  DONNE FINISHED his burrito and wanted to lick the empty plate. The owner, a tall guy with a five o’clock shadow and football player build, stared at him. Probably recognized Donne from all the hell that had broken loose a few years ago—the stuff with Bill Martin.

  Didn’t matter. There was nothing this guy could do about it. Not anymore. Donne didn’t really have a chance to think about his freedom. Too much running around with Kenneth; too much worry about Matt Herrick. But right now, Donne was a free man and didn’t have the cops on his tail. It was a new feeling. Like someone had moved things out of his way.

  Maybe he should take off.

  The bell at the entrance jingled, snapping Donne out of his reverie. He looked up and saw Jesus walk in. This time he was alone. He nodded at the owner, who winked at him. Donne checked the window and saw Jesus’ entourage standing on the sidewalk, hands in their pockets.

  Donne’s back muscles tightened up like a snare drum.

  Jesus took a seat on the other side of the table and took his phone out of his pocket. He looked at it for a few seconds while tapping the screen. Donne breathed through his nose and out through his mouth, as if running a 5K.

  “Neil Haskins is a doctor, no?” Jesus tapped on the screen some more.

  Donne shrugged. “I know nothing about him.”

  “He’s a doctor, oncology. But off the record.”

  Donne didn’t get it. “I don’t get it.”

  “It’s not our thing, my guys and me. We have our own health insurance, but Neil Haskins worked for the National Guard for a long time. I talked to some of my buddies out there. They said he’s good at what he does.”

  Donne said, “Okay.” Like move it along.

  “He was kind of crazy. Some misdiagnosis with some of the guardsmen—said it was stage five testicular cancer. Wasn’t. Crazy too. General said he was ‘aloof.’ So they let him leave a little early. They also didn’t like that he fell in love with Parada.”

  Donne shifted in his seat. Kind of started to see where this was going now. Tammy. He should have seen it a while ago, but he was a step slow these days.

  “This guy, I guess Cole hired him next.”

  Jesus nodded.

  “Yes. I guess Cole’s wife had cancer. Cole found him through Manuel—since they were lovers, you know.”

  “You talked to some of Manuel’s former gang buddies too?”

  Jesus shrugged. “I talk to a lot of people.. No Dr. Haskins, administered some chemo and spread the word of how great Cuban medication was.”

  Donne asked, “Neil. Is he cheap help?”

  “Fuck no,” Jesus said. “None of these guys are cheap. He cost an arm and a leg.”

  “Cole was supposed to have used his last dollar to bust us out of jail.”

  Jesus started laughing. “His last dollar? My boys say Cole is worth a pretty penny. Still.”

  Donne tilted his head. The gears were starting to click into place. He tried to remember what Kenneth was like in prison. What he talked about. It was always stories. The glory of the job.

  And how Tammy wanted out.

  Donne stood up.

  Jesus’ head snapped up. “Where you going? I ain’t done.”

  “I have to go talk to my partner.”

  “You got a partner? Shit, you been busy since you got out.”

  “I need one more thing, Jesus. Guns.”

  Jesus laughed. “Oh, yeah. Hold up. I got that right in my trunk.”

  Donne waited.

  “Get the fuck outta here, Jackson. I don’t have that. You know what my thing is. You want that stuff, you know who you should talk to?”

  “Who?”

  “Your old buddy. The one who was in Nam. He’s got friends. Isn’t that how you first met?”

  Donne ignored Jesus and headed for the front door. Artie wasn’t the guy to see about this. He wondered if he missed the last train to Hoboken.

  They weren’t trying to save Tammy. That wasn’t what this was about. This was about Elliot Cole and Kenneth Herrick making one last go of it. One more job. For the record books.

  And Donne was right in the middle.

  As usual.

  Donne burst through the front door and Jesus’ entourage stared at him.

  “Thanks for the help,” he mumbled. They nodded back at him.

  Donne pulled the burner phone and scrolled through the few saved numbers he had. He almost clicked on Kenneth’s cell but ignored it. Instead, he went for Matt Herrick. His finger hovered
over the call button, but stopped there too.

  No, there was one more number he kept. The one he kept since he was in the coffee shop.

  He dialed Sarah Cullen. She answered after two rings.

  “Are you alone?”

  Sarah said, “Who is this?”

  “Jackson Donne.”

  “Oh, I didn’t recognize—”

  “Are you alone?” Donne found himself running, but didn’t know why. There wasn’t anything he could do at the moment, but the adrenaline pouring through his veins propelled him.

  “No. They’re all here. Both Herricks…” She paused to chuckle. “And Tammy. You lose their numbers?”

  “No,” Donne said. “But you gotta separate Matt from the group. I have to talk to him privately.”

  “Is that Donne? Why didn’t he call me?” It was Kenneth in the background. “We need him here.”

  “Hold on,” Sarah said. “Can you just get up here?”

  Donne shook his head. What other choice did he have?

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Good,” Sarah said. “Maybe you can talk some sense into them. Like we talked about.”

  Donne ended the call. He hoped he could do better than that. The coolness of the air made his sweat feel like ice. The train station was empty. On the board was a schedule saying another Hoboken train was due in fifteen minutes. The air in Donne’s lung caught. A stroke of luck.

  His burner phone rang again. This time it was Kenneth.

  Donne answered.

  “You on your way?” Kenneth asked.

  “Yeah. Be there in an hour and a half.”

  “Good. We need you.” There was a moment of silence. Then, “You made me step away from my family to call you. You made me walk away from my work.”

  Donne didn’t say anything. His prison days made him want to apologize, but he kept his mouth shut.

  “Also,” Kenneth said, his voice lowering into a whisper. “You were lucky to leave when you did. Elliot talked to a few people today. Paid a couple of guys. They just took care of your friend Jesus.”

  The phone call ended. Then it buzzed with a picture message. Donne opened it. Jesus Sanchez and his three men were lying on the sidewalk, bullet ridden and lifeless, outside Papa Grande.

  Slayground