Then she saw him.
Danny hunched in a booth in the back corner of the place. His dark figure looked like a shadow against the harsh gleam of the rainbow lights reflecting off the glossy tabletop before him. His hood was still pulled up, too, which wasn’t exactly an inconspicuous look.
At the movement of the front door, he turned and glanced over at them for half a second before returning his focus to fidgeting with a bottle PBR.
“Two o’clock,” Darger said.
“Yep,” Loshak said. “I see him.”
“I’ll take his side of the booth. Block him in, keep him from bolting.”
“Let’s go,” Loshak said.
They moved on him. Darger tilted her head toward the floor, made sure not to look at Danny or his table. She set her shoulders like she was going to walk right past him. Only once she was right there, close enough to touch him, did she slide into the seat beside him.
Danny’s mouth popped open at this sudden invasion of his personal space by a complete stranger.
“Hey man, this seat is… like… taken.”
“Daniel Jessop? Violet Darger. FBI,” she said, reaching into her jacket for her badge.
Danny’s eyes went wide and wild.
“Oh fuck!”
Quick as a squirrel, he hopped up onto his seat, did a skittering run over the tabletop, and hurdled the other side of the booth.
Darger and Loshak exchanged a quick glance before taking off after him.
Danny careened to his left, ducking into a hallway that led to the bathrooms according to the signage. Darger and Loshak pursued him down the dingy passage. Ahead of them, Danny passed both bathroom doors, turned a corner, and disappeared from view.
By the time Darger reached the bend, Danny had just pushed through a door at the end of the corridor marked “FIRE EXIT ONLY” in bright red letters. The warnings slowed Danny not at all. He burst over the threshold in one motion, bending at the waist as he flung the door aside and then righting himself.
The hooded figure zipped into the back alley, really moving now, lifting his knees higher and higher. They were going to lose him.
A dark shape darted out from the side of the building. An arm in a navy suit jutted out from the side and caught Danny in the neck.
The kid hit the limb barrier at full speed and tipped backward, feet kicking out from under him all at once like he’d been chopped in half. He slammed to the wet asphalt, shoulder blades hitting first, then the rest coming down in a heap.
Darger blinked. Taking it in faster than she could process it.
Ambrose had clotheslined Danny. They had him. The detective leaped onto the kid to hold him down.
Darger and Loshak shot through the door. They drew up on the mass limbs and torsos.
Danny was flailing and screaming under the bulk of Detective Ambrose like a trapped cat.
“Motherfucker! Get offa me!”
“Calm down, son,” Ambrose said, but Danny wouldn’t listen. He just kept fighting and howling. “If you don’t settle down I’m gonna have to restrain you.”
Darger and Loshak held Danny as still as they could while Ambrose got out the zip restraints. Some of the fight went out of the kid as soon as he was bound. They hoisted him as a group and set him on his feet.
“I haven’t said anything to anyone, OK?” he said, and Darger thought he sounded like he was on the brink of tears. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Do what?” Ambrose asked.
“Whatever, man. I swear, I won’t say anything.”
The back door of the bar had let out to an alley and a small parking area, and Ambrose started dragging Danny toward the street. There were two women in athletic gear jogging down the sidewalk when they reached it. As soon as Danny spotted them, he immediately began to struggle again.
“Help! Help me! They’re going to kill me! Call the police!”
“Fool, who do you think we are?” Ambrose asked.
The jogging women froze a few yards away, and one of them already had her phone out. Ambrose whipped out his badge and showed it to the women and then to Danny.
“Wait. You’re cops?”
Danny relaxed for a beat, but then he went rigid again.
“Well I don’t know nothing about nothing!”
“No? How about your friends Bo Cooke and Bailey Harmon?”
Danny flinched and swiveled his head away, an obvious move to avoid eye contact.
“I don’t know no Bo or Bailey.”
“No? So it wouldn’t bother you to find out that they’re both dead?”
