Darkness of the Soul (12 page)

Drakanis shook his head, turned away, and vomited. He found himself grateful for a moment, since it came up like it always had. Even as a child, he could just send it up the chute and let it go without any pain, without any coughing spasms, and it was still like that now, just sick it up, get it out of the system.

Saved
myself
a
hangover,
at
least.
Should
be
grateful
for
that.
Stuck as he was thinking of his lifetime vomiting experiences, he didn’t immediately register what the others were saying to him. He didn’t bother diverting his attention to listen either. He just let it go until it was all out. Then he stumbled back, flopped his ass onto an old crate that had supposedly once contained a great number of oranges, and looked blearily up, catching just the last of what Perez was saying.

“—going to be okay, Vincent?” Another thing about Perez that Drakanis had always noticed was his attention to detail in everything he did. His nails were always perfectly done, cut probably to the millimeter in precision. His clothes always looked as though they’d been made out of steel; they were kept so straight and even that you almost thought they were a built-in part of him. Everything he said came out that way too; he never used a contraction—at least, not that Drakanis had ever noticed—and he always used a person’s full name. He made sure to always provide clarification when asked. Even the tone of voice itself was almost anal-retentive in his modulation of it, and his enunciation would make English teachers the world around cream their jeans if they heard him speak a few words.

Parker was shaking his head, glancing over at Drakanis briefly before turning back to Perez. “No, I ain’t gonna be okay, Julio. I’m pretty fucking shitty, as a matter of fact, but physically I’m fine.” He flapped a hand, almost dismissively, and then added, “Sorry about that.”

Perez shrugged, his shoulders rolling up and back down the barest fraction of an inch to be detectable. Then he lowered his voice. “I know this is a difficult thing for you, Vincent. You as well, Michael.” At that, Drakanis cringed. Very few people even bothered with Mike, let alone Michael, and it made him think of Gina again. “And I would rather that you could stay, but…” He spread his hands, again with the same apologetic but stern facial expression.

Drakanis was finding something resembling his sense again and just shook his head. “I understand. It’s cool. Look, I’m… sorry.” His voice was trembling, hard to read, and Perez thought he detected a note of anger in it, but Drakanis was holding all of that for himself. He should have known better than to just start shouting, but… A million excuses started to crowd in on him, so he just shook his head again and took a step back, mumbling another, “I’m sorry,” as he did so.

Perez just nodded, flicked his eyes over Drakanis’s shoulder to Parker for a fraction of an instant, and then disappeared back inside, leaving the giant to try to sort through the rest of the mess. Neither of them said anything for several minutes, until Drakanis offered up another, “I’m sorry,” which pushed Parker over the edge.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Mikey, would you shut the fuck up? Party foul, that’s all. Besides, Brokov’s a bitch sometimes, and Woods is a little weasel, so who gives a shit what they think? The rest of ’em will get over it eventually, so fuck ’em. If I can give you a day pass, they sure as fuck had better.”

Parker was thinking about Morrigan now, and it was pushing what he really wanted—
needed
—to talk to Drakanis about right out of his mind. That was bad, but it was hard to stop it from happening. When the man who basically sponsored your whole career on the force, who had been there to listen when your only surviving relative finally kicked the bucket, who had taken you in and let you marry his daughter and then tried to help you through it when she decided another woman was a better choice, when that man dies—especially young and sudden—there’s a lot of shit to wade through, and Parker was still trying to get it into his head that there
was
that shit to wade through.

Drakanis looked about ready to let loose with some sharp comment, but the look on the other man’s face gave him pause. He knew better than most how it had been with Parker and how Morrigan had been one of the few people Parker had let into his inner life. You could count those people on one hand, regardless of his apparent cheerfulness and the dozens of “hellos” that seemed to follow him around. Knowing that and seeing the look on Parker’s face, Drakanis found he couldn’t do or say much at all, just stand there with his hands in his pockets and wait, looking uncomfortable and wondering if it had been this way when Gina had died.

Of
course
it
was,
you
idiot.
They
all
could
see
how
bad
it
was,
but
nobody
knew
what
to
say
to
you;
you
wouldn’t
have
let
them,
even
if
they
had.

He wanted to argue with that inner voice, say it wasn’t so, say he’d wanted to come out and get on with living, but he couldn’t lie to himself that deeply.

“All right, look, I overreacted. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry about the captain, too. I…” Drakanis paused, unsure if he should say anything or not, but he figured he’d already gotten it half out, so he might as well just do it. “I know how much he meant to you. So are we gonna buck up and kick this motherfucker’s ass or what, Tonto?”

This managed to elicit at least a small smirk from Parker, who shook his head as he started rummaging in his pocket for the cigarettes. He flipped one toward Drakanis as he parked his own in the corner of his mouth and lit it. Taking his time on the first drag while Drakanis got his own cancer stick going, Parker considered and then nodded.

“Motherfucker’s goin’ down, my friend.”

“Right. So spill it. What have you got, and what does it matter?”

Parker looked slightly reluctant for a moment.
Maybe
I
am
just
seeing
shit
where
there
is
none.
Maybe
that
kinda
shit’s
catching,
he thought. Then he shrugged and pulled a thin envelope from inside his jacket. The look of relief that passed over his face was unmistakable. However irrational it might be, the whole time he’d had the thing in there, it had felt like a lead weight that some fool had left in the fireplace for a few hours, burning against his chest and trying to drag him down. Finally being able to whip it out and show it to someone else was like the effect of zero gravity and a bucket of water, getting rid of both of those pains and helping to clear his mind a bit.

