Parker 05 - The Darkness (44 page)

"Henry," Jack said, "what..."

Then the old man was flung backward, a red rose

blooming on his white shirt.

"Jack?" I said.

He looked at me as he fell, his eyes wide and fearful.

Then another gunshot sounded out, this one hitting the

adjacent car, less than six inches from where I stood. We

ducked for cover, waiting for the firing to end. I stared at

Jack, then quickly looked up to see who was shooting at us.

Eve Ramos was standing at the doorway, gun out, her

face covered in blood and ash.

And then a barrage of gunfire like I'd never imagined

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369

tore the air apart, ripping Ramos apart in a hail of bullets

and blood. Her body was flung through the air like a puppet,

her gun firing wildly into the air, before she fell, lifeless,

next to the burning building that housed her life's work.

I knelt down next to Jack, a knot in my throat as I

hovered over him. A thin trickle of blood was streaming

from his mouth.

"We need an ambulance!" I shouted as loud as I could.

"Somebody help us!"

Two cops ran over, one of them carrying an orange kit.

He placed it beside Jack, opening it, and began to work

on my friend. My mentor. The man who was responsible

for the person I'd become.

"You're gonna be fine, Jack," I said, holding his hand,

praying for one squeeze.

Jack's eyes were open, and to my surprise he was actually

smiling. That's when I felt that squeeze, the old, cracked

palm in mine. The blood on my shirt from a man who'd lived

a life that had seen more than I could ever hope to.

"It's okay, Henry," he said, his voice weak, raspy. "I've

told my story."

"No," I said, tears welling, as I squeezed his hand

harder. "You can't. This is
our
story. You and me."

Jack smiled. Then he said, "I know. Butch and Sundance, Henry. Thank you for saving my life."

Then Jack O'Donnell closed his eyes for the last time.

Epilogue

Amanda held my hand through the entire funeral. I

didn't cry once, and when the service was over, when the

church had emptied, I hated myself for that. But then I

realized that Jack had ended his life the way he wanted

to, chasing that one big story, his name once again where

it belonged. His final story.

Through the Darkness Comes the Dawn

by Jack O'Donnell and Henry Parker

Rex Malloy was dead. Eve Ramos was dead. Sevag

Makhoulian was found less than an hour after Jack's

death, hiding in a gas station in Queens. He was under

indictment for enough crimes to keep him in prison until

the rapture.

No less than a dozen people, ranging from accountants

who handled the 718 assets to the mayor himself, were

under investigation. And I had no doubt that what they

would find would end perhaps the largest drug conspiracy

the city had ever seen.

And by investigators' estimates, nearly ten tons worth

of narcotics had gone up in flames in that warehouse.

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371

Though he died to tell the story, Jack had saved hundreds,

if not thousands of lives.

He would be remembered the way he deserved to be.

A journalist who told the truth, a man who uncovered the

greatest stories never told.

The day of the funeral, the
Gazette
ran a special edition

with an insert that collected some of Jack's most famous

pieces from his nearly fifty years on the job. Reading them

on the subway to work reminded me of just what an amazing

career he'd had. And just how rich a life had been lost.

When I got to my desk, there was a voice mail waiting

for me. It was from Linda Veltre, the woman who'd edited

Jack's book
Through the Darkness
nearly twenty years

ago, chronicling the rise of the drug trade, the story where

Jack had first learned of the Fury. Her publisher wanted

to reissue Jack's book. And she wanted me to write the

introduction.

Plus, she said, if I had any thoughts of writing my own

book about the investigation of Eve Ramos and 718 Enterprises, she'd love to talk to me over lunch. Apparently

she'd already received a call from Paulina Cole's literary

agent expressing interest in writing a book about the

story, but the editor felt mine was the right one to tell.

It was something to think about, but another day.

The day after Jack's funeral I walked into the offices

of the
New York Gazette,
and immediately something felt

different, off. I received several nods from my colleagues,

the same ones who congratulated me with their eyes, but

were afraid to speak because they knew what Jack had

meant to me.

Sitting down, I looked out over Rockefeller Center, at

a city Jack had known better than most people know

themselves. It was a city that pulsed with a million dif-372

Jason Pinter

ferent veins, a million different stories. And those stories

were still out there, waiting to be discovered.

Life would go on. Jack would have wanted it to.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Wallace Langston

making his way across the newsroom floor. There was

somebody with him. I couldn't see who it was, but Wallace

was talking to him earnestly, pointing at things as they

walked.

As they got closer, I could see that Wallace was leading

around a young man. He looked to be twenty-one or

twenty-two, a good-looking kid with short black hair,

sharp features, and an air of wonder about him. He was

following Wallace's lead like a child experiencing a

museum for the first time.

A new reporter. I smiled. The day Wallace had shown

me the ropes didn't feel that long ago.

Wallace was not introducing the new guy to anyone.

That would come later.

Then Wallace took a detour and stopped by my desk.

The new guy's cheeks were red, embarrassed, and he had

trouble making eye contact.

"Henry," Wallace said. "This is Nicholas Barr. He's

fresh out of J-school."

"Nice to meet you, Nicholas," I said, offering my hand.

"Yeah, nice to meet me, too. You. I mean meet you.

Me, nice to meet you."

"Easy there, Nicholas," I said.

