Dark Revelations Read Free

package, and I knew there was no way they’d risk destroying the only shred of evidence in the now high-profile murders of two highly decorated, highly respected police officers.
    Me? I would have rather just dropped off the package and let it be done at that.
    Today, though, you really have to go to extremes to get someone’s attention.
    As I think about what might be happening across town, a woman approaches.
    She’s pretty in that bland California way.
    Probably thinks she’s someone’s idea of PERFECTION, even though inside she’s just another filthy whore, two life-altering experiences away from becoming a moist hole for rent.
    She says,
    Hi, sorry to bother you. . . .
    And then proceeds to ask me directions to some high-end clothing boutique, perhaps I’ve heard of it.
    People are always asking me for directions or help.
    I’ve got that kind of face—someone close to me once told me that.
    Approachable.
    Ordinary.
    Friendly.
    And that was the point, originally.
    But if they could see through MY own eyes . . .
    See the world as it really existed, not the one that had been sold to you by the governments of the world—
    They’d run SCREAMING.
    Like this woman should be.
    I tell her,
    No, I’m really sorry. I’m not from around here. I could look it up for you on my phone, if you like?
    She smiles, suddenly bashful, and says,
    Oh, no worries, that’s okay. Where are you from?
    I nod and smile. She’s not really interested in directions. She wanted an opportunity to meet me.
    I COULD introduce myself.
    I COULD let her in.
    She doesn’t realize how easily I could coax her into my labyrinth—she’s practically begging for it. Just one step and she’d be stumbling down the first corridor, faster than she realized, making her first sharp turn, confused, the first tremors of terror running through her veins, then thinking that the only way out is to turn around and go back the way she came, but that way would be blocked, and she’d have no choice but to wander deeper and deeper into the maze . . .
    . . . to me.
    All of this would take a matter of hours—the afternoon really. And her life would never be the same.
    (If I allowed her to keep her life.)
    But I have things to do, much BIGGER subjects to coax into my maze.
    So I tell her,
    I’m from Chicago, out scouting property for my wife and kids, they’re really excited about moving out to sunny California, you know? All this fresh air and sunshine and friendly people?
    And I see the light dim in her eyes when I say the words wife and kids and she’s polite but she’s also clearly disappointed.
    She doesn’t know how lucky she is.
    She doesn’t know what she’s narrowly avoided.

     
    As I cruise down Moomat Ahiko Way toward the PCH, I wonder how far they’ve gotten with my little message.
    Are they still staring at the photo of the nude whore, wondering what I may have done to her?

chapter 4
     
    DARK
     

LAPD Headquarters / Downtown Los Angeles
     
    D ark stared at the drawing.
    It was Bethany Millar—in the flesh, during the prime of her life.
    Dark recognized her right away. The blond hair, the upturned nose, the classic alabaster skin and full lips. He’d spent many years sitting up late at night, trying to drink himself into a half-coma, watching old movies on cable TV. Bethany Millar was a late 1960s/early 1970s screen siren who starred in a string of B-movies and exploitation flicks, almost all of them released before Dark was born. To the best of his knowledge, she’d done plenty of cheesecake-type stuff, but never nudes. If any members of the LAPD working inside the administration building today were aware of her, it was because their New Centurions –era fathers used to keep a pinup of her in their lockers. Millar was largely forgotten now.
    Except, of course, by the unknown subject who’d sent this package.
    “Uh, Steve?” Banner asked. “Who’s Bethany Millar?”
    “Hang on,” Dark said, pulling the phone from his pocket and