Christ,
I
probably
am
going
crazy,
he thought, and then out loud, he said, “If you’re willing to accept a little bit of shuck and jive and accept some of the weirder shit as being possible, I think our boy’s been one fuck of a lot busier than we really could have expected. Have a peek.”

He passed the envelope to Drakanis. He tore it open after a half-contemptuous look that wasn’t really serious and then started to skim while Parker smoked.

*      *      *

Damien Woods watched the back door as the nut departed alongside Parker and Perez, the ghost of a smile gracing his lips. The blonde next to him was probably still thinking it was about whatever she’d said last—though Damien didn’t even remember what it had been, nothing important, anyway. She continued to prattle on, so he could stare without fear of repercussions.

Damien had been with the force for just about three years now. The night Gina Drakanis met her unfortunate end had been one of his first on-duty shifts, as a matter of fact.
My
how
the
time
flies
when
you’re
having
fun!
he thought. He had never received a promotion, never been cited or nominated for anything, and rarely even had his name appear on the duty roster, regardless of how many others were out sick. That was the way he liked it, keeping below the radar, just doing his thing. Sure, other cops
knew
him, but they only rarely
remembered
him, and while it was a bitch to get a raise in a situation like that, it helped tremendously when you were looking for something and didn’t want anyone else to know you were looking.

Looks
like
maybe
they’re
catching
on.
There
might
be
hope
for
those
boys,
yet.
He’d been trying for at least the last year to get Parker to open his damn eyes and see that the world around him wasn’t really what he thought it was, that the impossible was only improbable, but hadn’t had much success. It was ironic, he thought, that all it took was for the killer to do something off-kilter and suddenly, Parker was a raving believer.

Too
bad
Drakanis
doesn’t
look
like
he
wants
to
buy
into
the
show.
Dumbass.

Damien was broken out of his reverie and the tenuous mental bond he was trying to tap into with Parker and Drakanis when Brokov tapped him on the shoulder and waved her other hand in front of his face.

“Hellloooo? Anybody home?”

Damien started and blinked a few times, trying to get his eyes to focus on her—the farsight always raised hell with his normal vision, even when it wouldn’t work. He smiled at her, reading the expression on her face—part irritation, part boredom—and jabbed a small mental needle in her direction to keep her sedate.
Calm.

No sooner thought than done, and the lines smoothed out in her face and the tapping on his shoulder turned to a caress.

“Where were you, hmm? Not in your head, obviously,” she said with a mischievous smirk.

“Sorry. Was woolgathering. Hard to think in here, too goddamn gloomy.”

Though others had noted the same more than once as the afternoon dragged on and the guests came and went, he doubted anyone else was feeling it the way he did. Drakanis might be, but he was too unfocused to understand it. The rest of them were just plain blind. There was something there, some force, and it was deadening everything, making what was already a morbid affair into something with the atmosphere of a midnight mass. Damien still couldn’t put a finger on where it was coming from.

Probably
exactly
why
he’s
doing
it.
This was true enough, he was sure. The killer was putting out this dead static over the psychic airwaves, knowing someone or something would be picking it up—another thing that drove Damien up the wall. Cops might not remember him, and the man on the street might not even know he existed, but whoever was doing all this shit knew there was
something
to be hiding from at least, and that was one step closer to finding him than Damien liked anyone to get.

“You want to get out of here? It
is
pretty gloomy, and much as I liked the captain, I think I’ve said good-bye enough times.”

Damien paused only for a moment; he’d prefer to stay there and see if he could pinpoint where that mental static was coming from, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to tell until it was gone, and then it’d be useless anyway. Outside, at least, he might be able to get a better mark on Parker, and if things turned sour, he’d have a cover story.

“Sounds like a plan.” He paused for a moment, pursing his lips and searching for the proper etiquette. In all his masks and years of deception, it sometimes became difficult to remember the basic niceties.

“Hey, all these years, I never asked your first name. What is it?”

Walking alongside him with her arm companionably pushed through his, she glanced up, smirking and arching a brow. “Hang out with a lady all night and don’t even know her name? Tsk-tsk. It’s Sheila, sweetie.”

That name made him feel as though he’d been kicked in the crotch. He must have paled, or at least stalled his steps for a moment, because he could hear her asking if there was something wrong with that.

Sheila.
Of
course,
it
would
be.

For a moment, Damien felt all of it trembling, all the work of the past years and all the possibilities he’d tried to lay out, each and every one of them quaking in their foundations, about to be toppled by one single mistake, one accidental overlap. He pushed it away, devoting all of his considerable will into pushing things back onto the right track and forcing himself to start moving.

“No. It’s a beautiful name.” His voice sounded stilted and false to his own ears, but again, he stroked her mind with his, a brief nudge to knock her suspicion down a notch. She just nodded, grinning a little and almost leading him out.

“Of course it is. It’s mine, isn’t it?”

Today
it
is.
But
what
was
it
last
time,
and
what
will
it
be
next
time?
He wasn’t sure—not 100 percent—but all his mental alarms were ringing, and some of the old paranoid fantasies were creeping back in. No matter how many times he told himself to watch out for that sudden blow from around the corner, he always walked right into it, and it always threw him for a loop. Maybe someday he would learn his lesson, but apparently, it hadn’t happened yet.