"You can call me Nick," he said, his voice shaking. "Or

Nicholas. Nicky. Whatever you want."

"Nick it is."

"That's cool," he stammered. "I mean, okay."

"We'll catch up later, Parker," Wallace said, and I felt

the veteran editor's hand on my shoulder. Wallace would

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373

miss Jack as much as I would. It'd be good to tell stories

of the old man. "Maybe you'll show this new kid the

ropes sometime."

"You got it."

And then, when Wallace and Nick Barr had left my

desk, I heard the young reporter whisper enthusiastically

to Wallace, "Dude, that was Henry Parker."

"He's a great reporter," Wallace said. "And actually, I

think the two of you will get along quite well."

"Unreal," Barr said. "This whole place. Unreal."

I smiled, thinking about several years ago, my first day

at the
Gazette,
when I swiped Jack O'Donnell's coat with

my hand just to see if it was real. I remembered the pride

and disbelief in knowing I'd be working just mere feet

from a living legend.

Unreal. It had all seemed unreal.

Then I looked at Nick Barr, standing where I'd been

just a few short years ago, and knew that Jack might be

living on through me.

* * * * *

Author's Note

This book is a work of fiction, but many of the events discussed, specifically in regard to the growth of the drug trade

in the United States in the 1980s and the CIA's involvement

in the distribution of crack to fund Contra groups, are based

in fact. Gary Webb's series of "Dark Alliance" articles in the

San Jose Mercury News
contributed mightily to the development of this book. As is often the case, the truth surrounding Webb's reporting and his alleged suicide is far

stranger (and more terrifying) than fiction.

The full text of Webb's reporting is online, and can

be read at:

www.narconews.com/darkalliance/drugs/index.htm

The murder of Robert Paz was an actual international

incident, and one that was instrumental in sparking the

U.S. invasion of Panama and the eventual capture of

Manuel Noriega. The manner of Paz's death described in

this book is accurate, as was his alleged membership in

the "Hard Chargers," a U.S.-backed insurgency brigade

whose purpose was to incite conflict with the Panama

Defense Forces in the hopes of inciting retaliation that

would positively impact public opinion about the conflict.

While the actual event in which Ramos and Malloy

were ambushed during their time as members of the

Special Forces in Panama is fiction, it was inspired by the

facts surrounding the murder of Robert Paz.

For further reading on these topics, I recommend the

following books:

DARKALLIANCE by Gary Webb (Seven Stories Press)

KILL THE MESSENGER by Nick Schou (Nation

Books)

LEGACY OF ASHES by Tim Weiner (Anchor Books)

CRACK IN AMERICA: edited by Craig Reinarman

and Harry G. Levine (University of California Press)

COCAINE by Dominic Streatfeild (Picador)

THE COMMANDERS by Bob Woodward (Simon

and Schuster)

Acknowledgments

As always, my sincerest thanks to Dianne Moggy,

Margaret O'Neill-Marbury, Donna Hayes, Michelle

Renaud, Heather Foy, Don Lucey, Adam Wilson, Christine Lowman, Craig Swinwood, Catherine Burke,

Belinda Mountain and the whole worldwide MIRA team.

My editor, Linda McFall, has seen both Henry and

myself through thick and thin, and her quick pen and

spot-on instincts make his stories that much richer.

Joe Veltre is a first-class agent and a great friend.

Here's to another book together.

The crime-writing community has been incredibly

supportive of my books. For that I must acknowledge Jon

and Ruth Jordan of
CrimeSpree,
George Easter and the

staff of
Deadly Pleasures,
Lynn Kaczmarek at
Mystery

News,
Andrew Gulli of
The Strand
and everyone at ITW

and MWA who allowed me into their families.

My two extraordinary families--one by birth, one by

marriage--continue to be my biggest fans and I am incredibly fortunate to have your love and support.

James Ellroy's stunning novel
L.A. Confidential
was

the main inspiration for this book. Thanks to your searing

tale, this story exists.

And to Susan, who has been my partner in every way,

shape and form, the person whose approval means more

to me than anything, thank you for again making me a

better writer and a better man.

These Henry Parker fans went above and beyond

helping to spread the word about my books. A sincere

thank-you to all of them. Stacy Alesi, Alex Bash, Will

Bernier, Vickie Bolton, Nicole A. Bowling, Michael

Cader, Mike Cane, Simon-Luke Clark, Nancy Cobb,

Rhonda Despins, Alex Faye, Seth Harwood, Ron Hogan,

Dante Howard, Brenda Janowitz, Toni Kelich, Christopher Lawson, Mary Beth Lee, Michele Lee, Becky

LeJeune, Dave Letus, Catherine Mambretti, R.J. Mangahas,

Kevin Manning, Charles B. Mauldin III, Mary Menzel,

Tricia Mescall, Michael O'Neill, Lisa Pietsch, Allison

Pinter, Tracey Prindle, Yvonne Roberts, Tori Scott,

Jennifer Shew, Jamie Singerman, Joy Smith, Jessica

Stachak, Laurence Vergowven, Sarah Weinman, Chris

Well, Jason Wells, Dave White and Jamieson Wolf.

(r)

ISBN: 978-1-4268-4425-6

THE DARKNESS

Copyright (c) 2009 by Jason Pinter.

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or

utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic,

mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including

xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or

retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher,

MIRA Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are

either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and

any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments,

events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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