Blind to Sin Page 18

  Manuel tilted his head. “You convinced Adrik?”

  “It didn’t take much.”

  Haskins stood up and put his arm around Manuel.

  “I won’t kill her, Elliot. She’s been too good to me through the years. When I was having those flashbacks to my high school days…the rituals. She talked me through it. We were trying to help her. She can’t—”

  Haskins put a finger to his lips and turned to Cole. “I’ll do it. I was basically doing it anyway, with the chemo. When the sun comes up, I will take care of them.”

  Manuel turned toward Haskins, but didn’t say anything. Haskins left the room.

  Cole put his face in his hands. This was all falling apart, but he only needed to hold it together for a few more hours. Adrik would be here when the sun came up.

  “How can we pull this gig with only four of us?” Manuel asked.

  Cole shook his head. “We have a god damn rocket launcher. How can we fail?”

  “There was supposed to be seven of us. Against the Army.”

  Cole grinned. “Just think, when this is all over, everyone will know us. Will know our faces.”

  Manuel shook his head. “You’re losing your mind, Elliot. I want to enjoy the damn money.”

  Cole nodded. “You will. I promise. Just one more day.”

  SARAH WAS awake when Herrick came back inside. She wiped her eyes and watched him go into the kitchen. He started to make coffee. It was early enough to be awake, and there wasn’t any way he would get to sleep now.

  “What is it?” she said.

  Herrick remembered he didn’t have a good poker face. Still, he didn’t answer her. He couldn’t bring himself to utter the words. Not yet. He scooped grounds into the filter.

  Sarah got up off the couch, stretched and walked over to him.

  “Matt,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

  Herrick went over to the sink and filled the pot with cold water. After pouring the water into the basin, he pressed the on button a little too hard.

  “Where’s Jackson?” she asked. “Where…where’s your dad?”

  Herrick turned and pulled her into a hug. Sarah returned it, pressing her nails into his back, as if to scratch an itch.

  “Dad’s gone,” he said finally, the image Donne showed him rolling through his brain again. He pushed it away, just like he’d pushed away the face of the boy with the bomb for years.

  “Where did he go?” Sarah whispered. “With Jackson? Did they…did they move on?”

  Herrick looked toward his bedroom to make sure Tammy was still asleep. He wasn’t ready to do this to her yet. She’d been through enough. But maybe she didn’t care about his father anymore. Maybe what Cole did was what she wanted as well. It didn’t matter at the moment. She had to sleep.

  “He’s dead,” Herrick said. “Elliot Cole or one of his cronies killed him in an alleyway and sent the picture to Donne.”

  A shudder went through Sarah as he held her.

  “What are you going to do?” Sarah asked. “Be smart.” Then she whispered it again. “Please, be smart.”

  Herrick stepped out of the embrace. The coffee maker gurgled behind them.

  “I’m going to call Mack and tell him everything. He’ll take care of it. I should have done that three days ago.”

  “I can’t call in sick today,” Sarah said. “Are you going to be all right?”

  Herrick nodded. “I’m okay. I just—I didn’t like seeing his picture. Not that way.”

  “My God,” Sarah said.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Herrick ran a hand through his hair. “The other thing I need to do today is get my mother to a doctor. I want her checked by a real doctor and some real progress noted. I want to make sure she’s actually cancer free.”

  “That Cole did that to her,” Sarah said. “It’s not just physical scars you have to worry about. I’ll take her after work.”

  Herrick said, “My whole family is pretty fucked up.”

  “I love you anyway.”

  “You, too.”

  Sarah touched his shoulder and then walked over to the bathroom. A few seconds later, Herrick heard the shower running. The coffee stopped brewing. He poured himself a bowl of Cheerios, and then poured the coffee. His went into a mug with cream and sugar. Sarah’s into a travel cup, just cream.

  Herrick closed his eyes and smelled the bitter coffee, and was transported back to his childhood. His parents never used a coffee maker, and instead worked with a percolator—the kind with the plastic round top that you could watch bubble. His dad would sit and read the paper, mostly the police blotter. And in the winter, he’d pass Herrick the sports section, so he could read about the Knicks or the Nets.

