An Empty Hell Read online

  He blinked the light out of his eyes and tried to focus his aim. The fire lit the dark sky, giving him a better view. He took a deep breath and prepared to shoot. Then he noticed it; no one was in the cruiser.

  Donne exhaled and looked left. The quickest route around the flames would be to the left, if Mosley were coming his way. Nothing. If Mosley was heading toward the school he’d go right. Before Donne could twirl, his back exploded. And then again. He went down hard, the gun clattering away from him toward the last remnants of the fire. Donne thought he heard sirens.

  He rolled onto his back, looking up into the eyes of the thin man standing over him. The man wielded the police baton over his head like a sword.

  “Mosley,” Donne said. “Just kill me.”

  The words came with such ease it surprised even Donne. Kate appeared before him, reaching out in his direction smiling. He was surprised. He expected to see Jeanne or Bill Martin or any of the other names that had been with him longer. His body relaxed and Kate faded, leaving Lucas Mosley standing there, smiling.

  “With pleasure,” Mosley said.

  The baton cut the through the air heading toward Donne’s head. Donne closed his eyes and listened to the wind.

  HIGH SCHOOLERS never panic. They’d been through enough fire drills that the alarm to evacuate did not cause screaming or running. It caused some chuckles and some groans of annoyance. The fans in the crowd and the teams picked up their belongings and moved toward the exit of the gym.

  Herrick had told them it was just a drill. That the state needed to evacuate events from time to time as practice, and this time they were going to go out the gym doors and to the front of the building. It sounded legit, even if it wasn’t. Herrick caught the eye of Sarah and the principal, who made their way toward him as everyone else went out the big wooden doors.

  Sarah grabbed the principal’s arm and told him to stay with the students and they’d be right out. She’d get to the bottom of this.

  The principal turned and said, “This is the sort of thing that can get you fired.”

  “If we win state this year, I can get enough donations to keep the doors open.” Herrick kept his voice even, despite feeling his pulse in his ears.

  The principal’s shoulders slumped and he turned and headed toward the students. Hopefully, he’d also deliver that proclamation to the nuns.

  Sarah put a hand on his shoulders. “What’s going on?”

  Herrick took a deep breath, and then told her about Mosley. Her face went white.

  “How is this stuff coming back to us? It never has before.”

  Herrick shook his head. “I shouldn’t have taken this case. It was too big for me. I should have stuck with what I do best. Coaching the team.”

  “You’ve come this far,” she said. “Might as well see it through.” She squeezed his shoulder.

  When his player died last year, she didn’t react that way. He had thought he had seen the case through and got the kid home safely. But he’d made a mistake: Gangs don’t give up, and they get what they want. Especially when it’s what the kid thinks he wants too. He didn’t think Mosley would either.

  “I will,” he said. “Can you stick with the crowd? I’m going to go find Donne.”

  Sarah agreed. She took one step away and that’s when they heard the gunshots. And then the explosion.

  His ASP was still at his hip. He snatched it out and with a snap of the wrist it was at attack length. Running toward the door, he wished he’d said something to Sarah, something inspiring.

  But he wasn’t sure it would have mattered. She wouldn’t have heard him.

  Not over the screaming of the kids.

  DONNE OPENED his eyes. The blow had never come. Instead, Mosley’s arm was stuck mid-swing, Herrick’s ASP deflecting the blow.

  Mosley swung left and chopped Herrick in the stomach. He gasped and stepped backward.

  Mosley said, “You’re both here. Nice.”

  He swung the baton before Herrick could regain his balance. It caught Herrick in the stomach again, and he fell backward. He landed on the ground and didn’t move.

  Fire burned in Donne’s gut. If he let Mosley kill him, Herrick would be next. He couldn’t let that happen.

  DONNE SWEPT his legs, catching Mosley in the ankle. Mosley’s knees buckled and he toppled to the ground, the baton clattering off somewhere. Donne jumped up and straddled him, raining three crosses into Mosley’s jaw. The bounty hunter’s head snapped backwards and caught pavement. He went limp.

