Parker 01 - The Mark by Jason Pinter Read Free Book Online Page A

voice. But Jack had given me an agenda. I did what he asked, no more, no less, but it didn’t sit right. There was more to Luis Guzman, and I had to find out what it was. Christine would be home. Maybe she could shine a light.
    Stuffing the tape recorder and notebook into my backpack, I left the diner and headed back to the Guzmans’ apartment. I walked into the building on the coattails of another tenant who was kind enough to hold the door. I only had one chance to do this right. Christine might be reluctant. I might have to lean on her, tell her it was in Luis’s best interests. Hopefully she’d answer me honestly, thoughtfully, and then I could give Wallace and Jack the full picture.
    The elevator opened and I strode toward apartment 2C with visions of a firm handshake from Jack O’Donnell and a pat on the back from Wallace Langston. I felt warm, invigorated, and knew I was doing my job right.
    And that’s when I heard the screams.

6
    C hristine. She was screaming.
    And then there was silence.
    I heard a deep, baritone voice from inside apartment 2C. The voice was enraged, but the words were muffled. Then another bloodcurdling shriek sent shivers through my body.
    Christine.
    I stood in front of the door, afraid to move.
    Could Luis be beating her? No, it wasn’t possible. I’d looked into his eyes, saw that violent life had left him long ago. But for most criminals, rehabilitation lasted only as long as chance. All it took was one moment to plunge back into the abyss.
    Then I heard the voice again, more clearly. It wasn’t Luis. No, Luis had a thick Hispanic accent. This was a different person altogether. The voice was crisp, American. No Latin inflections.
    I heard a loud thunk, like the sound of wood hitting wood.
    Oh, Jesus, oh, God…
    My feet were rooted to the floor. This was none of my business. I wasn’t supposed to be here. My job was done. I already had what Jack wanted. Nobody would think worse of me.
    Then I heard it again. Another thunk, and a muted scream.
    Mya.
    That night, sitting by her bedside at the hospital.
    I called you. You weren’t there.
    I called you, Henry.
    The screams grated my flesh. I heard Christine sobbing. Then the hush of another man’s voice, pleading. This voice had a Hispanic accent.
    Luis.
    Then the American shouted, and I heard another thunk.
    I was alone in the hall. Nobody else wanted any part of this. An evil quiet had set in, because nobody dared to stop it.
    And then there was silence.
    Maybe it was over. Maybe I could go back to the comfort of my bed, sleep off the terrible night and prepare to turn in my interview. Luis and Christine would be fine. Surely it was all a misunderstanding. Deep down I knew I would have helped if they needed it.
    I called you, Henry.
    Then Christine screamed again, and my thoughts were shattered. And in that moment, I knew what I had to do.
    I set my backpack down. I took a deep breath. Then I knocked on the door.
    “Luis!” I shouted. “Christine? Is everything okay?”
    My words were met with silence. Then the sound of footsteps. The American was talking, his voice soft but firm. I could turn back, recede into the shadows, and whoever was inside wouldn’t know the difference.
    Or I could be strong. Like I should have been for Mya.
    And so my feet remained bolted to the floor as the door swung open. And in that moment, my life changed forever.
    Thankfully I’d gone to the bathroom before leaving the restaurant, because when the door swung open there was a gun aimed right at my head.
    “Who the fuck are you?” the man said, his narrow eyes surprised, taking me in.
    He stood a hair over six foot two and outweighed me by a good fifty pounds. It wasn’t all good weight. His midsection was soggy, lines creasing his face like he’d fallen asleep on chicken wire. His hands were rough, calloused. Two of his knuckles were bleeding. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
    I gulped down saliva, coughed on it, and forced myself to