  Jason Kidd was the player Herrick loved to follow. The way the point guard shared the ball was both a sign of leadership and unselfishness—something Herrick felt were connected, but as a kid couldn’t figure out how. Kenneth used to point it out to him, how giving up the rock would lead to an easy bucket, while other teams preferred isolation plays and often drove right into the teeth of the defense.

  That must have been why he and Cole planned together. Why they played to their strengths. Tammy was the smooth talker. Cole was the strategist, and Kenneth was the muscle. Uncle Adrik was the GM, essentially. Kenneth was the brave one, barreling into situations and getting the job done.

  Cole always hung back.

  He never hit someone. Not that Herrick could remember. He’d run the getaway car or stand guard outside. He didn’t get his hands dirty.

  The shower turned off in the bathroom and Herrick drank some more coffee.

  The bedroom light went on. Herrick could see it glowing from the crack in the door. He got up and went over to the door. He knocked.

  Tammy said, “Come in.”

  Herrick took a deep breath before opening the door. His mom stood in the corner, near the dresser Sarah kept her clothes in, and stared at a picture. It was of Sarah and Herrick on their trip to the shore. Sarah was holding a Giants pennant, something she’d won on one of the wheel games. Herrick held her cotton candy.

  “You two look good together,” Tammy said.

  “We are good together.” Herrick scratched his wrist. “Mom—”

  “I heard you talking in there. Heard what happened to your dad.”

  Herrick took a step forward. He wanted to hug her. He wanted to comfort her like she had when he was three and had an ear infection.

  She held up a hand.

  “Elliot Cole didn’t do that to your father. It’s not like him.”

  “Maybe one of his goons.”

  “Maybe. But what’s the point? They were working together.”

  “That’s what I have to figure out.”

  Tammy shook her head. “Don’t bring the cops into this. He’s your dad.”

  Herrick nodded. “I’m trying to be smart about this.”

  “Smart is good. Smart and tough is better.”

  “I have to go talk to cops about something else today. I’ll try to heed your advice. Sarah will take you to the doctor later. Why don’t you get some more sleep?”

  Tammy yawned. “I think I will.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  Tammy smiled. “I’ll be a lot better when Elliot is dead.”

  THE SUN rose over Manhattan, and Donne stared at it from a bench on the Hoboken side of the Hudson River. For the first time in his life, he had no idea where to go. He was literally homeless. The first train left in twenty minutes, but he didn’t want to be cooped up in a train station waiting. Better to do it in the open, where he could see what was coming, or, better yet, run.

  His fists ached, and the muscles in his shoulders joined the party. His eyes felt heavy and he wanted to sleep. There wasn’t time for that, however. Herrick was going to call this corrections officer and make things really tough for Donne.

  Didn’t Herrick get it?

  Donne was trying to take it all on and lift the world off Herrick
’s shoulders. Any step Herrick took next could ruin his life, or worse, kill him. That was how deep Kenneth had dragged them. Less than a week ago, Donne was in prison, now he was a murderer.

  Looking toward the train station, Donne pondered his next move. He could try to find Cole and head everything off at the pass, but that seemed unlikely. Dealing with Cole wasn’t like dealing with Kenneth. Kenneth was someone Donne could handle.

  But Cole was different. He had an entourage and he was mad. He was a man down, but Herrick’s description of Haskins was worrisome. Taking out Cole before he moved on the Federal Reserve was key, but that deserved a plan.

  Or Donne could run.

  He could get on a train and head off into nowhere. Herrick would talk to Mack, and Donne would be back on some watch list somewhere. Spend the rest of his days on the run.

  Donne exhaled.

  And then a cop came and sat down next to him. A uniformed cop, younger than Donne and a grin on his face. Donne’s stomach knotted up.

  “Good morning,” the cop said. His badge read Culp.

  “Morning,” Donne said.

  “You been out here all night?”

