An Empty Hell Read online

  Herrick reached forward, but couldn’t get through the metal mesh that separated them. Sarah followed his movements and must have seen Martinez for the first time. She screamed. Now the hearing started to come back to Herrick, her wail pouring into his ears. He wrapped her in his arms tight, and tried to tell her it was okay. Then he released her and tried the door. It was child locked.

  But the windows had blown out of the doors as well. Herrick reached up and pulled himself through. He landed on his feet, and his vision clouded momentarily. His hands burned, and his ears ached, but he seemed otherwise okay.

  Then he surveyed the world around him. A goddamn war zone. Even the muted sirens, muffled with dust and rock, brought back memories of snatch-and-grab missions. Quick bursts of fire, or a grenade. He’d been there time and again. When he went back and put his gun down, he thought he was done with this.

  It all came rushing back today.

  People were scattered on the ground, covered in ash and dirt. One man was trying to force himself to his feet, but kept tumbling back to the ground. Herrick saw a right limb halfway across the street. Afghanistan all over again.

  Martinez was gone. He had to be. The two cops by the front door were gone, torn to shreds by fire and shrapnel. The air smelled of burned flesh—kind of like overcooking a chicken—and brimstone. As Herrick’s hearing came back, the howls for help filled his ears.

  He stood, arms at his sides, and tried to catch his breath. Blood dripped down to the ground from his fingers.

  THE AMBULANCE came first.

  By the time it got there, Herrick had fished Sarah out of the car. They worked while they waited for the paramedics. Finding survivors and trying to stop the bleeding with towels, shirts, whatever they could find.

  The EMS took over, and Herrick pulled Sarah away from the crowd. He held her tight against him and felt her weep. He blinked a few times, trying to hold his own tears back.

  Two more ambulances pulled up. Each advertised a different town on its doors. The paramedics hustled out and started searching for people they could help. One of them mouthed “Oh my God.” Herrick pulled Sarah tighter. She reciprocated.

  A news helicopter hovered above. Several more police cars rolled in. News vans were setting up live shots. The mayor lingered a block away, surrounded by people in black suits.

  Herrick felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He knew who it was. Gently, he pulled away from Sarah and told her to go to the car. The police would want to talk to her, he said, and he would send them to the car. It was safe in the car. She wiped her face and nodded.

  Once she was out of range, Herrick grabbed his phone.

  “I will kill you,” he said.

  Lucas Mosley laughed, and Herrick felt the muscles in his back tighten. He was a rubber band pulled tight, and all he wanted was to snap.

  “Do I have your attention?” Lucas asked.

  “You’ve had it for a while.”

  “No more fooling around. You will bring me Jackson Donne.”

  “Find him yourself. You better hope you find him before I find you.”

  “Where is he? If you won’t tell me, maybe one of his old friends will.”

  Herrick spoke through gritted teeth. “All this for a paycheck?”

  “This isn’t about payment anymore. It’s about revenge. I won’t be stopped.”

  Herrick wanted to scream.

  “I wanted you to know what would have happened if you didn’t shoot that boy.”

  Herrick looked at the paramedics scrambling, screaming for help for more equipment. Someone was doing chest compressions. The world went out of focus and he could see his brothers on the ground—their limbs scattered. His superior officer shouting commands, losing control.

  “Bodies everywhere. And it would have been your fault. Because you could have stopped it.”

  Herrick said, “I did stop it.”

  “Now you know you can’t stop everything.” Mosely took a deep breath. “You can’t stop me.”

  Herrick had been coming at this all wrong. He’d been on his heels for the past week, letting Robinson and now Mosley push him around. Even Donne had dictated pace. That was not what he wanted his team to do, and that was not what he was going to do. Time to flip the tables and push the tempo.

  “I’m coming for you starting now.”

  Mosely said, “Bring it.”

  “LIKE HELL,” Robinson said. “What makes you so sure I can even get in to see him?”

  “Herrick.”