  Donne leaned back and took a breath. The cold air singed his sweat and cooled his skin. Before he could get to his feet, Mosley snapped up and caught Donne in the stomach. The air went from his body and he toppled backwards. Donne hit the ground and rolled. He took a look at Herrick.

  He wasn’t dead.

  In fact, he was pushing himself off the ground with one hand, up on one knee and wiping blood from his face. Donne nodded at him, but it was a waste of time. Mosley hit him like a wrestler, tying him up with a hold. Donne tried to gasp for air, but it stopped at the back of his throat. Donne put two hands on the arm around his windpipe and pulled. The arm wouldn’t budge. He tried to call out for Herrick, but no sound escaped his lips.

  Turned out he didn’t need to call for Herrick. Mosley went slack when Herrick hit him hard. Donne wasn’t able to see where, but he heard the grunt and something crack. Donne fell to his knees and gasped for air. It made its way to his lungs this time. The iciness felt soothing on his insides. Some of the tightness loosened.

  Donne didn’t know how much time he had to catch his breath. He rubbed his throat, massaging the muscles looser. He turned and faced the fight. Herrick had regained his ASP and returned the favor Mosley had given him by rapping him across the face.

  The sounds of sirens filled the air. After the explosion and the gunfire, Donne was surprised it took this long.

  Mosley tried to scramble back to his feet, but Herrick wouldn’t let him, whacking him with another overhead shot from the ASP. He raised his arm once more, and Donne was afraid this would be a killing blow. He sprinted over to Herrick and grabbed his wrist. The force of Herrick’s swing pulled Donne forward, but he was able to stop the blow from landing.

  Herrick turned toward him. His teeth were gritted, and the muscles in his arms were taut, like a rope pulled tight. His breath was ragged.

  “Don’t,” Donne said. “Cops.”

  “Like that would stop you.” He forced the words out in gasps.

  Donne shrugged, trying to stay calm. He could do a body count, and it would take more than all ten fingers. His stomach lurched. Calmness fled.

  “Maybe not,” he said. “But to you—” Donne pointed at the school. “You have a lot to lose.”

  Herrick paused, and then relaxed his arms. He closed the ASP and replaced it in his holster. Mosley staggered onto his elbows. Herrick pushed him back down with his foot. Mosley did not put up a fight.

  “Another day,” the bounty hunter said.

  “Doubt it,” Herrick said.

  Down the long street, the flashing blue lights appeared. The sirens weren’t far behind, echoing in their direction. Donne figured they had thirty seconds. He looked at Herrick, who already had his wallet and ID out.

  “You really want to be around when they get here?” Herrick asked.

  “They’ll see me running if I bail now. That won’t help your story.” Donne pointed over his shoulder. “There’s a dead cop over there you can’t explain. They only want me for questioning, right?”

  Herrick gestured to Mosley. “He can explain the cop.”

  “I can corroborate.” Donne rubbed his wrist.

  The first car squealed to a stop and two more followed. Doors flew open, guns were drawn, and people were screaming. Herrick’s hands went into the air. He shouted his name and job over and over. Donne kept his own hands up as well.

  Two cops approached them, and shined a flashlight in Herrick’s face.

  A cop,
whose name tag said Sanderson, said, “Matt, what the hell?”

  “This guy. He’s trouble. He took out one of yours.” Herrick pointed down the street toward the crumpled body.

  “Jesus,” Sanderson said. “You guys, go check him out.”

  Two cops sprinted over toward the body. One of them was calling for an ambulance into the radio receiver pinned to his shirt. Donne couldn’t hear what the dispatcher responded with, but the words were fast and high-pitched.

  Two more cops approached, and Herrick got off of Mosley. The cops snapped cuffs on Mosley. “Only reason we aren’t doing it to you, Matt, is ’cause we know you. But that thing—”

  “Understood.” He passed his ASP over to one of the cops.

  Sanderson turned the flashlight on Donne’s face.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  He felt Herrick’s eyes on him as he said, “Jackson Donne.”

