Read Parker 04 - The Fury Online
Authors: Jason Pinter
"Even if you're on the level," Shawn said, "you're
dressed like a homeless person and you have a freaking
suitcase.
I let you in, I might as well go around Central
Park inviting all the assholes sleeping on benches in."
"I didn't want to mention this," I said truthfully, "but
I know Tony Valentine."
"Valentine," Kensbrook said, trying to remember why
he knew the name. "You mean the gossip hound, right?"
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"That's the one. I work with him."
"No BS?"
I pulled out my business card, showing Shawn that
I, like Tony Valentine, worked at the
New York Gazette.
Shawn eyed the card, his head clearly filling with the
possibility of getting a good plug in the gossip pages.
Of course, I had as much intent of talking to Tony
Valentine as I did to O.J. Simpson, but that's the beauty
of an internal monologue.
"You got ten minutes," he said. "And after that your
ass is kicked and your clothes go to the incinerator."
"I accept."
"And I expect some ink from Valentine."
I gave him the most noncommittal thumbs-up in my
arsenal.
Shawn nodded at the bouncer, who unhitched the
velvet rope and allowed me passage. He took my
suitcase and carried it to the coatroom, where a girl in a
tight black top and capris unlocked a door so he could
heave it behind the barrier. There were plenty of groans
from the people waiting on line as they saw me enter. I
hoped if they knew what was going on they'd under
stand.
But this was New York, so I doubted it.
The Kitten Club was a massive place, with two dif
ferent levels of action. This was about as far from my
scene as I could get without being in the desert. I had
no idea where to look first. My eyes were half-blinded
by the strobe lights, and it took a healthy equilibrium
not to get knocked over by the horde of drunken,
dancing revelers. I could barely see five feet in front of
me, let alone distinguish the VIP lounge.
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To clarify the mess, I approached the bar, waited to
get the tender's attention. When he came by, he said,
"What'll it be?"
"Where's the VIP lounge?" I asked.
He nodded and turned around. I had no idea what had
happened, but then he turned back holding a glass of
champagne with something sparkling at the bottom. He
held it out to me.
"The VIP champagne," he said. "That'll be a
hundred fifty."
"No," I shouted. "The VIP
lounge.
"
The bartender, looking quite pissed off, said, "Tables
are upstairs." As I turned to go, I saw him fish the gem
from the bottom of the glass and drop it into a small pail.
I pushed and shoved my way through a sea of fitted
jeans, open-collared shirts revealing chests adorned with
thick gold chains, and shimmering bosoms with even
spray tans. At the back of the dance floor I found a short
staircase that led to another level. Sliding through a couple
making out on the railing, I managed to find the VIP area,
a lounge of about a dozen round tables, each with between
half a dozen and a dozen people circling them. Each table
had several bottles of alcohol sitting in buckets of ice, with
various mixers--cranberry juice, orange juice and tonic
water--ready to go. According to Amanda, each bottle
ran about a grand, and nobody bought just one bottle.
Then I heard a laugh. A distinctive laugh.
Amanda's laugh.
I fast-walked past the tables until I finally found the
one I was looking for. Sitting in a circle were Devin and
Darcy Lapore, several suited men with gelled hair and
manicures, and Amanda Davies.
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Amanda was laughing hysterically at something,
then she looked up and noticed me. I didn't believe that
smile could spread any wider, but it did.
"Henry!" she shrieked, jumping out of her seat,
knocking over an empty glass and toppling one of the
guys onto the floor. She threw her arms around me,
squeezed tight, and I gave her one right back. Her breath
smelled like vodka, her body like sweet perfume. Her
hair dripped onto my shirt and I held her tight, for
reasons vastly different than hers.
"Hey, baby," I said, struggling to disentangle myself.
Suddenly Amanda looked confused. "Wait," she
said. "What're you
doo
ing here?"
"I don't have time to explain right now," I said, taking
her hand. "But you need to come with me."
A sultry smile spread across her lips. I didn't see her
drunk all that often, so part of me couldn't help but be
slightly amused. "So," she said. "You're taking me
home?"
"Not exactly," I said, pulling her away. I apologized
to Darcy and Devin, who seemed too preoccupied with
how each other's lips tasted to notice.
"If we're not going home," she slurred, "where
are
we going?"
"A hotel," I said.
"Ooh baby!" Amanda said, suddenly grabbing a
chunk of my ass and squeezing. She likely meant to be
flirtatious, but the girl had some serious nails and I was
reasonably certain she broke the skin. Hopefully stitches
wouldn't be required, because that'd be one awkward
explanation for the doctor. "Have you been working
out?"
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"Not recently, I haven't had time, but...that's not the
point. We need to go."
Amanda finally relented, and we made our way
down the steps and toward the exit. For the first time it
seemed to dawn on Amanda that something was wrong.
I couldn't walk too fast due to the fact that she was in
heels and had no hand-eye coordination to speak of, so
to other clubgoers I looked like the no-fun boyfriend
dragging his fun-as-hell girlfriend away because he
didn't approve of her shenanigans.
I had to give Amanda credit, though. She looked
stunning. Outclassed every girl at the club. I'd have to
remember to tell her tomorrow, when she would
remember.
We got to the tunnel leading to the outside, and the
girl inside the coatroom remembered me. Guess not
too many guys dropped off their luggage before
entering.
"Can I get my bag?" I asked.
"Five dollars," she said, smacking gum between her
lips.