  Robinson sat back in his chair and folded his hands across his chest. His cheek was red from the slap, and the other side was flushed as well. Donne was impressed he didn’t rub it.

  “What about him?” Robinson shrugged his shoulders.

  “Come on, Alex, I’m not an idiot. Last I heard Carver is in lock-up, taken away from society. Then Herrick tells me this story of Sandy and the prison. Now he’s in a mental home? Sounds just like Leo. Finding ways out of everything.”

  Robinson said, “Almost everything.”

  Donne licked his lips. “Anyway, let’s put the timeline together.”

  Robinson said, “Go ahead.”

  “Sandy hits, Leo fights the system. Bill Martin—Leo’s best friend—tries to screw me over again and kills himself in the process. But to the rest of the world, it looks like I did it. At least at first.”

  Robinson said, “Now there was someone who got to see Leo a lot.”

  Donne nodded. “I’m glad you’re helping me out here.”

  “I don’t want to get slapped again.” He cut the words off with his teeth.

  Donne nodded again. “So Martin dies, and I disappear. How did Leo feel about all of that?”

  Robinson didn’t say anything. He twiddled his thumbs. The red in his cheeks was starting to fade. He chewed the bottom of his lip. Drops of saliva formed at the corner of his mouth. Donne decided to look out the window at the clouds.

  “I still have questions though. Why kill the other two?”

  No hesitation from Robinson. “Because this has nothing to do with Leo. Someone is coming after us, Jackson. I thought for sure it was you.”

  “If it was me, you would have been dead ten minutes ago. The slap would have been nothing, right?”

  Now Robinson’s hand went to his cheek.

  “Basically, I think you’re lying to me,” Donne said.

  “Get out of here, Jackson.”

  Donne spread his hands. “Why? I’m here now. You guys want me dead, don’t you? Isn’t that what this is about? You hired two men to kill me.”

  Robinson slammed a fist on the desk. The papers on his desk bounced. “I have nothing to do with this.”

  “Then take me to see Leo.”

  No answer from Robinson. He sat and rubbed the bottom of his fist.

  “I know you went to see Leo within the last two days,” Donne said. “Herrick followed you there after you guys talked. Might have been yesterday. I don’t know, when you don’t sleep much, the hours kind of blend together.”

  “He’s a liar and always has been!”

  Donne pressed his lips together. The smell in the air was bitter and stale.

  “In this case, I don’t think he is.” Donne paused. “If you don’t trust him, why did you hire him?”

  Robinson went flush again, and Donne felt something tickle the back of his brain. There were connections, but it felt like he’d only found the edges. The big picture wasn’t there yet.

  “You know the Mosleys?” Donne tried.

  Robinson nodded. “I’ve heard of them.”

  “See? I haven’t. I find that really interesting. I’ve only been gone a year. It takes a while to build up that kind of reputation. And I’ve been involved in enough stuff the past ten years, I think I would have heard of them.”

  Robinson rubbed his nose. “You thought you were helping us out by only fingering Leo. We loved him. Always have. He was our meal ticket. Now look at me. I’m struggling to get by with old coffee a
nd taking cases no one else will take. And Martin was one of the lowest on the totem pole in the department after you were finished with us.”

  “And the other guys?”

  “The dregs of society. Drugs. Alcoholics. Their deaths—it probably put them out of their misery.”

  The words hung in the air for a minute. Donne finished his coffee.

  “You screwed everything up, Jackson. The last eight years of my life have sucked because of you. I’m out hustling every day to make a case, but I don’t have the reputation. Others get my gigs. And now I’m scared you’re coming here to kill me.”

  Donne shook his head. “I’m not and you know that. You’ve known that from the start.”

  “Get out of my office.”

  “Fine,” Donne said. “Let’s go see Leo.”

  “No.”

  Robinson’s phone rang. The landline. Donne watched his hand move gracefully as he went for it. Half of Donne expected him to ignore the call and pop up with a gun. But there was more going on here. Donne couldn’t put the pieces of the puzzle together yet, but he could feel it.

  Robinson answered and said, “Hold on a minute.” He passed the receiver across. “It’s for you.”