Danny’s eyelashes fluttered.
“What? No.” He shook his head. “You’re just saying that.”
Ambrose said nothing. He only stood and stared at Danny, hands on hips.
“They’re dead?” Danny asked.
“Yeah.”
“Fuck,” Danny whimpered. “I mean, I knew. But… fuck.”
“We’re gonna need to ask you some questions.” Ambrose raised his eyebrows. “If I take those restraints off, you won’t run, will you?”
“Look, I’ll tell you what I know, if it’s even worth much, but can we go somewhere else? Like, off the street? I need protection.”
“Sure,” Ambrose said, removing the zip ties from Danny’s wrists. “We’ll go down to the station. Ain’t nobody gonna touch you there, OK?”
Danny stopped.
“Are you going to put me in a cell?”
“A cell? No. We’ll go sit in an interview room. I can get you a soda, and we’ll just sit and talk.”
They walked a few more steps.
“Are there windows? In the interview room, I mean?” Danny asked, frowning.
“Windows? Uh, no.”
Danny’s face twitched.
“And I probably can’t smoke in there, can I?”
“Nope.”
Danny stopped again.
“Can we talk somewhere outside? Please?”
“I thought you wanted to be off the street. You said you wanted protection.”
“Yeah, but… I don’t want bars or locked doors or anything like that.”
Ambrose glanced at Darger, but she was just as baffled as he was.
“OK, fine. Name a place, my man.”
“There’s a park down that way.” Danny pointed down the street. “We can talk there.”
Chapter 40
Two blocks down from the bar was a small municipal park with a fountain in the center. Sparse pine trees clustered along a snaking flagstone pathway with weather-stained park benches sprinkled along the route. Ambrose let Danny get a few paces ahead of them as they passed through the park gates, and then the detective turned and murmured to Darger.
“Go easy on ‘im. He’s right on the edge.”
Darger nodded.
Danny led them over to the fountain and perched on the concrete edge. The fountain was dry, non-operational, its pale innards stained with dark brown streaks and tendrils of what looked like a rusty fungal growth. As soon as he was seated, Danny’s right leg began bouncing up and down, a nervous expulsion of energy.
“So who did you think we were?” Darger asked as she lowered herself beside him.
“Huh?”
Danny pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one with a butane lighter shaped like a hand with the middle finger extended.
“When you ran. You didn’t think we were the cops because you told those people to call the police. So who did you think we were?”
Danny blew out a stream of smoke but didn’t answer.
A woman pushing a baby stroller entered the park, and Danny’s head whipped around to face her. His leg stopped pistoning. He stared at the woman for several seconds before apparently deciding she wasn’t a threat, and the jouncing of the leg began anew.
Darger decided to take a different approach. Something less direct.
“Were you one of the Children, too?”
“The what?”
“The Childr
en of the Golden Path,” Darger said.
“Oh... right. That was the cult group that Bailey and them got into? Nah, man. They told me you have to be like, abstinent or whatever. No sex and no substances? They even tell you when to eat and when to crap. If I wanted that, I’d go back home and live in my ma’s basement.”
He smirked and ashed his cigarette into the fountain.
“You called it a cult. Is that what your friends called it?”
“Hell no. They were totally gaga about the guy that ran it. I swear, even Stevie talked about that dude like he had a hard-on for him, you know? I joked about that once, actually, and Steve did not think it was very funny.”
“This is Stephen Mayhew?”
“Yeah.”
“And did you also know Courtney Maroni?”
“Sure. She was Steve’s girl.”
“Did you meet them through some event they had at the camp?”
“No, I never went to any of that crap. Like I said. They have all these policies. No smoking. No drinking. Sounded lame.” Danny took a long drag off his cigarette. “I only met Steve and Courtney after the lot of them got kicked out. I mean, can you fucking imagine? Even after this messiah dude boots them from his little paradise, they all still worshipped him. Fucking brainwashed, man.”
