An Empty Hell Read online

  “Where is Jackson Donne?”

  Herrick said, “He’s gone.”

  After another sip, Herrick put the ice pack down, picked up the phone, and took it off speaker. He pressed it to his ear.

  “I had him here, just like you said. But apparently, he’s tougher than you are. He just beat the crap out of me and ran. I’d imagine he’s wandering the streets of Hoboken now, if you want to find him. Or maybe he caught a cab. I don’t know how much money he has. We kind of rushed out of Vermont, you know?”

  “Find him.”

  “No.”

  The movie screen in his head continued to flicker. Generals questioning him. Some congratulating him. The boy’s body was still warm. The security guard—his good friend—was dead at the front gate. The bomb squad investigating. It didn’t matter.

  Herrick wanted out. He just wanted out. To go home, find a way to make things right. They gave him a medal and sent him to a shrink. The shrink told him he could go home. The military officials tried to bring him back, though, until he broke down shaking when they handed him a rifle. That’s when they stamped his file, or closed his computer program, or whatever it was they did. That’s when the tension left his shoulders.

  “You’re going to tell me someone will die again, aren’t you?” The force behind Herrick’s voice surprised him.

  Lucas didn’t say anything.

  “I’m flipping the tables now. I’m going to find you. I’m coming for you.” Herrick took another swig of beer.

  “You’re making a big mistake.”

  Herrick shook his head, even though he knew Lucas couldn’t see him. “I don’t think so. I think you’re off your game. Your brother is dead, but he was gutsier than you. At least he showed his face to Jackson Donne. Is that why I had to go up there and bring Donne back? Because you’re scared to show your face? And you’re scared he would take you out just like Steve?”

  Something crashed on the other end of the line.

  “Don’t you say his name!”

  Herrick took another sip of beer.

  “You don’t know the mistake you’ve made.”

  “That’s twice you’ve said that, but somehow I don’t believe it. You had your chance to take us both out, but you fired warning shots. I think you need us alive.”

  Lucas cleared his throat. “I’m surprised you’re willing to risk your friends.”

  “I think I can get to you before you can get to them.” Herrick thought his words over. “You need me for something. That’s why you made sure I only got wounded the other day. And it’s why you’re only threatening my team and my friends. What is it?”

  “Oh, you’re going to die, and soon.” Lucas tried to growl the words, but they came out squeaky.

  “But why am I so important to your search for Donne? I was hired by a client, that’s all.”

  Lucas sniffled. “You don’t know, do you? You’re very important. But not to me.”

  The line went dead. Herrick put the phone down and finished his beer. He looked at the clock and saw it flip to 3 a.m. He’d been on the phone a long time. He leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes, expecting to dream of that day in the desert again. It came to him a lot, but he was used to it. Like an old newsreel. The boy’s name was Amer. It translated to “One Who Builds.” Herrick always wanted to know why Amer came to destroy things.

  He’d never get an answer.

  Sleep came easily and, for once, Amer didn’t visit. It felt like he barely closed his eyes. The ASP was at his side. The tumbler next to it, empty. Herrick didn’t dream at all. Not even of the plays he wanted to run during the first game. The team he was forgetting about didn’t haunt him either.

  It felt like only five minutes passed. In reality it was three hours. The sun was up when Herrick’s eyes snapped open. Someone was knocking at the door, slamming on it with a fist. He grabbed the ASP off the table and went to the peephole.

  Sarah Cullen was banging on the door.

  And she was screaming his name.

  DONNE GOT off the train and hoped things hadn’t changed in the past year. And, at first, outside the train station, things felt right. New Brunswick was still a sleepy college town at 7 a.m. A few people in suits drank lattes and hurried up the hill toward Johnson & Johnson. Donne took the hill too, past the new strip of stores along Easton, and a barbecue joint he wanted to try. He crossed Somerset and continued on into the world of college bars.

