Dark Origins by Anthony E. Zuiker & Duane Swierczynski

Author:Anthony E. Zuiker & Duane Swierczynski
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Thriller
Publisher: PENGUIN Group (USA) Inc.
Published: 2010-07-15T04:00:00+00:00

MOUNTED POLICE NYPD

A little bit of rustic class in an island of glass, plastic, and shiny metal. Sqweegel admired that, despite himself. People did try so hard to rise above themselves sometimes.

He slid the flower box under the last rung of the wooden fence, pushing it all the way to the other side. Then he peeled off his flak jacket and draped it over the barbed wire. Quickly, he scaled the fence, cleared the wire, and pulled his jacket free as he touched down on the other side. It was a movement so fluid and so fast, anyone watching—not that anyone was watching—would rub his eyes and insist on a playback, just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

Sqweegel ran his fingers under the tape holding the box flaps together. No need for the pretense now. He was inside.

The lid came off, and inside was a long hand cannon. Ammo. And a plastic bag full of carrots.

All three came from Brooklyn, just like the box. The box, from a florist on Court Street. The carrots, from a corner market on Smith. And the gun? From a small-time arms dealer in Red Hook he’d found online. No more than an hour’s worth of shopping.

The gun was loaded in under a minute, each of the silver bullets fed into the chambers one at a time, click click click click click.

Sqweegel continued down the path, following a bend to the main stables. The thick smell of horse shit and wet straw assaulted him. This was where the mounted police kept their horses. Their riders may now be kicking back with beer and pizza in Brooklyn, Queens, Jersey, or Long Island, but their noble steeds never left the island. They were forever on duty, on this tiny scrap of nature Manhattan had saved for itself.

Anyone could take a tour of the stables and visit the horses. Sqweegel had, nearly a year before. He’d taken careful notes.

Now he slid the notepad out of his back pocket and began to check the names. Each horse had a nickname. The names on Sqweegel’s list, however, were special:

Dalia

Runner

Coach

Beemer

Sampson

First up: Dalia.

A whore’s name, Sqweegel thought.

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