  “No shit.” Sanderson stepped closer. “Wow. Big day here, guys.”

  Donne didn’t move.

  “He’s with me,” Herrick tried.

  Sanderson laughed. “I can’t help you with that one, Matt.”

  Suddenly, Donne’s hands weren’t over his head anymore. They were behind his back. The cold metal of handcuffs wrapped around his wrists and bit at his circulation. He was pushed, hard, and started walking toward one of the cop cars. Donne didn’t resist. One of the cops recited Miranda rights.

  Sanderson said, “They found three bodies in Vermont. One of them was a cop, and this guy’s prints were everywhere.”

  Sanderson kept talking to Herrick, but the words faded. He could feel the sharp edge in tone, however.

  Three cop cars, and two suspects. They slammed the door on Donne. He looked out the window back toward the scene. An ambulance appeared at the corner, turning slowly toward the situation. The two cops who checked on the dead one were running. Sanderson’s arms were out in a placating way.

  And then they handcuffed Herrick as well.

  THEY PUSHED Herrick away from the other two, into an interrogation room, not a holding cell. They didn’t pull his arm gently, they tugged and pushed him through the crowd of onlooking cops just getting on duty or filling out paperwork in their cubicles. Somewhere a TV played the opening quarter of the Knicks game. The Garden was almost as quiet as the police station.

  His entire body throbbed.

  The interrogation room was just like every other one in police stations across the nation. The only difference was, instead of plain white walls, they’d painted this one blue. The Jersey City police station had to be rebuilt a few years back after some psychopath tried to blow it up. Since then, that at least gave this room a soothing look.

  Two detectives—Patrick McKinny and someone Herrick didn’t recognize—stood against the far wall. McKinny had a duffel bag over his shoulder. The door slammed shut behind him, and the nameless one walked over and unlocked the cuffs. Herrick rubbed his wrists. The nameless one pulled out a chair for Herrick and asked if he wanted a coffee. Herrick said that sounded great. But maybe an icepack as well.

  The cop left. Herrick sat. McKinny put his hands on the chair on the opposite side of the table and leaned over it.

  “What the hell, Matt?”

  Herrick sat back in the chair, crossed his fingers like he was praying, and didn’t say anything.

  “Jackson Donne?” McKinny’s voice cracked.

  Herrick stayed silent.

  “I’m not charging you with anything,” McKinny said. “You can leave if you want. The other two …”

  The nameless cop came in with the coffee and ice pack. He put them down on the table. He left. Herrick watched the steam swirl into the air and dissipate. The paper cup was thin, so he didn’t touch it yet. He wasn’t in the mood to burn his fingers too. His stomach hurt like hell.. He was stunned, but he didn’t think anything was broken.

  He reached over for the icepack, and then pressed it against his ribs. Pain throbbed against the cold. The pain from the knife wound in his side had come back too, like an old friend he hadn’t seen in a while, but hadn’t missed.

  “Those batons of yours, they hurt,” he said. The words sounded dull, as if he were drugged. Might be because his mind wasn’t moving as fast as it should have.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Who was he?” Herrick didn’t like talking all that much, but he really wanted to know.

  McKinny rubbed his face and took a long breath. “John Higgins. He was twenty-eight. Has a baby girl and a wife at home. He was a good cop. Goddamn good police officer.”

  “I’m sorry.” A tremor ran through Herrick. “It’s my fault. I could have handled this.”

  McKinny shook his head. “You got police protection. You did what you were supposed to. And John was doing his job. It’s just …”

  “You wish I never brought this rain of shit down on you.”

  “Was it Donne who did this, Matt?”

  Herrick shook his head. “He’s the good guy.”

  “He’s a murderer according to the APB we got. Another dead cop up there? Plus two others they’re trying to identify.”

  Herrick closed his eyes. The ice pack started to warm. He adjusted the pack to find another section of cold.

  “You need a doctor?” McKinny said.

