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 highcla.s.s? 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 b.u.t.ton 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.

320.

"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 a.s.sumed 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 a.s.shole, so don't be one."

"Sorry, just making conversation. How's your night going?"

"What are you, a f.u.c.king 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 321.

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? 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?"

322.

"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?"

"Are you sure about this? Am I really the guy you want tagging along with you tonight?"

Curt was silent for a moment on the other end.

"I hear what you're saying. Fact is, I don't know who to trust right now. Just the other day I got a tip on some fired banker who might have been running drugs, cat named Morgan Isaacs. We were just about to put a tail on him when the guy disappears into thin air. n.o.body knows where he is, not even his parents have seen him in weeks.

Doesn't add up."

"Morgan Isaacs," I said. "The man who killed William Hollinsworth had a money order on him made out to Morgan Isaacs. If that was Isaacs, he was hired to kill Hollinsworth."

"Which means he's no longer in this country, or no longer of this earth," Curt said. "I got that feeling. So right now, you're the only man I trust. I know why you're in this, Henry. You want to know the truth about Stephen Gaines, and I want to get rid of this c.r.a.p that's turning 323.

our city into Beirut. Two paths, same destination, my friend."

"Then I'll meet you there."

"See you soon, Parker. Oh wait, here he comes. Later."

"Good luck, Curt."

We both hung up.

I looked out the window and could see Vinnie exiting our building. As soon as he stepped outside, he put his cell phone to his ear. Then he nodded a few times, clicked it off, put it in his pocket and headed east. The subway was in that direction.

When Vinnie rounded the corner, I saw Curt Sheffield trailing him, walking briskly but with enough distance that hopefully our mark wouldn't notice. I silently wished Curt luck again.

"That wasn't so bad," I said to Amanda. She'd put down the magazine and wine. Standing up, she went over to the table and picked up the baggie with three rocks of the Darkness.

"Amanda, you're not going to..."

Before I could say another word, she walked over to the bathroom, opened the bag and dumped the rocks into the toilet. Then she flushed it. Once she was sure the rocks were on their way to some sewage treatment plant, Amanda came over to me and planted a ma.s.sive kiss right on my lips.

"That's the closest I ever want that stuff to us," she said, her arms warm around my neck.

"Same here. You know the reason I'm doing this is to stop whatever this stuff is from getting out there more than it already is."

"I know that. And I hope you do. But given a choice between that and you staying safe... Just come home to me, Henry. That's all I want."

324.

"I will," I said. "And hopefully I won't have to say this too many times, but don't wait up for me."

She sighed. "I won't wait up for you, but that doesn't mean I won't be thinking about you."

"I'd never tell you to stop doing that," I said.

She kissed me again and said, "Now go help Curt."

I nodded, grabbed my coat from the closet, gave her one last look and headed outside.

45.

Curt drove a Ford Fusion. The key was in the tire well just like he said. As I climbed into the car and adjusted the seat, I couldn't help but think Curt was a pretty conscientious guy to own a hybrid. I started the car and put my cell phone in the cup holder by the armrest, just to be sure I wouldn't miss it if he called.

For the next few hours, most likely, Curt would be on his own. He wasn't supposed to call me unless there was an emergency, as anything that could lead the dealer to know he was being followed was curtailed until we met up later.

So all I had to do now was wait.

I picked through the CDs. Some good stuff. Jay-Z, Lil Wayne, T-Pain. Then, underneath all of them, I found a Barry Manilow CD and I cracked up. When this was over, Curt would surely have to explain himself on that one.

An hour in, I ran to the corner deli and got a big, steaming cup of coffee and a m.u.f.fin. So far this was the lamest stakeout ever. I wasn't even staking anything out, I was just sitting in a car on the side of the street, waiting for a call so I could then follow someone. I couldn't complain, though. It wasn't too long ago I did just what 326.

Curt was doing, following one of these dealers, trying to find out just where their stash was hidden.

And then I found it, but when we went back it was gone. They obviously hadn't given up, but had simply moved to a new location.

Tonight we were going to find out where 718 Enterprises was h.o.a.rding their stash. Then Curt would take it down with his fellow boys in blue, Jack and I would get the exclusive, eyewitness story, and everyone would go home happy.

At least that's how it all played out in my mind. What happened next was something, far, far different.

Two hours into my stakeout of, well, nothing, nothing, my cell my cell phone rang. It was Curt.

I picked up it, said, "Hey. Where are you?"

"One-hundred-twelfth and Amsterdam," Curt said. "I'm pretty sure our boy is going home for the night. He just took off his tie, and he's swinging that briefcase like it's full of air, not powdered substances. Start making your way over here. I'll call you when I get a more precise location."

"On my way," I said.

"See you soon, d.i.c.k Tracy."

Starting the car, I pulled onto the street, turned my beams on and began the drive over to 112th and Amsterdam, just on the western edge of Morningside Heights.

It was a foggy night, a fine mist surrounding the yellow streetlamps, casting an eerie glow over New York. Most cars had their windshield wipers on. Mine made a rapid snick snick every thirty seconds, wiping the condensation every thirty seconds, wiping the condensation away in a perfect arc.

The streets uptown weren't particularly crowded for a Sat.u.r.day night, most of the Columbia University crew were either in bed or already at the bar and beginning their 327.

long trek to drunkenness. Meanwhile I was in a car, heading to meet my cop friend, hoping to finally put to bed once and for all who had killed my brother. And who was poisoning the city.