“Leo, you really need to work on getting proper business hours,” Dr. Morison grumbles into the phone.
“My business hours are the least of my problems.”
“What’s the matter, as if I need to ask?”
“I’m coming to see you tomorrow.”
Dr. M sighs. “Leo, we have been over this time and again.”
“And yet you bring it up every time I call.”
“You need to establish boundaries, and that begins with making and keeping an appointment instead of simply barging in demanding immediate attention and gratification for your problems.”
“You’re right, Doc. We can talk about that too when I come see you tomorrow.”
Stanley groans. “Fine. I will fit you in at noon, but I am eating my lunch while we talk.”
“That’s fine. I can bring mine with me too. We’ll make it a lunch date.”
“Not even funny, Leo.”
“Which part? If it’s bringing my lunch, I’m more than happy to swap out for that old shrew you call a secretary, despite how sour she is.”
“Good night, Leo.”
“Night, Doc.”
CHAPTER 3
“My name’s Steven. What’s your name?” he asked, shouting above the thumping, squealing music blaring through the club.
“Trinh,” the woman he was dancing with shouted back.
“Great accent. Are you from China?”
Trinh smiled and shook her head. “Vietnam. Not all Asians are Chinese.”
Steven grinned back. “Sorry, I just figured that if I’m going to guess I may as well play the odds.”
“You’re cute enough that I’ll let the first one go, but only this one time.”
He was cute too. He was athletic and confident just bordering on slightly arrogant, which was how she liked them. She was a few years older than the average girl in a club full of mostly barely drinking-age men and women, but her delicate Asian features and forgiving genetics helped mask her real age.
She was sure that Steven was also older than he looked. His mannerisms and the way he talked indicated a maturity a bit more established than your average well-under thirty crowd. He was probably a college graduate with a few years invested in a good job somewhere downtown. Maybe Wall Street or some big law firm. He was obviously doing his best to dress down and match the kids hopping and gyrating about the dance floor, and almost succeeded.
Another young woman, who blended perfectly with the scene in her black clothing and makeup, bumped into them but managed to hold onto her drink. “Hey you two, how’s it going?”
Trinh rolled her eyes at the intruder. “Steven, this is my roommate, Carol.”
“I told you, when we’re out, I’m Circe.”
Steven nodded his head in greeting. “Hi, Circe.”
“Is this place great or what?” Circe asked.
“It’s certainly loud,” Trinh replied.
“Yeah, it’s totally awesome!”
“If you say so, but I’m not really feeling it. It’s getting late and the music is giving me a headache. I think I’ll head back to the apartment.”
Circe grabbed onto Trinh’s arm and tried to coax her to dance once more. “Aw, come on. It’s not that late.”
“Not for you, but I actually have a day life.”
“You are so boring!”
“Boring pays the rent, but you wouldn’t know about that.”
“Bitch.”
“Takes one to know one.” Trinh smiled, leaned in, and gave her roommate a peck on the cheek.
Circe returned the show of affection. “Watch out for creeps, snooty bitch.”
“I can drive you home if you like,” Steven offered.
“That’s all right. We only live a few blocks from here.”
“Let me walk you then. There’s a lunatic running around cutting up women. The cops think it might be a serial killer.”
Circe playfully punched Trinh in the shoulder. “Yeah, for once in your life, let a guy take you home. It’s good practice for the day you might actually invite one inside.”
“Fine, but just so you know, it’s only as far as the front steps.”
Steven bowed dramatically. “It would be my pleasure.”
“I need to grab my coat.”
Steven followed Trinh to the coat check room. Trinh handed the girl behind the counter a ticket. She returned a moment later with a belted, black nylon jacket. He took it from her grasp before Trinh could grab it and held it for her to put on.
“Good God, what is in this thing, rocks?” Steven asked, surprised at the weight.
“I hate carrying a purse, so I put all my womanly things in my coat pockets.”
“Do those womanly things include brass knuckles?”
Trinh smiled. “Amongst other things.”
“I feel sorry for whoever decides to jump you.”
“I wouldn’t. They have what’s coming to them.”
Steven chuckled as he followed her out of the club and onto the comparatively quiet street. Trinh pulled her coat tight against the burgeoning fog as they walked down the boulevard making small talk.
“What do you do, Steven?”
“I’m a financial advisor at Citibank.”
“I thought it was something like that.”
“I know, boring, right?”
“I doubt you are boring. I bet you do crazy things like rock climbing or hang gliding.”
Steven looked at his feet. “You got me pegged again. I like to base jump.”
“That is insane. Aren’t you afraid of dying?”
Steven shrugged. “There are worse things than dying.”
Trinh’s smile faded and she stared ahead, looking at nothing. “That’s for sure.”
“What do you do? Carol—excuse me—Circe said you are the one paying the bills, and I know from personal experience that it’s the boring jobs that pay the most.”
“I…work in private security.”
Steven’s eyebrows knitted together. “Security? Like a mall cop or Blackwater?”
“Neither. It’s kind of on the fringe.” She turned down an alley. “It’s shorter if we cut through here.”