  Herrick didn’t respond. He opened his eyes. The coffee had stopped steaming in front of him. After picking up the cup, he took a sip. The liquid burned the inside of his mouth anyway. He put the cup down and pressed the pack harder against himself.

  “No,” he said. “I need to get out of here.”

  “Tell me about the other guy.”

  “Lucas Mosley,” Herrick said. “That’s the guy you want. Bounty hunter. Worked with his brother. They were bounty hunters for criminals. You should talk to him. Look him up.”

  McKinny nodded. “What is this all about?”

  Herrick leaned back. The blood shifted and now a different part of his torso throbbed. The back of his head hurt too. Not enough ice packs to ease his pain. He wondered if he should even try to sleep tonight. The haze had started to clear in his mind, but he still felt groggy and sleepy.

  “At this point,” he said, “hell if I know. Revenge? Can I go home now?”

  McKinny shrugged. “You’re going to help us out with this, aren’t you? I’m trusting you here. One of ours died.”

  “Yeah. I got you.” Herrick exhaled. Even breathing hurt. “Mosley wanted me dead. I’m not sure why. There was a contract out for me and for Donne. Apparently we’re connected somehow, even though before yesterday the most I knew about Donne came from NJ dot com and stories people told in bars. But there was enough of a connection that the Mosleys were after us.”

  “There is more than one of them?”

  Herrick thought about correcting McKinny and letting him know what happened to the other Mosley. Decided not to.

  “I need to rest. I’ll figure things out and call you in the morning.”

  “Probably shouldn’t drive tonight. I’ll call a cab.”

  “No,” Herrick said. He gave McKinny Sarah’s number. He needed to make some more amends. He needed to know if the team was okay. He needed to know if the electricity that was there this morning still ran between them.

  Reaching into his duffel bag, McKinny took out Herrick’s ASP. It was closed. The cop placed it on his desk, and took a deep breath.

  “You are good guy, Matt. I trust you.”

  McKinny left the room. He was gone for a long time. Herrick stared at the drop ceiling. He wished he had a pencil to toss at it.

  Instead, he forced more coffee into his mouth and tried to ignore the pain. He focused on keeping everything in focus.

  There was still too much to do.

  Like getting Donne out of here. In a way that didn’t get the both of them into more trouble. And then dealing with Leo Carver.

  It was time to end of all this bullshit once and for all.

  The ice pack had lost its chill.
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  THE PUNCH sent Donne reeling smack into the iron bars. He gasped for air and grabbed his chin. The bars, however, caused pain to shoot from back to front of his torso like a race car down a straightaway. A race car with a knife attached to its front fender.

  The cop’s right came flying in and Donne couldn’t get his arms up quickly enough to block. The fist smashed into his nose and caused his vision to blur. He grunted and went down to his knees. Tears formed in his eyes. He caught a foot to the ribs and rolled onto his back and then into the fetal position. He worked hard not to make a sound as more blows came raining down.

  “That’s for John!” one cop yelled.

  “Cop killer!” another said.

  “In prison, no one can hear you scream.” That brought laughter. And more kicks to the ribs. Donne didn’t respond.

  When everything throbbed, it became not a series of bruises and cracked ribs, but just one wound. Donne was one giant sore. He’d come back to help and instead, was getting his “comeuppance,” as one of the cops put it.

  For doing nothing wrong.

  But the cops didn’t know that. He didn’t know how long he lay there. Consciousness faded in and out. The blows didn’t. He kept his eyes closed and fought to keep breathing. He was lucky this was the Jersey City precinct, not the New Brunswick one.

  “Hey! Okay!” It was a different voice. Donne thought it sounded hazy. “That’s enough.”

  Someone spit on him.

  “I said enough! Get back to work. We got him. It’s over.”

  Donne stayed frozen in the position. A drumbeat played throughout his body, his nerves trying to figure out what pain he should focus on first. The room got hot. Then cold. He wondered if he was going into shock.

  “I can’t believe you idiots. Nobody took video, did they? Delete that shit. Someone gets fired because of a Vine video …”