“So where did they go after they got kicked out?”
“Bailey went where she always goes when the shit hits the fan. Straight back to Bo.” Danny shook his head. “I always thought she was trouble, man. I told Bo that once. I waited until one of the times they were broken up, otherwise he probably woulda kicked my ass. But he didn’t listen. If Bailey hadn’t come back here, we never would have ended up—”
Danny suddenly stopped talking.
“Ended up what?” Darger asked.
Danny’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“Do I have to talk to you?”
“Legally? No. But Bo and Bailey are dead. And so are Stephen and Courtney.”
“Fuck,” he whispered, his shoulders deflating.
“I think you know who did it. Or at least suspect someone.” Darger leaned in a little. “I know you’re scared, Danny. But if you tell us what you know, we can put a stop to this.”
Danny jabbed a knuckle into his eye to wipe away a tear.
“I ain’t scared.”
A silence followed, and Darger didn’t immediately rush to fill it. She let the chirping of the birds in the pines cleanse the air for a few seconds.
“You were all working together, is that right? For some mysterious billionaire?”
Danny’s eyelids stretched wide.
“This isn’t a trick, is it? Like a test or whatever? You don’t, like, work for them or something?”
“You want to see my badge again?”
“No. It’s just… you don’t know what it’s like.” Danny shivered and rubbed at his forearms. “I wake up in the middle of the night all sweaty, and I’m back there.”
“Back where?”
“Underground.”
Now it was Darger who was fighting off a sudden chill.
“Underground, doing what?”
He swiveled his head around so he could look her in the eye.
“Digging.”
Chapter 41
The shape leaped out of the shadows. Reaching for him.
He stumbled back instinctively. Threw his arms out to the side, the lantern tipping and lurching in his hand.
The sphere of light shining out of the glass globe swung wildly around the enclosed space. The glow surged up the walls and crashed back down like a tidal wave. It made all the shadows stretch and bend and jerk as it moved.
His backpedaling feet snagged on knobby protrusions on the cave floor. Gravity pulled at him, wanting to take him down. But he kept upright, kept moving away, retreating.
As the dark figure stepped into the open, he saw the knife in its hand first. The long blade angled out of the shadows, its steel gleaming in the orange light.
And then the rest of the shape seemed to follow it into the brightness. Entering the light as though appearing there, becoming real there.
The familiar cowboy hat sat atop the head. Perched there like it might pounce. The mustache darkened the lip beneath the mirrored aviators, mouth sneering. The western cut shirt adorned the torso, the bolo tie dangling just shy of the collar.
It was Cowboy. That was plain.
His mind reeled at this revelation. Why would Cowboy want to kill me?
Cowboy stalked toward him, shoulders faintly hunched, arms splayed at the sides. Something aggressive in the way they swayed back and forth, the knife wagging in a vaguely serpentine zigzag.
Cowboy smiled. An evil grin splitting the flesh above his chin. And something there made the whole picture make sense for the first time.
He gasped. A single hiss escaping his lips.
Then his back butted up against the dead-end wall of the dig site. He turned. Stared a second at the sheared off stone face before him.
Impossible. Overwhelming. Impenetrable rock. Hundreds of feet thick from this point, according to the geologist’s report they’d looked at when planning the blasts.
Nausea gurgled in the center of him. Tottered against the walls of his stomach.
His eyes traced a crack up the rock face. A crease that drew a stark black line in the sandy looking stone. If only he could peel it apart. Crawl inside there.
“Nowhere to run now,” the voice behind him said.
Boots scuffed on the rock floor behind him. Jerky.
He turned just as the knife swooped for him. Tried to dodge it. Failed.
The metal plunged home into his belly. A cold spike entering the center of him, the meat of him. Shoved in up to the hilt.
He stood up straighter for a split second, and then he hunched over the wound, over the outstretched arm still jamming that knife into his torso, trying to twist the blade.
They were close now. He and the man killing him. Face to face. Intimate.
