The Dark Ones Read Online Free Page A

sprayed with green and pink graffiti. He glanced at his watch. He was early for the meeting with Hark. If he’d showed up late, Hark wouldn’t have seen him.
    He rolled down the window, tapped ash from the cigarette. The fishy smell from the lake wafted into the car.
    The mechanical whirr of an unseen motor sounded, and with a creak the warehouse door was raised. The tallest guy Mike had ever seen stood in the doorway. He stretched, revealing a wingspan like a cargo plane. He approached the car, his slick bald head gleaming. Hark must’ve started hiring movie monsters.
    The man reached the driver’s side, and Mike was eye-level with the guy’s waist. The man crouched down. Mike looked into pale gray eyes, as flat and dull as a razor blade.
    “Mr. O’Donnell?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Step out of the car,” he said in a flat tone.
    Mike got out of the car, wishing he had his .45 on him, but the piece was in the glove box. Hark would have him patted down anyway.
    Mike stood chest high on the guy. Right now he was looking at the man’s red tie. The rest of his outfit was black: suit, shirt, and shoes. Mike looked up and said, “You going to a funeral or something?”
    The guy smiled and said, “My job is to create a need for funerals, not attend them.”
    The guy indicated Mike to follow, and Mike hurried to keep up with the man’s loping strides. His stomach fluttered as he approached the gaping door of the warehouse. It was like being an explorer in a newly found cave. He knew that Hark had a violent temper and little patience for mistakes. He wasn’t sure what to expect.
    Rumor had it he had taken a pickax to the last guy who screwed up one of his assignments. He had no trouble imagining the ghoul who escorted Mike into the warehouse using said pickax on an unfortunate victim.
    They passed rows of crates and cardboard boxes, until they reached a door at the far end of the warehouse. It had a sign on it marked PRIVATE. As expected, the man patted him down, and, apparently satisfied, gave a grunt. They stepped through the door. Mike expected to find an old desk and scuffed furniture, but he was surprised. A dark hardwood floor stretched across the room, and on it rested an Oriental rug. The walls were paneled in a rich cherry and a leather couch and chair were arranged in front of a desk. Behind the desk, between two bookshelves, brightly colored tropical fish swam in an aquarium. The hum of the filter filled the room.
    “Sit down,” the man said.
    “Don’t mind if I do,” Mike said, and plopped on the couch. The leather smelled new.
    From behind him, the door opened. Hark rounded the sofa. Mike caught a glimpse of his outfit: pink polo shirt, blue track pants, and sandals. He took a seat behind the desk and folded his hands as if he were a CEO preparing to address the board.
    “So you know why you’re here?” Hark asked. “You got the note.”
    He had. A week ago he’d been out at Cozumel getting some Mexican food and trying to talk Lisa McCready out of her panties. After dinner, he’d found a note in the pocket of his leather jacket. Someone was a crafty son of a bitch. It had said to meet Hark at the warehouse, with the date and time. “Got here early.”
    “That’s good. Guy shows up late, I show him the fuckin’ road. That’s how it is.” He opened a desk drawer, rummaged around. Mike studied him. A solid build starting to go to flab. Probably busted a few skulls in his day. Thick calluses on the hands, scuffed knuckles. You could hammer nails with those fists.
    Hark pulled out a bag of jelly beans from the drawer. He took out a handful and popped them in his mouth. Chewing, he held out the bag. “Want some?”
    Mike didn’t want to be rude. “Sure,” he said, and took a handful.
    “I eat these things by the bagful. My dentist fucking loves me.”
    Mike popped the jelly beans in his mouth. They were way too sweet, but he managed to get them down.
    “I hear you’re good,” Hark said.
    “Who