  Donne shrugged. “It was warm enough. I like watching the city lights.”

  “That’s all you looked at overnight?”

  Donne turned to the cop, trying to keep his breathing even. “What do you mean?”

  The cop looked straight ahead toward the river. A barge tooted its horn, saying good morning to New York City. A few joggers passed.

  “There was a murder last night. An old man was beaten to a pulp in an alley a couple of blocks from here. Poor guy. They didn’t even take his wallet .”

  Donne closed his eyes for a moment. Couldn’t even make it look like a robbery.

  “Did you see or hear anything?” the cop asked.

  “No. It was quiet last night.”

  “Murder like that, the guy usually screams.”

  “I did fall asleep for a couple of hours.”

  “On this bench?”

  “More comfortable than the train station.”

  The cop shook his head. “Are you new to this whole homeless thing? Haven’t learned the routine yet?”

  Donne considered his options. Telling a cop he was just out of prison would set off all kinds of alarm bells. Saying he was an experienced homeless person just sounded ridiculous. And he hadn’t had a drink in days, so he didn’t sound like a boozer who missed the last train.

  “I was in finance,” Donne said. “Bottom dropped out of the stock market and I liquidated everything.”

  He had no idea if that was a legitimate reason, but it sounded good.

  The cop agreed. “Fuck, man. That sucks. No family to speak of?”

  Donne shook his head. “My sister is out in California. Parents are dead.”

  The cop shook his head. “Maybe take a walk for a while. I’m supposed to chase guys like you out of here. But with the body and all, it’s been a busy morning.”

  Donne nodded. “Thanks. Good luck with the case.”

  “My name is Alvin Culp. You hear anything about this old guy, come back here and let me know. I work the midnight to eight shift.”

  “Looking for a big break to get off nights?”

  The cop tilted his hat back on his head. “You know it.”

  “Thanks, Officer.”

  “Good luck, sir. Maybe find a shower too. Tough to go on job interviews after wearing the same set of clothes a couple of days in a row.”

  Donne and the cop stood up. The cop gave him a nod and Donne started walking. He headed in the direction of the train station. At least he could hop on the train for a stop or two. It would put some distance between Kenneth Herrick’s body and himself. The first train would take him to Lyndhurst.

  The sun was almost fully up now, and the chill in the air was lifting. It seemed like it was going to be a warm and sunny day, perfect for being aimless. He hustled to the station and got on the first train leaving the station.

  Felt like he was in the middle of some song written in the 1960s.

  Donne made his way to the back of the train, as far from the conductor as possible. He didn’t want to cause a scene when asked for a ticket. The next stop was ten minutes away, and the cars were starting to crowd with people heading to their jobs. Might have been smarter to sneak into Manhattan, but he was sick of that town.

  In three days, he’d made too many memories.

  And that was when he realized the best strategy. It wasn’t to go on the offensive, but to go and talk. Create a peace treaty. He needed to make his way back to Long Valley and talk to Elliot Cole and whoever else he had on the job.

  Get Cole to run before he moved on the Reserve.

  Or Maybe join up with Cole.

  Anything to keep Herrick safe. His life was too good. It was the exact reverse of Donne.

  What Donne could have had if only he’d listened to Jeanne and stayed on the straight and narrow. Donne always made the wrong decisions. The dumb choices.

  And it ruined more lives that just his.

  Maybe today was the day to make some smarter choices.

  Even if that included murder.

  TAMMY OPENED her eyes and immediately knew something was wrong.

  Now, in the dark, she wondered how long she had actually slept. The clock said it was nearing nine, so she’d gotten about two hours. But as she blinked her eyes into focus, something felt very wrong. It was quiet in the apartment. Maybe Matt and his lady friend were gone already?

  No.

  That wasn’t it. The TV was humming, the introduction to the evening news played. And there was the tinkling of metal against something. Maybe they were getting the pots and pans out to cook.

  No again.

