Parker 04 - The Fury (24 page)

D you've got the right guy."

"You said usually," I replied. "You said eighty to

ninety percent. Well, it's my job to find the exception

to your rule. I've told you everything I know. I'm hoping

when I walk out of here you do something with it, and

don't piss it all away because of what you read in a

damn textbook. Because I
find
that extra few percent,

Detective. Father or not, brother or not, it's just what I

do."

Amanda and I stood up. Waited for Detective Sevi

Makhoulian to say something. When he didn't, we

waved at the camera so the observers in the other room

would unlock the door. Makhoulian nodded, a click

signaled that the door was unlocked, and I left to prove

to the detective I was a man of my word.

And as I walked down the hallway, Amanda's

unsteady hand locked in mine, I could feel the detec

tive's eyes on my back.

24

I was dialing the number before I even left the station

house. He picked up right away, his voice not even at

tempting to hide the boredom that had no doubt settled

in over the past several months. Though I still harbored

some guilt over what had happened, every time we

spoke he'd forbid me to show any pity, either for myself

or for him. To Curt Sheffield, being wounded in the line

of duty was something to be proud of. He'd never

wanted to be anything but a cop--and he was a damn

good one at that--and he wasn't going to let some

pissant reporter wallow in a pint over some spilt blood.

"Officer Sheffield," he said, practically moaning.

Curt had taken a bullet in the leg last year while helping

me investigate a series of child kidnappings. The slug

had nicked an artery, and it took a few surgeries to

repair the wound. He'd probably never run in the

Olympics, but while he wouldn't accept anyone's pity

he had told me on several occasions the injury had done

wonders for his sex life. Guess chicks really do dig

scars. I'd have to ask Amanda if that's why she was still

with me.

202

Jason Pinter

"Hey, man, has your ass spread at all today?"

"S'up, Henry? Matter of fact I've been doing butt

blasts at my desk. Docs won't let me go to the gym, but

I think it's a trick to get me to keep coming in so they

can charge my insurance company. I swear my ass looks

like the victim of an attack of cottage cheese."

"I don't want to think about anything involving your

butt. What do you say to a drink after work? On me."

"I don't know man, I feel like I gotta lay low a little

bit. Last time I brought you in here I caught hell from

the chief of the department. You don't have a lot of

friends around here these days, especially considering

what's going on with your pops. At least you can be

happy you got the deep end of the Parker gene pool."

"I'll let that one slide. No work talk," I said. "Just

conversation. All I ask. Okay, maybe one or two ques

tions, but that's it."

Curt went silent, but I could tell he was checking his

watch. Sitting behind the desk for Curt was like keeping

a racehorse stalled behind the starting gate. He was

born to walk the streets, not type up reports. That's

likely why I felt the most guilt; it was one less great cop

protecting the city.

"Gimme one hour. Mixins." Mixins was a cheesy

singles bar primarily frequented by law and finance

professionals who felt eight-dollar beers and weak

cosmos were part of the mating ritual. The bar had

undergone a total renovation over the last few years,

mainly due to its predilection to serving underage girls.

A friend of a friend who used to drink there said the

waitstaff would grossly undercharge young women,

naturally in the hopes of luring free-spending men to the

The Fury

203

bar. Soon enough the cops caught on. Though rumor

had it they didn't so much as catch on, but an off-duty

detective saw a group of girls walk directly to the bar

once after finishing class on Friday.

The bar had been shut down, but underwent a classic

change in management, and now you'd be hard pressed

to find someone holding a glass who didn't take home

close to six figures. Neither Curt nor I pulled in

anywhere in the universe of that salary, but Curt enjoyed

it because, in his words, finance girls were workahol

ics in every aspect of their lives. They kept their minds

and their bodies sharp, and even though he seemed to

always be in a serious relationship--sometimes several

at once--he enjoyed having nice views at the bar. When

I asked him about it, his answer was simply that I wasn't

pretty enough to hold his attention through more than

one round of drinks.

I got to the bar before he did, took a seat and ordered

a Brooklyn Lager. The bartender, a tall, rail-thin guy

wearing a tight black T-shirt that ended right above his

veiny pelvic area, served it to me then recommenced

putting his elbows on the table and looking tortured.

The stools by the bar were never full here. It wasn't the

kind of place one went to for a quiet drink.

A few months ago I'd gone through a rough personal

patch. When Amanda and I were separated for a while.

Being apart from her led me to drink too much and seek

out my own solitude. Losing a part of your life can be

the most accurate barometer of what matters most. If

you love something, being apart from it will haunt you.

If it doesn't, it can't have mattered all that much to

begin with.

204

Jason Pinter

Being apart from Amanda was a miserable experi

ence. I slept at my desk at the
Gazette.
My personal

hygiene fell a rung below your average wino's. I

wondered if I was simply the kind of guy who always

needed to be in a relationship. Before Amanda, I'd been

with my previous girlfriend, Mya, for several years. We

also ended badly, and after suffering brutal injuries at

the hands of a maniac, she seemed fully recovered, her

life back on track. I was happy with Amanda, and I

knew the difference between a good and a bad relation

ship. Learning it had nearly killed me, but it was worth

it.

After waiting fifteen minutes and downing half my

beer, Curt strode into the bar. He was tall, black, in

great shape, though his recent sedentary work life had

softened the edges just a bit. He was wearing a dark shirt

made of some shiny fabric. Certainly not what he wore

on the job, unless the NYPD was far more fashionable

than I'd thought.

