Read Primacy of Darkness Online
Authors: Brock E. Deskins
“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.”
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.”
“Can you describe him?”
“Sure. He wasn’t much to look at. Five-eight, maybe five-nine, average build, black hair. Typical wop features—except for the eyes.”
“What about his eyes?” Castillo asked.
“When you looked into them, it was like a thousand souls looking back at you. It wouldn’t surprise me if they were, and it wouldn’t surprise me if a good number of them weren’t Vietnamese.”
“Did you ever notice anything unusual about him—other than the eyes?”
Gary laughed a wracking cough. “It’d be easier to say I never saw anything ordinary about him. I only saw one person stupid enough to pick a fight with him and that was enough that no one ever did it a second time.”
“Tell me about it.”
“There was this one marine. Biggest bastard I ever saw in my life. He and his outfit were new to the camp, and I guess they wanted to show us dumb grunts how tough they were. They picked a few fights, we rumbled a bit. One day, they see Leo strolling into camp as he did every week or two, usually only after he ran out of bullets. I warn them jarheads to leave him be. He wasn’t the type to play around duking it out to blow off some steam like the rest of us were.
“The big meathead, he figures we’re all scared of Malone, so he’s gotta show us up. Malone tries to ignore him, warns him to back off. Of course, that only encourages the jarhead. I never seen a man take a beating like that in my life.”
“Malone?”
“No, the marine! Malone didn’t so much as break a sweat, and he nearly killed him. Then he grabbed a couple boxes of ammo and headed back out into the jungle like it was just any other day.”
“Did anyone ever actually fight next to Malone? Did anyone see him killed or where he disappeared?”
Gary shook his head. “No one fought with him. He was a sniper and he refused to have a spotter. The brass, they kept trying to stick him with one. The new camp commander threatened to court-martial him if he didn’t obey orders. He and Malone had a long talk. The commander gave up and let him do as he pleased. As for when he disappeared…”
Gary’s face went slack as his mind traveled back to that day. “We should have died. All of us. My company was out on patrol. Brass said that the VC were pushing hard toward Da Nang from Laos. We were several days out when they found us. Whole goddam battalion or more. We retreated into these old ruins atop a hill. They had us surrounded. They could have stormed up and taken us at any time, but they wanted prisoners.
“Small groups of VC would sneak up the hill, take a few pot-shots, and skulk away. They did make one hard push, but we fought them off. By the time night came, we were down to half our fighting force and real low on ammo. If they came at us during the night, none of us was going to see the dawn. They taunted us, yelling up the hill that they were going to capture and torture us. They were going to send pictures of us back to the States as a warning to stay out of Vietnam.
“We all started to make peace with God. A lot of guys, they made pacts to kill each other before being taken alive. It was around midnight, I think, when the shots started. No one was shooting at the time and that old M1903 was unmistakable. The VC had crept so close to where we were at, that I could hear the bullets when they hit flesh. I swear, every one of them found their mark—in the middle of the fucking night! Shot after shot, these guys were dropping like flies. They were chattering away, trying like hell to find out who was shooting them.
“The shots stopped after about an hour. Malone, and we were sure it was him, could only carry so much ammo and he must have run out. We figured that was the end of it. There must have been close to three hundred of them little bastards out there, and even with Malone’s kills, there was still a lot more of them than us. Hell, there was probably more of them than we had bullets, by that time.
“Once he stopped firing, it got real quiet. Let me tell you, there is no silence more ominous than when you are surrounded by hundreds of guys, in a pitch-black jungle, who want to kill you, and not one of them is so much as breathing loud. Then it began.”
“What began?” Castillo asked, holding her breath like the men in the story.
“The screaming. God Almighty, I never heard such a thing in my life. It started slow. A VC or two would cry out every couple of minutes. Then it picked up. They started shooting, at what I couldn’t say. Trees, shadows, anything that moved. This carried on for hours. There would be lulls in the storm where no one was shooting, crying, or dying. Then it would start back up.
“Near morning, some of the VC started up the hill toward us. It was still pretty dark, and we thought they were finally going to try to take us, so we shot every one that ran at us. It wasn’t until it was all over, when I looked at the bodies, that I realized what they were doing.”
“What?”
“They were trying to surrender. When it was daylight, we went down the hill. The ones that had charged at us, none of them carried a weapon. Some had T-shirts torn into white flags still gripped in their hands. We didn’t know, but that wasn’t nearly as bad as what we found at the bottom.”
Gary took several deep breaths from his oxygen tube. “They were dead. Every goddam one of them was dead.”
“Shot?”
“The lucky ones. Close to a hundred looked to have been shot from a distance by an M1903 rifle. Single shot to the head or chest. Others had obviously been shot by their buddies firing blindly out of pure panic. Some had been killed by a knife or machete, their limbs or heads hacked clean off. The worst ones, the ones that put some of us into the psyche ward, they were just torn apart. Their bones were crushed, limbs all twisted up like pipe cleaners.”
“What about Malone, did you see him?”
Gary shook his head. “Naw, but I found a jacket, shot full of holes, covered in blood, and ripped to shreds. I almost wouldn’t have recognized it as a uniform top if the name tag hadn’t still been stitched to it.”
“Malone,” Castillo breathed.
“Leo Fucking Malone. As far as I know, no one ever saw him again.”
Castillo retrieved her phone and brought up Leo’s mugshot. “Gary, is this the man you knew as Leo Malone?”
Gary took the phone and held it close to his face. “Sonofabitch. He’s a dead ringer. The hair is different, and he’s a couple years older, but yeah, that’s him. I mean, of course it isn’t. Leo was near thirty back then. He’d have to be over seventy years old by now. His son maybe? Then again, if anyone could give both Death and Father Time the finger, it’d be Malone.”