Blind to Sin Page 22

  Local cops were usually dumb. These were no different.

  Clifton, New Jersey was a city Donne had been in before. Years earlier. It felt like a lifetime ago. Back when cops weren’t predictable. The detective he worked with back then was a smart guy named Iapicca who did his damnedest to save Donne’s sister. But Iapicca became yet another victim that plagued Donne. Another person he couldn’t save.

  Fuck that.

  It wasn’t going to happen anymore. If Donne had his way, Elliot Cole wouldn’t be walking off in handcuffs. He’d be carted out in a body bag.

  Matt Herrick was a bleeding heart. He hadn’t learned how to get results on the street. He kept trying to keep people alive, only getting them arrested. But that blowback eventually came down on you and your friends. The only way to truly keep people safe was with a pre-emptive strike.

  Donne didn’t know what Herrick’s plan was. You didn’t go on NBC and expect everyone besides the target of your rant would ignore you.

  Before he tried to foil the heist, getting the guns was easier than expected. Donne dropped Artie’s name—something he never expected would work—and the man gave him fifteen minutes to meet. They ended up in a small New Brunswick side road near Robert Wood Johnson Hospital. Donne passed the cash along, and the short man wearing a ski mask loaded a machine gun, a “sniper” rifle and a hunting knife into his trunk. He had scars on his fingers, visible when he took the last of Kenneth’s cash.

  Suppressing the memory, Donne hoped the equipment paid off now. The money wasn’t the problem. He got himself some more this morning.

  He eyed the street, looking for approaching cars. Instead, there were only news vans and live news feed set-ups. Another brilliant move. When the gunfire broke out, the collateral damage meant a reporter could take a headshot.

  What Donne was trying to avoid.

  The clock ticked closer to 8:45. Herrick wasn’t going to be late. He was too smart for that. Unless this was Herrick’s plan all along: pick a location, and no show. Cole would then walk into the teeth of the police.

  But Cole wasn’t that stupid either. Couldn’t be.

  Donne exhaled again, trying to slow the hammering of his heart. He could hear the blood rushing through his ears. The sharp tips of the newly grown grass pressed into his forearms, pinching his skin.

  At that moment, Donne figured it out. And he cursed himself for being such a fool.

  Yes, he was the idiot. Herrick needed to get Cole’s attention, and the news was a surefire way to do it. But Lattieri Park was a ploy. Some sort of subtle message. Herrick and Cole had known each other for a long time.

  There was a hidden meaning that Donne and the cops had missed.

  Donne closed his eyes. Herrick was going to walk in, unarmed, to a meeting with a guy who managed to murder six soldiers and steal billions of dollars.

  There was no way he was going to walk out.

  But where would he go? Donne replayed the previous days through his brain, searching for clues, something Herrick or Cole had said. All he needed was a tip, a hint.

  He pulled out the burner phone and texted Herrick.

  Where are you? I’m here to help.

  Putting the phone down next to him, Donne scanned the scene again. Several cops were putting on flak jackets, much like Cole had worn this morning. Two others were pointing at something on a phone. Donne looked toward the basketball courts and saw they were empty. And the road was still silent.

  No one approached.

  The phone buzzed.

  Stay out of this.

  Donne read the message twice, debating about what to type back. He wrote: Cops all over Lattieri Park. I know the park was a plant. Cole will kill you. You know you need back-up. I’m here to help.

  Donne put the phone down again. The “stay out of this” was a sign he was right. The meeting wouldn’t be here. Instead, it would be at a place where Herrick was a sitting duck. Donne stood up, staying behind his car and out of the cops’ sightline. He put the sniper rifle into the backseat and then got in the driver’s seat.

  He stared at the phone. Willed it to give him a location. Herrick needed to smarten up. This wasn’t the middle of the desert anymore. He didn’t have a battalion around the protect him. He was on his own.

  Come on, Matt, he thought.

  Donne scanned the area one more time. Nothing had changed except a few news vans had popped on their lights and cameras for a report.

  Because that was secure.