That leering mouth hissed out a laugh. Insane. Tongue flicking out to wet the lips.
The knife jerked out and slammed into him again. Slurping and whispering.
And coldness spread outward from the wounded place now. Icy tendrils worming into his muscles, undulating like tentacles. The chill overtook him from the inside out. Permeating. Saturating. Puddling and sloshing and gripping until the chill laminated his sheening skin.
The knife eased out of his belly, wet and shiny. Trembling in the red hand that held it.
It sprange to life again. Slashed across his chest.
He weaved to his right. Attempted to evade it a beat too late. Felt the sting as it opened more of him. Etched another line of agony into his flesh.
His eyelids fluttered. Wet. Then going blurry, out of focus.
The knife swooped for him yet again.
He ducked. Flinched. Whimpered faintly.
The tip of the weapon jabbed at his cheek. Pierced it. Then scraped across it like a cat claw.
Another seam torn open in his skin, his body coming asunder.
Bright flashes of pain pulsed in multiple places now. Searing. Thrumming.
He slumped to the stony ground. Knees hitting first. Then he tumbled to his side.
The cold feelings got bigger as he touched down. The cave happy to receive the last of his body heat. Endlessly hungry for it.
He held up his arm as though to defend himself. But that dark figure wasn’t there anymore. The silhouette had stepped back. Motionless now. An observer.
He brought the hand to the gaping hole. Cupped at the wet there. And he tried to curl in on himself. Knees tucking up toward his ribcage. Fetal position. Like folding into a ball might keep him together, might hold the life inside of him a little longer.
The blood drained from his torso, sluicing through the fingers clutching his abdomen. Red puddled on the rock floor. The dark pool slowly advancing away from him in all directions, his life pumping out onto the bedrock. Returnin
g to the earth.
The footsteps trailed away a few steps. Echoed funny in the cave.
And no real thoughts came to him as he bled out. No words in his head. Only a feeling of loss, of shock and grief and some vague sense of remorse for the time he’d lost, for the time he’d wasted.
He blinked. Stared out at nothing. Fuzzy light and shadow. Flecks of bright and dark that refracted everywhere around him like a kaleidoscope.
The cold took him quickly.
Chapter 42
“Digging for what?” Darger asked.
“Man… I signed stuff, you know? They said there’d be repercussions if they found out I was talking about what I did.” Danny pulled another cigarette out and tucked it between his lips. “This is all supposed to be top secret, you know? The whole reason I’ve been hiding out is because I was worried what might happen if they found me and thought I’d been talking.”
Darger looked from Loshak to Ambrose. They seemed as baffled as she did by what Danny was saying.
“OK,” she said. “Let’s talk about ‘they’ then. Can you tell us who you’re hiding from?”
“Shit, man.” Danny lit the cigarette from the middle finger on his lighter and inhaled. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea. Me talking to you.”
“Four people are dead,” Darger said. “You seemed fairly convinced you’re in danger. We want to help you, but we can’t do that if you don’t tell us what happened. Who were you doing this hush-hush secret work for?”
Danny closed his eyes.
Finally he said, “Cowboy.”
Ambrose blinked and leaned forward.
“Did he just say a cowboy?” By the look on the detective’s face, Darger could tell he thought Danny was out of his mind. “You on something, son?”
“Not a cowboy. Just Cowboy,” Danny said, gesturing with the cigarette. “That’s the dude’s name.”
“Oh yeah?” Ambrose chuckled. “And is that a first name or a last name?”
“I mean, I figure it’s a nickname. On account of him always wearing a cowboy hat and boots. And those nuthugger Wranglers. Just picture a Joe Exotic looking dude, OK?” Danny shook his head. “Look, I don’t know his real name. That’s what I’m trying to say, man. You think I’m paranoid? This dude is next level. Walks around with a bulletproof vest on half the time.”
Violet Darger | Book 7 | Dark Passage Page 19