"You just saw me with Shawn, I--"
"Five dollars," she repeated, bored by the whole
thing. I didn't want or have time to argue, and pulled a
crumpled ten from my pocket. She counted change,
then swung the door open and let me take the suitcase.
As I lugged it into the hall, Amanda said, "Where
are
we going?"
"A hotel, baby," I said.
"I thought you were kidding," she said, a joyous glow
in her eye. "I have the best boyfriend in the whole
world.
"
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245
She threw her arms around me again, and I nearly
stumbled over a small girl trying to make her way back
into the club. She called me a name that I'd most defi
nitely never been called by a girl before.
Gripping the bag with one hand and Amanda with
another, we stumble/bumped our way outside. A row of
cabs was waiting five deep down the block, knowing
every minute brought another inebriated person out
who needed a ride home (hopefully to another
borough).
It was a delicate balancing act carrying Amanda and
the suitcase outside since they were both essentially
dead weight. The next cab in the line pulled up, and
thankfully the driver came outside to help me with my,
er, belongings. He hoisted the bag into the trunk while
Amanda and I slid into the back. As soon as he closed
the door and said, "Where to?" I realized I had no idea
where we were going.
The list of New York hotels I knew offhand was quite
slim, and one of those, the Plaza, hadn't reopened yet.
Before I knew what I was doing, I said, "Times
Square. The W Hotel, please."
"Henry,"
Amanda cooed, her cheeks flushing red
her hand delicately tracing the curve of my calf. "I
had no idea..."
"Me, neither," I mumbled as the cab sped away.
Amanda spent the whole cab ride either staring outside,
the world swimming by her drunken haze, or awkwardly
trying to grope me. Ordinarily I might have felt frisky
enough to try a little something in the backseat while the
cabdriver wasn't looking, but Amanda was as subtle as
a hyena and I had too much on my mind to truly focus.
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Who was that guy outside my apartment? Clearly
somebody knew I was following leads, but nothing had
been printed in the newspaper, which limited the list of
culprits significantly. I wondered, could it have been
Scotty Callahan? Sure seemed like it. The notion that
this guy, an admitted company man, would have spilled
his guts and walked away seemed awfully unlikely. But
there were others. Rose Keller. She was a friend of
Stephen's, perhaps better than I knew. Stephen was
more than I'd previously thought, so it occurred to me
that Rose might have been as well.
I lowered the window, breathing deeply as I inhaled
the warm air. Now Amanda was leaning back against
her seat, eyes closed. I wondered if she was sleeping,
dreaming peacefully.
Fifteen minutes later the cab pulled up in front of the
W Hotel. I ran my credit card through the cab's machine,
gave him a twenty percent tip and helped Amanda out.
We walked into the lobby quite a sight, Amanda wearing
a slinky dress and clinging to my arm, me looking like
I'd just rolled out of a bed in a sewer and carrying a
single suitcase. The building itself was beautiful and
massive. I'd read somewhere that it housed a stagger
ing fifty-seven floors, but in the dark of night it looked
like even more, a mammoth structure in the heart of
Times Square. The lobby was awash in subtle blue and
gray tones, and a waterfall ran down one of the walls.
There were two receptionists on duty, two young
women who looked remarkably similar. They both had
dark hair and skin, red fingernails and bright smiles
that seemed almost attuned to one another. As we
walked up they both said, "Good evening, sir."
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Their name tags read Rae and Gabrielle. You could
have switched the tags and I wouldn't have known the
difference.
"I'd like a room, please," I said.
The one with the Rae tag began to punch some keys
on her computer while Gabrielle stared at me with that
same, unwavering smile. Suddenly I felt Amanda's
breath on my cheek, and then a big kiss followed suit.
A split second later I felt her tongue on my jawbone,
winding its way toward my earlobe.
Gabrielle was still grinning, but now it was the kind
of grin you gave to your neighbor who got his morning
newspaper while wearing nothing but tighty-whities.
Rae looked up and said, "We have two rooms avail
able, one with two twin beds and another with one
queen."
"I'll take the queen," I said, trying to push Amanda
away while I feel my face turn bright red. Rae noticed
what was going on, and her bright smile quickly turned
like bad milk.
Gabrielle looked at Amanda, then looked at me, then
looked at my suitcase. Her eyes went back and forth
between the three while I stood there confused. Then I
realized what she was thinking. Attractive girl wearing
revealing clothes. Dorky guy wearing the same clothes
he'd probably worn the last three days. A suitcase.
No doubt Rae and Gabrielle thought Amanda was a
hooker, and would end up chopped to bits and stuffed
into the suitcase by the end of the night. I noticed neither
of them had made any movements to confirm my room
or make a key.
"You okay,
honey?
" I asked, stressing the last word
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in an attempt to let Rae and Gabrielle know that we did,
in fact, know each other.
"I'm just peachy, Henry." I smiled.
See, she knows
my name!
"So...about that room..."
"I'll need a credit-card imprint," Rae said. I slipped
her my AMEX, and she ran it through, never taking her
eyes off of us.
"Hen-
ree,
" Amanda whined. "I'm
ti
-red."
"Just a minute, baby," I said.
Gabrielle seemed to be softening up, but Rae was
eyeing me with squinty eyes, letting me know she could
have hotel security at our room if she got the slightest
hint that an ax might make an appearance.
"How many nights will you be staying?"
"I'm not sure," I said. "Can we just keep it open?"
"Sure," Rae said, taking two plastic cards and
running them through the machine to magnetize them.