  His phone buzzed again. The location was one he was familiar with, only a few miles away. Memorial Park in Rutherford, right on the Passaic River. Only a few blocks from a fight he’d had with his adopted brother. The past was swirling around Donne and he did not appreciate it.

  But what twisted his stomach even more was the follow-up message.

  You don’t have time to get here anyway. It’s too late.

  Donne started the car and slammed on the gas. It was probably a ten-minute drive. Eight if he blew stop signs and stop lights.

  He prayed Herrick was wrong.

  HERRICK STARED at the playground of his youth. The basketball hoops didn’t have nets anymore, only rusted rims. The pavement was cracked and in need of new asphalt. The playground to his right was plastic and new. It looked as if it hadn’t been played in at all.

  But this broken down court was a connection to his childhood. His one connection to Elliot Cole. The only time they’d bonded together.

  The one time he’d ever gone out with Elliot Cole was to Lattieri Park—except this wasn’t Lattieri Park. This was where they ended up instead. Herrick couldn’t remember where his parents had been that day—perhaps out planning a job, or hell, even pulling one off. All he remembered was he was in a very frustrated Elliot Cole’s care. He kept saying he couldn’t believe he had to spend the day babysitting.

  Herrick decided they should go shoot baskets, and Cole wanted to drive around for a while. Cole knew of Lattieri Park, and got within ear shot of it, but made a wrong turn, and instead, they ended up at Memorial Park.

  One wrong turn.

  It seemed that Herrick had made the wrong decision when he took Alex Robinson’s money to find Jackson Donne a year and a half ago.

  Herrick got out of the car and walked over to the basketball court. He’d left his phone in the car after texting Donne his location—he ignored Sarah’s texts. Her calls. His principal’s texts. He only answered Donne. Someone needed to know where he was. No way Donne could get here that fast. Cole would either be here soon or expect a trap and not show up. But Herrick hoped that by saying Lattieri Park, it would tip only him off. Just the two of us.

  The lapping of the Passaic River against a dock. The smell of dead fish was strong. When you’re a kid, that sort of thing didn’t matter. All that mattered was the rock and getting to the hole. You played through anything. Right now, though, Herrick couldn’t control his thoughts. He couldn’t settle himself and focus. All he could think about were dead fish.

  The cars on Route 21, just across the river, melded with the sound of the water against the shore. For a park that was closed and an area of town that was quiet, there was a lot to mess with Herrick’s senses. He took a breath.

  And that was when the SUV rolled up. A Toyota RAV-4—gray with tinted windows. Not enough to carry a billion dollars, Herrick thought. The headlights flashed in his eyes and then went dark. Herrick steeled himself and waited.

  He could make the free throw with no time left on the clock.

  He could shoot a kid to save a battalion.

  But this was causing his heart to rat-a-tat-tat and the sweat on his palms to reflect the street lights.

  Elliot Cole stepped out of the driver’s side and slammed the door shut. In his free hand, he held a pistol. Of course.

  “You don’t need that,” Herrick said. “I’m not the type of guy to shoot you.”

  Cole grinned. The lines around his mouth had gotten deeper. Herrick wondered how much depth they gained af
ter today.

  “Maybe I’m the kind of guy to shoot you. You’re my last relic of this job. What’s that on your hip?”

  Herrick tapped the ASP and shook his head. “What about Donne?”

  “He got away with some cash. He’s not going to talk.” Cole shook his head and leveled the gun at Herrick. “I want your last thought to be this: your mother knows. Your girlfriend knows.”

  Herrick said, “The whole fucking world knows, Elliot. I said it on TV. It’s probably on YouTube. I gave you your moment.”

  The gun barrel twitched, but Cole righted it. He nodded in agreement

  “Give yourself up, Elliot. This is stupid. The only reason there isn’t an army of police raining down on this park is because I lied to them.”

  Cole didn’t say anything. Herrick was convinced a bullet would pierce his own brain in less than a second. But he kept talking.

  “How far back do we go? To this park, right? Even further. I get it, you want to be the king. You’re not a superstar. You’re not John Dillinger. Can’t keep running forever. Not in this day and age. It’s a global world.”