  Donne froze. Who would be calling him? The only one who knew he was coming here was Artie.

  “I’m not here,” Donne said.

  Robinson shrugged and hung up the phone.

  ROBINSON HAD moved from his thumb to his index finger, yanking hangnails away with his teeth. He didn’t speak, waiting for Donne to start.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  Robinson laughed. “Like hell.”

  “Now.” He tried to add a knife edge to his voice.

  Robinson reached forward toward his desk and came back out with a gun. Donne didn’t hesitate, and leaped forward, just as he’d done earlier. He cleared the top of the desk and caught Robinson straight in the chest linebacker style. They toppled backward into the chair. The gun clattered away without going off—a lucky break.

  Robinson swung an elbow up at Donne’s temple, but Donne was able to dodge and catch Robinson with a left jab. He swung again, connecting with a right hook. Robinson’s head snapped back and thudded into the floor. He raised his knee and hit Donne in the stomach, sending the air from his lungs. Donne gasped and rolled off Robinson.

  Shaking it off, Donne tried to get to his feet, but lost balance. Robinson was scrambling along the ground, groping for the gun. But Donne saw it first, leaning against the wall in the corner of the room. Donne got to his feet steadily this time, ran over to Robinson on the opposite side of the office, and hit him twice with two rabbit punches. The second one brought a stream of blood from Robinson’s lip. It splattered all over the wall. Robinson went down to one knee, cursing. Donne hit him again, and he went flat like a dead fish.

  Donne raced to the other side of the room and snatched the gun. He checked the safety and saw it was off. They were both really lucky the gun hadn’t gone off in the fight. He raised it and aimed it at Robinson, who was struggling to get into a sitting position. His eyes were red and teary. He was trying to stop the bleeding in his lip with the back of his hand, causing the cuff of his shirt to stain red.

  Donne said, “I’m not negotiating and I’m not playing games.”

  Robinson held his hands up in a way that said I surrender.

  “Let’s go see Carver. Now.” How many times did Donne have to repeat himself before Robinson got it?

  “This is the wrong play, Jackson.”

  At least one more time.

  Donne shrugged, still keeping the gun leveled on Robinson. “At this point, it’s the only play I got.”

  “You’re only going to piss him off even more.”

  Donne nearly laughed, but kept it together. After all this time, the last thing Donne was afraid of was pissing anyone off. It seemed for the past ten years that was all he did. But it didn’t matter, and Donne was still here.

  “It’s a really dumb decision,” Robinson said.

  The second time in forty-eight hours someone told him that. And Donne agreed. But that was his life. Pissing people off and making dumb decisions.

  “Every time I’ve made a dumb choice,” Donne said, “I’ve figured out what I’ve needed to. Let’s go.”

  This time it was Robinson’s turn to shrug. He pushed himself to his feet and rattled his keys out of his pocket. For an instant, Donne thought he was going to pull another weapon. Instead, he heard a car on the street beep its alarm unlocked. Robinson was on the up and up this time. Things change when you have a gun pointed at your face.

  “Your funeral,” he said.

  THE HOMELESS guy had new Jordans and a fresh bottle of Old Grand-Dad. That tipped Herrick off.

  He’d dropped Sarah off at the school and called his cop friend McKinny and updated him. There would be a cruiser on campus all day, and they’d find someone to keep an eye on her at a local hotel at night.

  When Sarah got out of the car she said, “Some sick day.” She touched his arm and kissed him on the cheek. Her fingers trembled as they made contact with him. She still had soot on her cheek.

  For the next four hours, Herrick walked Jersey City. He wanted to find the men Mosley had hired to limp in front of the school. Jersey City was an area where people were always hanging out on stoops or in front of coffee shops. Even in the cold, people were out in the open. Herrick needed a lucky break. And when he saw the new Jordans and nearly full bottle, he figured his gamble had paid off.

  Sitting against the wall of a small liquor store, the homeless guy tipped his newsie-style hat back on his head and squinted up at Herrick. He had a leathery face covered with what appeared to be a couple-of-days-old beard.