“Did you skip the day they taught you at your security job not to walk down dark alleys with strangers?”
Trinh laughed. “I’m not too worried. Remember, I have those brass knuckles in my pocket.”
Steven looked up and down the alley. “Yeah, you really should have paid better attention in class.” He moved fast, clamping a hand over Trinh’s mouth and slamming her against the wall. “It’s nothing personal. I do like you, but I’m hungry, and a guy has to eat.”
Trinh’s eyes, wide with feigned surprise, narrowed in anger. Her arms came up and knocked Steven’s hand away from her mouth as well as the arm pressing her against the wall. Steven was surprised at the speed and strength of her moves, but he had no time to react before her foot snapped forward, kicked him in the chest, and knocked him back several staggering steps.
“You are wrong, Steven. It is more personal than you can imagine.”
Her speed and strength had been unexpected, but he was ready for her now. She was just a mortal woman despite whatever martial arts training she might have.
“You aren’t boring at all, are you?” he asked. “Thanks for making this fun.”
Trinh’s hands dove into her jacket as she spun away from Steven’s charge. His outstretched hands brushed black, silky hair but found only empty wall instead of soft flesh. How did she move so fast? She was not a vampire. He would have known immediately if she were.
He spun around to face her in an instant, but Trinh was ready. A small but incredibly powerful flashlight flicked on, overwhelming his sensitive vision with a burst of light. The woman and alley vanished behind massive globes of color floating before his eyes.
Steven’s rage-filled growl became a pained cry when the Taser electrodes pierced his clothing, sank into his skin, and pumped thousands of volts of electricity
through his body. His knees buckled, but he forced his nerves to fight the crippling, immobilizing pain. With another cry of rage, he tore the electrodes from his body and cast them aside.
Blinking away the scintillating motes of light, he took an unsteady step toward what was supposed to be an easy meal. Trinh’s hand was in motion, twirling something over her head he could not quite make out. Her arm flashed forward. He raised a hand to shield his face. A cable whipped around his wrist and bit into his flesh.
Steven tried to grab the weighted end of the cable, but it was wrapped around itself, and Trinh was not going to give him the chance to free himself. She jerked on the cable to prevent him from gaining a hold on it, before clipping it onto a dumpster with the large carabiner attached to the end. Steven roared and lunged at her, but she rolled away. Steven collided with the dumpster with a metallic thud and grabbed for the carabiner attaching him to the steel box.
Dull popping sounds filled the alley and he cried out at the slugs plowing into his body. He blocked out the pain as best he could and charged. Trinh backpedaled as she continued to fire round after round into Steven’s body from her silenced pistol. Instead of stopping him, the shots seemed to fuel Steven’s rage. He reached the end of his tether. The cord jerked his arm back and cut deep into his flesh, but he punched forward, dragging the dumpster squealing after him.
Trinh lowered her aim and shot at his knees. One round struck him in the kneecap before the weapon’s slide locked back on the empty magazine.
Steven’s leg buckled. “You bitch, I’ll kill you!”
“Trinh!” Carol shouted from the end of the alley.
She raced forward with something gripped in her hand. She tossed it at Trinh when she got close. Trinh caught the sword, drew it from the scabbard in a single, fluid motion, and pressed the blade to the back of Steven’s neck.
“Your killing days are over, Steven,” Trinh said without emotion. “Do something helpful in the last few seconds of your parasitic life.”
“Go to hell, bitch!”
“I have been there and back again.”
“What do you want?”
“Leonard Malone.”
Steven looked up, his face a mix of confusion. “Leo?”
“You know this thing?”
“Everyone knows Leo, or at least knows of him.”
“Tell me where I can find him, and maybe I will let you live.”
Steven shook his head. “You are going to kill me no matter what I say.”
“Maybe you can find some redemption in whatever awaits you.”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t know him. I don’t know how to find him, but I hope you do.” Steven laughed. “I hope you find him and he cuts your goddam head off. You have no idea what you are hunting.”
“You are wrong, Steven. I know exactly what he is.”
Trinh’s jian flashed, and Steven’s head dropped to the street with a dull thud. She wiped the blade clean on Steven’s trousers before sheathing it. Trinh turned, wrapped her arm around Carol’s waist, and walked her out of the alley.
“One less monster in the world.”
“But he wasn’t the one.”
“No, but I’m getting close. He’s in this city and I will make him pay for what he has done.”
CHAPTER 4
Castillo ran her finger across the name etched into the polished stone. Juan Castillo, the uncle she never met but felt as close to as any member of her family. Her father had set a place for him at the table every family holiday, even going so far as to wrap a present for him on Christmas, despite the fact that he had died in Vietnam years before she was born.
Her father was already enrolled in the NYC police academy when the draft orders went out. He very nearly dropped out to go with his brother to that hellish place, but her abuela had threatened to break his legs if he did. Even that threat did not deter him. Juan promised to put him in a coma if he tried to follow him to war. It was not until he and his brother got in a fistfight the day Juan was to board the bus to Ft. Benning, Georgia, that her father finally relented.
Juan’s basic training lasted longer than the war did, at least for him. On the forty-third day in-country, one of his squad mates tripped a booby-trapped grenade. A piece of shrapnel went through his neck and killed him.