  A block away, he saw a cop car headed in his direction. Donne ducked his head and made a left. He took the long way, up past Papa Grande, a couple of liquor stores, and several houses that were falling apart. Students tried to keep them in good shape, but who knew how to take care of a house at age twenty-one? He pushed on and turned right, heading back to Easton. The cop car had passed.

  Two guys outside a truck munched on breakfast burritos. Donne wanted coffee and his stomach grumbled, but he had other things to take care of first. He got a quick forty-five-minute nap on the train, which left him energized and not groggy.

  Some snow flurries wafted down as he walked, and Donne was reminded that winter wasn’t just for Vermont. The flakes melted as they hit the last vestiges of fallen leaves on the sidewalks. He could see the Olde Towne two blocks ahead, but with a new neon sign that was already broadcasting itself this morning. Maybe Artie would be around this morning. On slow weekdays, Artie would normally come in at seven to do the bookkeeping and catch up on loose ends. Sometimes Donne would meet him for an early cup of coffee and to shoot the shit. It was one of the few things he’d missed when he went north.

  Donne stopped in front of the bar. The name was still the same, but it had gotten a new paint job and had a deck added on to it, for summer outdoor seating. It was clean, and the usual smell of old grease and last night’s beer was gone. Donne hesitated at the door for a moment, and then knocked.

  When no one answered, he tried the door and found it locked. Perhaps Artie wasn’t around, and Donne had gotten the scheduling wrong in his head. Maybe things had changed. He stroked his beard for a moment, and then knocked again—so hard pain traveled up his wrist like an electrical current.

  Now he heard movement from inside, a shuffling sound and a muffled voice. The electricity he felt in his wrist now traveled through his entire body.

  “We’re closed, it’s seven in the morning,” Artie said as he pulled the door open. His mouth went slack when he saw Donne. After a moment, he said, “Jesus Christ.”

  “Can I get a cup of coffee?” Donne asked.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Donne looked up into the sky and squinted at the flakes. “It’s snowing. Let me in.”

  Artie stuck his head out into the world and looked around. After a second, he stepped out of the way and let Donne in. The bar was different now, new tile floors and black plastic barstools. The old wooden bar had been painted black. On the walls were Rutgers memorabilia and Gaslight Anthem album covers. There were pictures of famous locals like Paul Robeson and Joyce Kilmer. James Gandolfini lit a cigar on Easton Avenue in one of them. All were in stark black and white. Flat-screen TVs tuned to SportsCenter and the Big Ten Network were attached to any piece of free wall space. Gone was the dive bar feel, replaced with a hometown sports bar vibe.

  “What the hell happened to this place?” Donne asked as he sat on a plastic-cushioned barstool.

  Artie went behind the bar and flicked on the coffee maker. He said, “You did.”

  Donne tapped on the bar for a second, trying to process the words. Finally, he said, “I don’t get it.”

  “For a few weeks you were hot shit. Everyone wanted to talk about you. The news was here every day. That guy who trashes the football team in the Ledger wanted to talk to me, get my opinion on if you’d be a distraction to the season.”

  Donne tilted his head. “That guy’s a good writer.”

  “The article actually was pretty fair.”

  “It’s a column, actually.” Donne tried t
o hide a smile. Like old times.

  “He should come in here on a Thursday night. I’m sure he’d get some stories.”

  Donne laughed. A real, honest to God laugh. It’d been a while.

  “So finally, I got an offer I couldn’t refuse. That guy from Bar Hero came around and offered to redo the place, if he could film himself yelling at me for a day or two. How could I say no?”

  “Business sucked?”

  Artie shook his head. “No. I needed new TVs. They wanted to capitalize on your fifteen minutes of fame. It was a circus here.”

  Artie reached behind the bar and pulled out a remote control. He aimed it at one of the flat-screens, brought up the DVR menu, found the episode he was looking for, and hit play. A burly man came on and stormed into the Olde Towne Tavern yelling about cleaning up the back of the kitchen.