  Cole shrugged. “Either way, I’m a legend now. Thanks for that.”

  “To get there you dragged people you’ve loved to their lowest possible points.”

  “Way of the world,” Cole said.

  The gun went off. A loud crack that echoed off the walls of the apartment buildings in the distance. Someone screamed. Herrick flinched, waiting for the pain. But Cole dropped the gun, his brain exploding in a cloud of red dust. He slumped to his knees, and then, wordlessly, went face down to the ground.

  Herrick exhaled. Opened and closed his hands in fists. Tried to focus on breathing. There were spots of blood on him. Just like when the boy died.

  Blood everywhere.

  Herrick blinked and blinked. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but a lone siren in the air snapped him out of it. He jogged to Cole and pressed his fingers to his throat. No pulse. Not surprising.

  Sinking to the ground, Herrick wanted to let the panic overtake him. Wanted to huddle and rock for a while. This was all too familiar.

  “Donne!” he screamed, and his throat burned. “Donne!”

  No answer came.

  The siren grew louder. The noise overwhelmed the lapping of the waves, cutting through the night air like a blade through flesh.

  Herrick forced himself to his feet and ran to his car. He opened the door and got in. He called Sarah. The phone rang twice.

  “I’m okay,” he said after her greeting.

  “I’m so mad at you.” Usually when she said that there was a playful tone with it. Not tonight.

  “Cole is dead.” The words felt odd coming out of his mouth.

  “What? How could you do something so stupid?”

  “Tell my mom. He’s gone.”

  “You killed him? I thought you didn’t do that sort of thing.”

  He pictured her on the couch, legs tucked underneath her staring at a muted TV. He wondered if she was gnawing on her nails.

  “No,” Herrick said. “You know that’s not me.”

  “Who did?”

  Herrick knew Sarah already understood the answer. He didn’t say the name.

  “I love you.”

  “Come home,” she said. “We need to talk.”

  “I will,” he said. “It’s over.”

  “Come home,” she said again. There was an edge to her voice.

  Herrick took a deep breath and disconnected the conversation.

  DONNE STOOD outside the palatial estate. Somewhere a cricket chirped, and the wind buzzed through the leaves of the trees. He opened and closed his hands and eyed the house for security concerns. He didn’t notice any, but when you were stalking a millionaire, not seeing them didn’t mean they weren’t there.

  He crept up the hill of the front lawn, constantly stopping and scanning his surroundings. Nothing out of the ordinary. If Donne tripped some sort of security system, it’d be more likely that some sort of private security force showed up instead of the police.

  It happened that way when you were a multi-million-dollar thief. Cops wouldn’t do the dirty work. You hired people to do it for you. Nasty people. But Donne had dealt with their type before.

  Adrik’s house was tall and brick, like an oven. He wondered how much the air conditioning bill ran in the summer. Donne sprinted across the grass and pressed himself up against the wall of the house adjacent to the garage. No lights went on. No alarms were tripped.

  In the distance, Donne could smell the faint waft of a skunk. A dog barked. Donne edged his way around the side of the house to the backyard. He wished he’d inspected the interior better the last time he was here. He had an idea where the kitchen was, that was the way Cole had appeared. And he assumed the bedrooms were upstairs.

  But he didn’t have a ladder to climb upstairs and break in that way. So through the kitchen window he went. He used the knife he’d purchased off the guy Artie knew to pop the lock on the window and slide it open. Still no alarm.

  Adrik had balls.

  Unless he wasn’t here. Maybe he did run. After ending up with a ton of cash, the smart thing to do would be to disappear. But this guy was experienced. Hiding in plain sight was the smart move. It didn’t reek of panic. Even with Herrick giving the police, military and anyone watching the evening news his name, Adrik’s face wasn’t on the video. He could talk his way out.

  He could always disappear in a week.

  Donne climbed through the window and landed softly on the tile floor next to the kitchen table. He pulled the window shut and moved through the dark house. The hard wood floor didn’t creak as he stepped, and Donne was feeling lucky.