Her father had always been a serious man, stern but loving, and deeply devoted to his job. She could not imagine him as the cutup her abuela described him as when he was a youth. After Juan’s death, he changed. He threw himself into his work, became a detective, and worked his way up to lieutenant, a position almost unheard of for a Latino at that time.
Castillo touched the revolver nestled in the shoulder holster under her jacket. It was a memento of her father, a reminder to stay true to herself and to be the best cop she could be. She tried to live up to her father’s high standards, but politics often trumped law enforcement these days, and she was already on “vacation” because she refused to give in to the culture.
She walked toward the Lincoln Memorial, casually traveling her gaze across the thousands of names meticulously carved into the wall. She stopped when one name leapt out at her. It may as well have been written in neon lights, so much did it stand out and beckon to her. Leonard Malone.
Castillo shook her head, trying to dislodge the ridiculous notion that it could be the same man who was the focal point of her obsession. She tried to ignore the unrelenting cop voice in her head, but she knew it would not quiet until it got what it wanted.
She pulled out her phone and brought up the memorial wall web page. She typed Leo’s name in the box and pressed Enter. The database showed only two people with the name of Leonard Malone, one a marine, the other army. The marine was listed as KIA, his body recovered. The soldier was MIA.
Castillo scrolled through the long list of contacts on her phone until she found the one she wanted. “Mr. Worthen, this is Detective Anna Castillo. I don’t know if you remember me, but you helped me identify a murdered homeless veteran a few years back.”
“Right, Detective Castillo. I remember. What can I do for you?”
“I need your help identifying someone again.”
“Another murder?”
“No, this one is listed as MIA.”
“What’s the name?”
“Leo or Leonard Malone.”
“One L or two?”
“Just one.”
“Do you have a social?” Castillo heard the computer keys clacking as Frank typed in Leo’s social security number. “Huh, that’s odd.”
“What is it? Did you find him?”
“Maybe, but not with that social, only by name, so I can’t say this is your guy. His file is heavily redacted. Hold on.” Frank typed away for more than a minute. “Okay, it looks like he did some time with a Special Forces unit from ’63 to ’65. Then he was assigned to a regular army battalion as a sniper. He went MIA in June 1967.”
“Do you have any photos or anyone listed as next of kin?”
“Mm, no, nothing. Like I said, his file is heavily redacted. It does state he had no known relatives and no one listed as a point of contact in the event he died in action.”
Castillo ran her hand through her hair. “Can you find me anyone still alive who might have served with him just prior to his going MIA?”
“Yeah, hold on. Geez, not many. It looks like that unit had it rough over there.”
“Do any of them live within driving distance of D.C. or New York by any chance?”
Frank punched more keys. “I have a pension check going to Gary Knotts at 2803 Stiles Street in Lancaster.”
“Thank you, Frank.”
“Anytime, Detective.”
So much for her vacation, not that she wanted to be on one in the first place. At least it was on her way home. She drove north toward Lancaster, arriving in the city late in the afternoon. She parked in the empty driveway of an older white house in an aging suburb. A dog barked furiously from inside when she knocked.
A man wearing a robe and trailing an oxygen tank opened the door. “Yeah?”
Castillo flashed her badge. “Are you Gary Knotts?”
“Yeah. Is this about those damn kids? I called you people a month ago.”
“No, I wanted to ask you about a man named Leo Malone. I think you may have served with him in the war.”
Gary pressed the plastic tubing closer to his nose and took several deep breaths in an effort to bring back some of the color to his suddenly pallid face. “Holy Jesus and the Mother Mary. I never thought I’d hear that name again.”
“You know him then?”
“Nobody knew him, but we all knew of him. You better come inside. If I have to talk about this, I want to sit down.” He looked down at the growling, wire-haired terrier. “Charlie, at ease!”
The dog crawled into a small bed under the coffee table and Gary opened the screen door to let her in. She followed him into a living room in desperate need of some housekeeping. Gary dropped into a battered old recliner, parking his oxygen tank next to it.
He opened the valve a bit wider. “Goddam Agent Orange is finishing off all of us those gooks missed. Sorry, I know that’s not acceptable talk these days, but us old codgers don’t let grudges die easily.”
“I understand, Mr. Knotts. What can you tell me about Leo Malone?”
“Like I said, no one I know of really knew him. He was there when we created the camp. The engineers had just erected the Quonset huts and perimeter fence, about eighty miles west of Da Nang, before my unit arrived. Two days after we set up the first tents, this guy comes walking out of the jungle with an old M1903 slung over his shoulder. He didn’t talk to anyone except, I guess, to report to the brass and draw more ammo.
“Over the next few months, I picked up a few things here and there about him. He’d been in-country for a couple of years, if you can believe that. I was issuing him some ammo once and got up the nerve to ask why he would volunteer to stay in this shithole. He just said it was where he belonged. It was a hell of a thing to say since, as far as I was concerned, not even the goo—Vietnamese belonged there. No human being deserved to live in a place like that.”
Primacy of Darkness Page 2