  Donne watched for a few minutes, and then turned back to Artie.

  “What are you doing back, Jackson?”

  “It seems like the cops have cooled on me. Realized I hadn’t done anything. Time to come back.”

  Artie shook his head. “That’s not it. If that were the case, you’d have been back here eight months ago.”

  Donne nodded. “Did a PI come to talk to you about me? Maybe a week ago?”

  “Yep.” Artie nodded. “Maybe a little less than that.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That I didn’t know where you were.”

  The coffee maker stopped making coffee, so Artie pulled off the hot plate and poured two cups. Donne fixed his with a little bit of sugar and a lot of cream. He took a sip and the warmth filled him, chasing away the rest of the electricity.

  “Did you mention Leo Carver to him?”

  Artie took a sip of coffee. It was a short sip. Then he put the cup back down and wiped his lip.

  “I don’t remember.”

  “It’s important.”

  Donne looked up at the TV screen again. The host of the show pulled a cockroach out of one of the stoves. He screamed at Artie a bit.

  “That really happen?” Donne asked.

  Artie shook head. “No, it was a plant. Fun, though.” He took another swig of coffee. “I may have mentioned Leo. The guy asked a lot of questions about you. I know I sent him to Franklin and Susan. Do you know if he ever talked to them?”

  Donne shook his head. “He said he talked to Franklin. I don’t want to bother them or bring them into this if I don’t have to.”

  “Into what, Jackson? What’s going on?”

  Donne watched the steam rise from his mug and dissipate into the air.

  “They did a nice job here.”

  “Cut the crap.”

  After a deep breath, Donne said, “Someone’s trying to kill me.”

  Slapping the bar top, Artie said, “Jesus Christ. Again? And you come here? I finally got this place up and going to the point where it’s exciting again, and you bring that shit back in here.”

  Donne looked around. “Do you see anyone here trying to shoot me?”

  “Tell me what the deal is with the PI.”

  Matt Herrick. The Lucas brothers. Leo Carver. Donne filled Artie in on all of the events of the past week. Almost all, anyway. He left Mario out of it. He left the burying of two dead bodies out of it. That didn’t seem to be something Artie needed to know.

  “I may have mentioned Carver,” Artie finally said. “That guy was a big part of your past. And with everything that went on with Bill Martin—I don’t know. The PI, he asked a lot of good questions. Lured me into it.”

  Donne nodded. “It seems like he’s okay at his job.”

  “But you told me you didn’t trust him.”

  “I don’t. He’s trying to protect those people close to him and none of this is his fault. He’s going to do what’s best for him, not me.”

  “By being here, you’re not doing what’s best for me.”

  Donne looked around again. “You said this place happened because of me. Because of some terrible stuff I went through. Am still going through. I think I am owed this.”

  Artie opened his mouth and then shut it. He reached across the bar and squeezed Donne’s forearm.

  “I’m so sorry about Kate,” he said.

  Donne felt the electricity wash over him again. He shrugged Artie off and went for the coffee. He didn’t saw a word, just guzzled the rest of the hot liquid down. The burning of his esophagus felt like penance.

  “It’s just like Jeanne,” Artie said. “God, have you heard from Jeanne?”

  Donne simply said, “No.”

  As if a light bulb went on, Artie said, “I’m so sorry. I’m so stupid. Jesus Christ. I spent the last year profiting because people around you died. You were gone, I didn’t know what else to do. The bar and I thought—”

  Donne shook his head. “It’s fine.”

  “I don’t know what else to say, Jackson. You were gone. For all I knew you ended up like—” Artie stopped himself. “How can I help you?”

  “Did anyone else come in here looking for me?”

  “No.”

  Donne pushed the coffee away from him and stood up. “Good luck with the place, Artie.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Donne shrugged.

  “You can stay here. Upstairs. Until you find out what’s going on. I won’t tell anyone you’re here. It’s safe. Too many witnesses.”

  Donne said, “Thanks. One more request.”

  “Name it.”