  Tammy’s interior alarms were ringing loud. She hadn’t heard them this loud since the Orchard Bank Affair, when the cops had burst in on the three of them mid job. She blinked the memory away and inched out of bed, landing on her tip toes. The room spun a bit. She got up too fast, so she put a hand on the bed stand to get her balance.

  Then she creeped across the room, inch by inch. When she got to the door, the light outlining the hinges, she pulled it open just a hair and peeked out.

  And saw that her instincts were right.

  Matt stood close to the kitchen, hands up in the air like he was being held up. Sarah was over by the couch, knee on the cushion, looking toward the front door. And the front door had been kicked in. That, she suddenly remembered, was how she’d been awakened. She heard the crunch of the door. Originally, she thought it was from a dream. The metal tinkling she had heard was the chain lock bouncing off the door itself.

  And standing in the doorway was a young man holding a pistol. He had a military haircut and wore a cammo jacket. The gun was something she’d seen cops and military police hold. But the familiarity came from his eyes, something she’d seen before. A glint, a look and even the color.

  Haskins.

  The one who stuck that damn IV in her arm every single day. Slowly killing her.

  Tammy pushed the door wide open and everyone turned her way.

  Matt said, “Mom!”

  Haskins said, “There you are.”

  The gun whirled in Tammy’s direction, and her stomach muscles tightened. If this was how things ended, there were worse ways to go. At least she gave her son a few more minutes to live.

  But Matt lurched forward and grabbed Haskins’ wrist. The gun clattered to the ground, sliding toward her on the hardwood floor. Sarah screamed and dropped flat on the ground. Tammy darted into the living room as fast as her tired legs would take her.

  Matt and Haskins tumbled onto the floor together and Tammy heard the sound of fist on flesh. But that wasn’t where her attention was focused.

  Instead, she worried about the gun that was only a few feet from her. Her legs gave out and she fell to her knees. She crawled the last bit of distance and reached out for the weapon. Sarah screamed again, but Tammy ignored
her.

  She hefted the gun. It was heavier than she remembered. Looking toward the fight, she saw that Matt had Haskins on his back and was raining blows down on him. Haskins was bloody.

  But he wasn’t dead.

  “Move,” Tammy said, leveling the weapon.

  Matt stopped swinging and looked at his mom. His eyes went wide.

  “You can’t—” he said, but the rest of the words were cut off by the right cross Haskins hit him with.

  Matt flailed backward to the ground, and Haskins got to his feet. Exactly like Tammy had hoped. He took a step toward Matt, clearly not worrying about the gun or the doddering old woman.

  Tammy squeezed hard and the trigger resisted at first. She squeezed harder, the air escaping from her lungs as she did. The soft wheeze of air was cut off by the loud retort of the gun going off. She squeezed two more times, and Haskins toppled over. All three bullets had embedded themselves in Haskins back.

  Tammy dropped the gun.

  Sarah ran to her and wrapped her in a hug. Her lungs were having trouble getting air to them, but she slumped into Sarah’s arms. The girl was whispering something, but all Tammy heard was white noise. Her vision was clear, though, so that was good.

  “Mom, Jesus Christ,” Matt said. “Jesus.”

  “Is he dead?” she managed.

  Herrick ran over to him and checked his pulse. Haskins opened and closed his mouth. Herrick put his ear to the mouth and it happened again. Then all movement stopped.

  “Yeah, Mom. You killed a guy.”

  “Not my first rodeo,” she said.

  Sarah helped Tammy get to the couch. The air was starting to come more easily now. Her blood was on fire and she was more awake than she had been in weeks. Months even. Every color on the wall looked brighter. She could feel every bit of the couch’s material. The world was alive.

  Because Tammy had killed somebody.

  She looked over at Matt, trying to fight the smile off her face. He was on the phone, essentially shouting. Maybe the gun shot had damaged his hearing too. How long before the cops got here? Ten minutes? Hoboken was small, Maybe it would be faster.

  “Yeah,” Matt said. “Yeah. Get over here. Fast. No. I meant to call you this morning, but now I have a real emergency on my hands.”