  “Where’d you get those shoes?”

  “Man, forget you.” He yanked the hat back over his eyes. The liquor in the Old Grand-Dad bottle sloshed around as he sat back against the wall.

  Herrick sat down next to him. The scent of onions and uncooked hot dogs wafted his way. And it didn’t come from a street vendor’s stash.

  “How the booze?” Herrick asked.

  The homeless guy offered him the bottle. “It does the job, but it kind of sucks,” he said.

  “Well, in that case, I don’t really want to drink it.”

  The homeless guy unscrewed the cap and took a long swig. Two gulps’ worth. When he pulled the bottle away from his lips he didn’t grimace, he just wiped the residue away with the back of his hand.

  “So the new Jordans.”

  “You try to take them and I’ll stab you.”

  Herrick held up his hands, surrendering. “I don’t want them. I don’t think they’d fit. I’m just curious where you got them.”

  “Foot Locker on JFK, but they’re all sold out. You get these things at midnight or you don’t get ’em at all.”

  “Like an iPhone?”

  “Bigger.”

  “They’re expensive, aren’t they?”

  Herrick knew the answer to that. In fact, he knew all about the shoes. It’s all his team talked about on release day. They would plan on lining up. Or sending two freshmen to line up outside the store with a ton of money. First time they did that, the principal had the seniors who orchestrated it in his office. Reamed them out. But with AAU coaches lingering around, the kids—the really talented ones—could get whatever pair they wanted whenever they wanted. It was easy for them.

  But not for guys with their hands out, just looking for more booze and a warm place to sleep.

  “They pricey.” He laughed. “But I had a good day on the PATH train. My singing, you know. People gave me cash.”

  “What do you sing?” Herrick asked.

  “Motown.”

  “Ten bucks to hear some.”

  The homeless guy grinned. His right incisor was missing. He broke out into an a cappella rendition of “Ain’t Too Proud to Beg.” It was all right. It wasn’t five hundred dollars good. Herrick slid him a ten after the first verse.

>   “That’s good.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What’s your name, for when you make it big?”

  Homeless laughed and said, “Sheldon.”

  “No way you made four hundred dollars in a day though.”

  “I did.”

  “Singing?”

  Sheldon opened his mouth. Closed it. Coughed into his free hand. Then said, “Some.”

  “The rest some guy gave you, didn’t he? Asked you to walk in front of St. Paul’s with a limp?”

  Sheldon sat up straight. The bottle clattered against the sidewalk but didn’t shatter. The bottle cap held as well.

  “I wasn’t supposed to tell nobody that.”

  “My guess is you were supposed to spend some money on food too.”

  “My feet were cold.”

  “Tell me about the guy who sold them to you.”

  “No way, man.”

  Herrick held up his wallet. “I got another five hundred bucks, plus I’ll go inside and get you the bottle of your choice.” His gut winced as he said those words.

  Sheldon licked his lips. “He was tall and thin, like me. He had a limp.”

  C’mon, Herrick thought. Tell me something I don’t know.

  “He has a big car, a black Tahoe. It was cool. He called me up to it. When I looked through, he’d just reset his odometer. I know because I asked mileage. I love seeing those big things trying to rumble down these tiny streets.”

  “How was it?”

  Sheldon rubbed his chin. “He said it was shit in the city. But he’d just driven like forty miles on the parkway. No traffic, and he got some good-ass mileage.”

  “You were by yourself?”

  “No, I was with my boys. He paid all three of us.” Sheldon coughed again. Picked up the bottle of Old Grand-Dad, unscrewed the top, and drank some more. “We were just supposed to limp down the street like assholes. Scare some dude.”

  Herrick nodded. “I was that dude.”

  “Oh yeah? Did it work?”

  Herrick laughed. “At the time.”

  “Glad I earned my cash.”

  “Anything else stick out to you?”

  Sheldon shook his head. “He had one of those interlocking BF magnets on the back of his car.”