  He turned at the stairs and ascended them. The stairs squeaked, and Donne had to stop on each one to listen for the sound of someone waking up. Instead, he heard snoring.

  Adrik was home.

  When he reached the second floor, Donne began peeking into rooms. The bathroom, an office, the two empty guest rooms and finally the master bedroom. He pushed the door open and inched into the room. Once he was standing over the bed, he stared at the two bodies asleep in it. The bed was a king size and the two bodies weren’t entwined. The woman on the right was naked.

  A night of celebrating after a big score?

  Didn’t matter.

  Donne pulled the knife from his belt.

  And Adrik woke up, reaching for the light on the nightstand. He clicked it on and the woman he was with rolled over and screamed.

  “Son of a bitch,” Adrik said.

  “You cocky bastard.”

  Adrik didn’t answer. He pushed himself out of bed and stood, nude, in front of Donne.

  “I knew I should have killed you,” Adrik said.

  Donne grinned. “He’s gone too.”

  “Shit.”

  The woman screamed again as Donne approached Adrik. He ignored her and brought the knife up hard. Adrik feinted right and went left, so Donne only caught his arm, sending a spray of blood across the mattress. The woman was reaching for her phone.

  Donne didn’t care.

  Adrik backed up into his dresser, sending picture frames flying. Glass shattered against the floor. The woman was yelling at 911. Donne needed to get this over with quick.

  He hit Adrik in the face with a quick jab. Adrik covered his face, and blood dripped through his fingers. Donne stepped in, left foot first, and followed through with his right hand, embedding the knife in Adrik’s gut. Adrik gurgled and sank to the floor. Donne pulled hard, releasing the knife. He jammed it down in Adrik’s back. An arc of blood flew through the room.

  The woman screamed again. She dropped the phone.

  Adrik’s chest neither rose nor fell.

  Good.

  Maybe now Herrick could live the life he deserved and not be held prisoner of the past.

  He looked at the woman and said, “I’ll be gone before the cops get here.”

  Tears streaked her face.
Her breath came in huge gasps.

  “This is for the best,” Donne said.

  With that, he retraced his steps back downstairs and let himself out the front door. The smell of the skunk was stronger now. The dog didn’t bark anymore. Donne held onto the knife and ran down the block to where he parked the shitty Honda.

  Once inside, he drove in circles for a while, waiting for the adrenaline to calm down. Waited for the guilt to kick in, but it never did. Instead, a twitch started in his eyelid. He tried to blink it away but it didn’t stop.

  Miles later, he pulled over on a Parkway overpass shoulder. This time he tossed the knife into the Passaic. His grandfather used to troll rivers for bodies during the Great Depression. Donne wondered how many knives and guns he came across.

  Things like that didn’t matter. The past shouldn’t matter. The future was where he aimed himself now.

  Donne kept driving. He’d head south soon enough, but first he had one more stop to make. He exited onto Route 3. Traffic was light and the sky was clear. The New York skyline grew bigger and bigger in his vision the closer he got to Hoboken.

  He needed to see Herrick one last time. Explain to him that things were okay now.

  Donne hit the gas even harder.

  HERRICK STOOD at the corner of the parking deck only minutes after the phone call. He wasn’t letting Donne into his apartment anymore. And, if not for Mack, Herrick wouldn’t have even picked up the phone when Donne called. But Mack gave him the nod.

  “Meet with him,” Mack said. “And if you give me a signal, we can take him down.”

  Herrick had called Mack before Cole’s body was cold. Donne was losing it, he needed help, and the only person he could think of was Mack. He didn’t want the real cops involved, not yet. He needed to hear Donne say the words about his dad.

  Good man or bad man, Kenneth was still his dad. He didn’t need to be beaten to death.

  Donne had done too much, but maybe Mack could slow Donne down. Herrick didn’t want the cops on Donne’s back if he hadn’t done what Herrick thought he might have. He needed answers first, and Herrick thought he could trust Mack long enough to get them.