  “Can I use your computer?”

  “That’s it?” Artie asked through a chuckle.

  “That’s it.” Donne didn’t laugh.

  Ten minutes and another cup of coffee later, results of a search on Leo Carver were popping up on Google.

  SARAH STORMED into the apartment, threw her purse on the couch, spun back toward Herrick, and crossed her arms. Herrick hadn’t even closed the door yet.

  “Are you okay?” he asked while shutting it.

  She was flushed red, and some of her makeup was streaked. His palms got immediately damp, and the tempo in his chest went straight to punk rock.

  “Do I look okay?” She didn’t look injured.

  “You’re mad about something,” he said as the locked clicked in.

  “Ya think?”

  Herrick ran a hand through his hair and waited. Sarah looked around the apartment, stopping on the two beer bottles, then coming back to his eyes.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Working.”

  “I’ve been calling you.”

  “My phone’s been out of range. And then dead.”

  Sarah swallowed and plopped down on the couch. She put her face in her hands, rubbing her eyes. Herrick leaned against the wall. The thumping in his chest slowed to reasonable levels. Back to Nickleback territory now.

  “I thought—” she said. She shook her head.

  “It’s okay,” he said.

  “We had a good time the other night. Then you left that message and fell off the face of the earth.”

  Herrick felt his heartbeat picking up the pace again

  “I was scared,” she said. “I came here to make sure you were alive.”

  After cleaning up the two empty beer bottles, Herrick took a seat next to her, leaving just enough room between them for the Holy Spirit. He wanted to put a hand on her back, but he didn’t.

  “I’m doing all right,” he said. “I found him.”

  Sarah sat up and turned toward him, laying her hands on her thighs. “Donne?”

  Herrick nodded. “After talking to you at the bar, it became clear.” She didn’t need to know a homicidal bounty hunter handed the information over to him.

  “Where was he?”

  “A small town in Vermont.”

  “You left him up there?”

  Herrick rubbed his side. “No. He came back with me.”

  “Wait. Where is he now?” She turned her head toward the bathroom.

  Shrugging, Herrick said, “He, uh,
got away.”

  Sarah shook her head.

  “You’re not at work,” he said.

  “I took a sick day.”

  “Because of me?”

  Sarah nodded this time, and her weight shifted on the couch in his direction. The air in the room was cold, an early morning chill, perfect for being under blankets. The heat hadn’t kicked in yet, and wouldn’t for another twenty minutes. Sun streamed in through the window, just now bursting over the New York skyline. Herrick kept his hands at his side.

  “I ,” she said. She looked at the ceiling, as if collecting her thoughts. “For you to leave the kids with the assistants last minute, it was weird. Felt wrong. Whenever you’ve done that before, you gave more notice. This time is so different than your other cases. You were so tense the other night.” She coughed. “And then you didn’t answer your phone.”

  “Vermont reception sucks. And then I had a wanted criminal in my car. Didn’t really have time to check my voice mail or answer texts.”

  She punched him in the shoulder. It didn’t sting.

  “You couldn’t spare thirty seconds?”

  “Most wanted man in New Jersey in my car. He takes precedence.”

  “And you let him get away.”

  “I told you I shouldn’t have looked at my phone.”

  She laughed, and suddenly the room felt warmer. He felt the couch sag as she inched closer to him. Herrick made fists.

  Outside, brakes squealed and gas hissed. The buses were moving up and down Washington, picking up commuters. They were getting started with their day. Sarah put her head on his shoulder, and he didn’t want to go anywhere.

  “You have to find him.”

  “I know,” he said.

  Sarah exhaled. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  They sat that way for a few minutes. Herrick put his arm around her shoulders. The hum of traffic was their background noise. A jolt of electricity went through him. He struggled to find words.

  “This is nice,” he said.

  “Shut up, Matt. Don’t be awkward.”

  Before he could move, she blinked and said, “I forgot to tell you. Something weird happened this morning.”