Though his posture was perfect and he betrayed no

sense of pain, there was still a slight limp evident in Curt's

walk. I remembered seeing him lying there in a pool of

blood, holding back the pain, unwilling to let anything get

over on him. It was as though he was disgusted at himself

for showing weakness, taking the maxim "never let them

see you bleed" quite literally. If he was limping at all, he

was probably in more pain and discomfort than he let on.

We shook hands, and Curt ordered a beer. The bar

tender poured it from the tap, eyeing Curt while letting

the foam pour over, a thin smile on his thin lips. Once

he'd set the glass down and moved away, I said to Curt,

"Now batting for the other team..."

The Fury

205

"Don't even start, Henry."

"What? That's a compliment. Any man who can

attract players from both dugouts is doing something

right. Besides, wearing that shirt, I wouldn't be sur

prised if a few new dugouts spring up."

"You know, Parker, I don't even know what the hell

you're talking about sometimes." Curt sipped his beer.

"How's the leg?" I asked, slightly apprehensive. It

would have been easier to ignore it, to pretend he'd

never been shot and there was nothing holding him

back. It would have been easier to sit here, drink and

carry on, pretend he wasn't limping.

"It's getting better," he said. "Takes a while for the

muscle strength to build up, since they had to slice

through some muscle to repair the damage to the artery."

Just hearing this made me wince. "Does it hurt?"

"When it's cold out, yeah. Gets a little stiff on me.

Plus, it's a little numb by my toes, on account of them

having to go through some nerves, too. Docs aren't sure

that'll ever come back. Not a big deal, though."

I wanted to scream at him and ask how that could not

be a big deal, but I supposed if you took a bullet in an

artery and that was the worst-case scenario, you tended

to think on the bright side of things.

"Tell you one thing," Curt continued, "I'm going to

have to start wearing gloves, they got me filling out so

many forms. Feel like I'm a supporting cast member

on
The Office
or something. The black dude who

stands in the corner with paper cuts on every finger.

How's Amanda?"

"She's doing well," I said. "Been a huge help on

this thing with my dad. Without her he'd probably

206

Jason Pinter

still be sitting in an Oregon prison claiming not to be

James Parker."

"She's a good one, my man. Glad you finally made

amends for all that crap you pulled breaking up with

her."

"It wasn't like I was just breaking up with her," I said,

taking another pull on my drink. "I thought I was doing

the right thing, being noble."

"Nobility isn't about telling someone what you think

is right for them. It's doing the right thing, period.

Girls's a grown woman, she can make her own deci

sions. What you did was selfish, and it was to alleviate

your own guilt over what happened to her and Mya. You

felt like if you broke things off, you could feel as if you

were protecting them. Just not so. I don't claim to be

Mr. Perfect Relationship, but there's give-and-take.

You're with someone, you're their partner. It was

selfish, bro, own up to it."

"Maybe you're right," I said. "And trust me, I know

I screwed up. And I'm atoning for it."

"How?"

"For starters, I cook every Friday night."

"You a good cook?"

"If by 'good' you mean she's able to swallow one

forkful without gagging, then yeah, I'm a good cook."

Curt sipped his drink, then shifted his weight, a small

grimace spreading over his face. It was a brief reaction

and certainly unintentional, but for some reason it made

my stomach feel hollow.

"Can I ask you something?" I said.

"'Course, man.You sound serious all of a sudden, you

got a month to live or something?" he said, laughing.

The Fury

207

I smiled, drank. "You ever feel like I do more harm

than good? As a person?"

Curt looked at me. He could tell I was serious. "Not

quite sure why you say that," he said. "But it feels to

me like you might be having a little pity party."

"It's not that," I said. "I'm over all that. I just feel like

over the last few years...I mean, look at it. Mya.

Amanda. You. My dad. Just feels like all these people

I'm supposed to be close to get hurt. Not to mention this

guy who got killed the other day."

"What guy?' Curt asked.

I filled him in on the details of Hector Guardado and

the briefcase. He sat there, focused, listening intently.

He nodded when I brought up Detective Makhoulian,

said he'd met the guy once or twice and that he seemed

like he was on the up-and-up.

Often it took a good cop to recognize a good cop, so

it was reassuring to hear Curt say that.

Though my first few months in the city I'd been dis

trustful of cops--and who could blame me since two

of them tried to kill me for erroneous reasons--recently

I'd begun to settle back in, believing that guys like Mak

houlian were truly here to serve and protect. Just

because most of them didn't like me didn't mean I

didn't have respect for them.

"And you think this guy Guardado is somehow tied

in to your brother's death?" he said.

"Probably not directly, but I caught Guardado

coming out of a building where I saw a bunch of other

drug couriers signing in to a company called 718 Enter

prises. I couldn't find much on them, but I'm pretty sure

Stephen might have worked for them at some point."

208

Jason Pinter

"Selling drugs," Curt said.

"That's right."

"And what's the name of that company you men

tioned? 718?"

"718 Enterprises," I repeated.

Curt scratched his nose, downed the rest of his

beer. "Not sure why, but for some reason that name

sounds familiar."

"That means it's likely not a good thing," I said.

Curt shook his head, thinking. "Give me some time

tonight, I'm going to go back and dig into some of the

files, ask around."

"Curt, you don't have to do that, I--"