A Visible Darkness - By Jonathon King Page 0,55

east side. By now it was dark, but the street lamps and still-lighted windows in the business buildings pushed Eddie to the shadows. When he made his way to a spot under the Intracoastal bridge he sat there for an hour, tucked back against cold concrete. He wished he’d gotten the heroin before he tried this. He was feeling the need in his stomach. Just a single pop would do.

The smell of the river was a blend of salt and gasoline fumes and damp pilings. Above he could hear the roll of cars on the bridge surface, humming along the concrete and then singing when the tires hit the metal grating in the middle. He checked the time on the watch from deep in his pocket, left the cart and started over to the parking lot of the county jail.

He stayed close to the fence, moving from tree to tree. The east- siders thought landscaping made things look nice, so there was always a dark shadow to slip into. He scanned the lot. Most of the light glowed up off the eight-story white stone façade of the jail. But Eddie could still make out the colors and makes of the cars. The fourth row down and in between the two light poles was Mr. Harold’s Caprice.

He knew that the doctor worked the middle shift and would be getting off at 11:00 P.M., plenty of time.

He found a way through the fencing, a gap left open by workers at an adjoining construction site, and moved low and slow along an inside row to the car. He peered up over the line of hoods and watched a single, twirling yellow light moving along the front sidewalk. That was the thing about those security carts, you always knew where they were.

When it disappeared, Eddie moved to the driver’s-side door of the Caprice and reached into his pocket for the old tennis ball he’d brought from his cart. He turned the ball in his fingers to find the shaved side and located the small hole that he’d punched into its middle with a nail. Then he positioned the hole over the round key entrance on the door lock. Holding the seal tight with one hand, he took one more wary look around, then banged the ball with the heel of his other hand. The air from the ball rushed into the lock system hard enough to simultaneously pop up all four of the door buttons. Eddie opened the left passenger door and climbed in.

The inside smelled of cigarettes and paper. A box of files sat in the back but there was still room for Eddie behind the driver’s seat. He flipped the overhead light off, locked the doors and waited, his nose twitching with the smell of stale nicotine.

Eddie was in the backseat less than an hour when he heard footsteps on the pavement. Mr. Harold fumbled with his keys and then unlocked the doors. He tossed a briefcase onto the front passenger side and was already halfway in when the smell caused his face to screw up and he felt a huge hand clamp onto his upper right arm and pull him in.

The doctor whimpered once before his eyes snapped around to Eddie’s and then quickly changed from wide-open shock to a narrow questioning.

“Jesus, Eddie. What the hell are you doing here?” said Harold Marshack, his voice jumping from surprise to consternation. “Didn’t I tell you not to come here?”

Eddie stared at him and for the second time in only a few hours, another man’s eyes looked back. The psychiatrist could see the edge of panic there.

“Hey, it’s not safe for you here, Eddie,” Marshack said, his voice now going calm and pitched as if he were speaking to a child.

“You didn’t come to the post office,” Eddie said.

His big hand was still holding the doctor’s arm, a soft grip for Eddie, painful for the recipient. Marshack again changed his voice.

“I’ll admit I wasn’t sure what to do, Eddie,” he said, now patting the big man’s hand, hoping to ease the hold.

“A man was killed, Eddie. At Ms. Thompson’s. What happened, Eddie? Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Eddie knew the sound of those words. He’d heard that voice that said “Stupid Eddie” all his life. When he was a kid they lured him into the circle with the mock friendship just to steal his money or humiliate him for laughs. The women, the police, even Momma’s preacher. Be nice to Eddie,