Jason Pinter - The Darkness

“I don’t have to be a junkie,” I said. “Just a guy who wants a late-night hit to calm my nerves.” I smiled at her.

“It has been a long week.”

She was right, of course. I was cleaning more out of nerves than anything.

I didn’t know what to expect. Curt’s call had come out of the blue, something about getting a lead on 718 Enterprises. He had a plan, he said, but to me it sounded like a plan he’d hashed up in about thirty seconds.

Not that it mattered.

To this point, all of the investigating I’d done on 718 Enterprises, this shadowy person known only as the Fury and this new drug called Darkness had been done in just that: darkness. I hadn’t written a single word of copy for the Gazette, and as far as I knew the police had no leads and didn’t seem to be banging down a whole lot of doors to get them.

With Curt in the game, at least I knew whatever we found would get sent up the ladder. If I could trust him.

Not that I had much choice. And if Curt was somehow in on all of this, there were far easier ways to get to me.

To get to people close to me. But deep down I didn’t believe there was any chance he would turn. Curt was a good cop, respected the badge. Hell, he’d even taken a bullet because of me. You couldn’t buy that kind of loyalty. At least as far as I knew.

And Jack took it surprisingly well. I fully expected him to put up a fight, to tell me that he’d put as much effort and risked as much of his reputation on this story-if not more so-than I had. And that gave him every right to be present. I expected him to suggest hiding in the closet, in the bathroom, or to actually pose as my pothead uncle or something. And I would have to let him down, gently, and tell him that if whoever came got even a whiff of Jack’s presence, he would not only be putting our careers on the line but perhaps something much, much more.

But Jack just left.

He made sure I had his cell phone number, and made me promise to call him when I knew more. I told him I would, and I meant it. But right now it was all Curt and myself. I could tell from Curt’s call he was having the same doubts I was. Wondering who to trust, feeling like his world had been closed off. Something had happened, and I wasn’t sure what yet, but Curt had decided that he was going to trust me with this. And it was all I could do to not let him down.

As I picked up around the apartment, Amanda followed me dirtying it up. Finally I gave up and realized she was right. Better off looking like an apartment two people actually lived in rather than a setup. Or an apartment in which the tenants could actually afford to hire a cleaning person.

Ten minutes later, we were both sitting on the couch, finishing the last of the wine.

“Are you sure wine is okay?” I said. “Not too highclass? He won’t think we’re some sort of rich couple?”

“That bottle of red cost twelve ninety-nine. I think we’re safe.”

We sat there, waiting, my stomach fluttering. And then the buzzer rang and the nerves went away.

I pushed the call button and said, “Who is it?”

“It’s Vinnie.”

“Come on up.”

Unlocking the front door, I looked at Amanda. Her face was a mask, no nerves either. She wanted me to crack this story, too. I smiled at her, knowing how much she was risking for this.

I waited by the door, shifting back and forth. When it rang, I waited three seconds before opening it. You know, so the guy wouldn’t know I was actually waiting by the door.

Opening the door, I saw a man standing there. He was about five foot ten, black, a bit chunky but barely winded from walking the three flights up to our apartment.

He was wearing a suit, pinstriped, slightly rumpled, and his striking blue tie was loosened just slightly.

“Hey,” I said, again wondering if that was the right way to start the conversation.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Vinnie” stepped inside and let the door close behind him. He walked over to the dining table and set his briefcase on it. I tried not to stare, but remember that it wasn’t too long ago when another drug-filled briefcase sat on my table.

And a man had died because of that.

I pushed it from my mind, but couldn’t help but realize

I’d never actually spoken to a real dealer before. Not that

I’d had no experiences with illicit substances-it was college, and unlike former presidents, I did inhale-but whenever drugs were present they seemingly appeared out of nowhere in little plastic bags. I assumed some of my friends had connections, but down the road I realized

I was just blissfully ignorant. I didn’t want to have to involve myself, didn’t want to think of myself as trading money for it.

Now there was no choice.

“Hey,” the guy responded. “You called for Vinnie, right?”

“That’s right. But you don’t look like a Vinnie.”

“You don’t look like an asshole, so don’t be one.”

“Sorry, just making conversation. How’s your night going?”

“What are you, a fucking reporter? Shut up and let’s do this.”

I decided less talking was better.

“So what can I get you?” he said.

“This new thing…Darkness, right? What will fifty get me?”

“Fifty will get you three tabs. That’s an introductory offer. After that, it’s twenty-five a pop.”

I took out my wallet, counted out fifty, and handed it over. He counted quickly, then unlocked his briefcase and pulled open the flap. He rummaged around inside as

I tried not to stare. I looked over at Amanda on the couch.

She was sitting there reading a magazine and sipping her wine, acting like this was a totally normal evening occurrence. Monday we go to the movies, Tuesdays are date nights, Wednesday we invite over our dealer. Just like all normal city kids.

“Vinnie” took out a small bag with three tiny black rocks inside. They looked like pebbles, the exact same rock that was featured in Paulina’s article.

He handed me the drugs and closed up the briefcase.

“Pleasure doing business with you. One quick thing.

If you’re going to reorder tonight, make sure you have cash on hand. We’ve had, um, troubles with people who ordered and then didn’t have the money to pay.”

“People really reorder this stuff the same night? Is it that good?”

“Vinnie” laughed.

“If we don’t hear from you within the next few days, it’s ’cause you ran out of money or you’re dead. So let’s just say I’m hoping to see you again real soon.”

As Vinnie turned to leave, I looked at Amanda. She peeked up from her wine. I rubbed my pointer finger and thumb together and mouthed Tip?

She looked at me like I was insane and gave her head a quick “no” shake.

Vinnie opened the door, nodded, and left.

I ran over and put my ear to the door. Vinnie was a big guy, and his footsteps were easily heard as he clomped down the stairs.

I waited ten seconds and then called Curt Sheffield.

“Henry, I saw him go in. Did he leave?”

“He should be leaving the building any second now.”

“Got it. You know the plan, right?”

“You’re going to follow him on foot, I take your car and wait for you to contact me. Then I meet you with the car and we tail him to wherever he refills on dope.”

“You got it, boss. Keys are in the tire well, wait until you can’t see our friend anymore before you come down. Last thing we need is this guy to think you’re following him.”

“Got it. I’ve done this before.”

“But don’t wait too long, I don’t want to chance somebody stealing my ride. You don’t exactly live in the safest neighborhood, bro.”

“Hey, Curt?”

“Yeah, Parker?”