Parker 04 - The Fury (37 page)

ment in his voice. "I'm sure they replaced me by now."

"Didn't you once tell me you had a 187 average? I'm

sure they'll want that back in the rotation."

"One-eighty-seven, huh?" he said, thinking. "That

seems a tad high. Maybe one-forty."

"Still not too shabby." He shrugged his shoulder,

then took the lid off his coffee and took a long gulp.

When he set the cup back down, there was a scowl on

his lips. "You know, prison food gets a bad rap. The

eggs and joe down there weren't half-bad."

"If you really want, I'm sure you could figure out a

way to go back."

"S'alright. Hopefully my TiVo recorded all the
Law

& Order
episodes I missed."

"At least your priorities are straight again." He

nodded, missing the joke.

"You told me you saw Helen," my father said,

looking back at me. He actually looked concerned. Even

sad.

"She's in rehab," I said. "The state is paying for it.

Clarence Willingham is quite a guy. She has some good

people looking out for her."

"I never got to tell her I was sorry," he said.

"I have her address," I said. "Write her a letter. She'd

appreciate that."

"Maybe I will." The way he said it let me know that

no such thing would ever be done.

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Jason Pinter

"So they got the guys who did it. Who killed

Stephen."

"They're both dead. The real killer, Kyle Evans, tried

to frame his friend. Then the cops killed him."

"Good riddance," he said. "It's all tied up with a

pretty pink bow. I never want to set foot in this city

again."

"I still don't fully get it," I said. "If Stephen was

really as high up as Kyle and Scott said he was, did he

really need to leave the country to get away from them?

And if they were able to get close enough, obviously

Stephen didn't think they were a threat. Which makes

me wonder just who Stephen was afraid of."

"No disrespect to the dead," my father said, "but I

don't think any of those boys were in their right mind."

"And the cop, Makhoulian. I'm glad he worked so

fast to get you out. I just didn't think he needed to kill

Kyle. He looked like he was giving up."

"You're saying the guy who killed your brother

should have lived?"

"One death doesn't always merit another. We have a

justice system."

"Which would have probably screwed up somehow

and either let that boy walk on a technicality, put him in

some cushy detention facility because some quack doctor

on somebody's payroll said he has woman issues. Or he'd

be out in enough time to kill somebody else's son. I don't

know what's going on in this city, Henry, but being

among criminals day in and day out is no way to live."

"Maybe I'll move back home with you and Mom,"

I joked. That made him laugh. He checked his

boarding pass.

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311

"I should head to the gate. They'll probably give my

ticket to some freak if I'm not there on time."

His flight didn't board for another hour, but the

Parker family bonding hour had run its course. We both

stood up. My dad stepped forward, then wrapped his

arms around me, the most tentative hug I could imagine.

I returned it. Just a little stronger.

"Thank you for your help," he said. The feeling was

genuine. He wasn't going to apologize for the years

before that, and I wasn't going to ask him to.

"Take care of yourself," I said. "And please take care

of Mom. Do me one favor?"

He frowned. "What?"

"Mom was knitting something when I saw her in

Bend. If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to have it."

"I'll tell her," he said.

"And if you change your mind and decide to take a

vacation in NYC, at least give me a call."

"I will. And give my best to your girlfriend. She

seems like a catch."

"One in a million," I said. "Without her you'd still

be in jail."

"Guess I owe her a thank-you then. Pass it on for

me, will ya?"

"I will. And Dad?"

"Yeah, Henry."

"I'm sorry too. About Stephen. I wish I'd had a

chance to know him. Maybe we could have saved him."

His eyes closed as he took a deep breath. When he

opened them, he sighed and said, "Take care, Henry. It's

good to see I raised you right."

Then he was gone.

34

We were almost done packing. After several years in

that apartment, the time had come to say goodbye

before the floor gave out or a black hole opened up that

sucked us into some alternate universe. A man can only

face so many attempted assaults on his doorstep before

rethinking his living situation. And since I'd already

been thinking about more space, when Amanda agreed

with me it made sense. My lease was up in a few weeks.

It was as good a time as any to start over.

We were submerged amongst folded cardboard

boxes, masking tape, clothes, books, papers and every

thing else you forget about and probably have no need

for. My books took up the most room. I packed all of

my first-edition Jack O'Donnell tomes in a padded box,

reinforced with enough masking tape to hold up the

Brooklyn Bridge. My clothes were another story. There

were two small boxes marked Henry's Clothes. They

weighed about as much as a pizza.

"You know," Amanda said, "you could have saved on

the moving van and just rented a bike. You could have

fit all your stuff into one of those E.T. baskets."

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313

"I'm not a shopper, what do you want from me?"

"Not a shopper?" she said, putting down her Sharpie.

"Even being able to use the word
shopper
implies that

you have, in fact, shopped in your life. I'm guessing

most of these clothes survived from college, or else the

local Salvation Army dropoff is pretty bare. When we

get settled, first thing we're doing is taking you on a

proper shopping spree. You could use a new suit. And

new pants, new shirts, and don't get me started on your

underwear."

"Is this what we'll be like five years from now?" I

said, smiling. I went up to Amanda, wrapped my arms

around her. She snuggled in, resting her head on my

shoulder. "On each other's cases about clothing and

stuff?"

"I'm playing with you, you big baby." She tilted her

head up until I was staring into those beautiful eyes.

"Besides, I just want the best for you.You're great at your

job. I just want people to know that just by looking at you."

"You know that just by looking at me."

"Hopefully, most people won't need to wake up next

to you in the morning in order to know you're the best

young reporter in the city."

"Best young reporter?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself. Give it time, Henry."

I gave her a quick kiss, then went back to packing.

Though there were enough bad memories here to make

me want to run away from this block screaming like a

banshee, I'd miss it ever so slightly. Like that crazy first

girlfriend who showed up at your apartment drunk at

4:00 a.m. and burned all your CDs when you broke up,

there would be a small (well-guarded) place for it in my

heart.

314

Jason Pinter

I wished there would be room for Stephen Gaines in

my heart, but I couldn't force what was never there. I

don't know how many people have pasts that exist

without their knowledge. There was more to Stephen's

life than what I'd uncovered. He'd lived for thirty years,

abandoned by his family, given up by his father. The

man who killed him had faced the most severe retribu

tion possible. Yet a lingering doubt still remained, as I

could see him on that street corner, tortured by some

thing. Not Scotty Callahan. Not Kyle Evans.

Having dealt in vice for ten years, Stephen had seen

more evil than most men did their whole lives. To do

what he did took resolve, the knowledge that you were

bringing poison into the world, that you couldn't be

scared of the consequences. Every day could have

brought jail or death. Yet he kept on living that life. And

finally the odds caught up with him.

So what scares a man who isn't afraid of losing his

freedom or his life?

My cell phone rang. It was the moving van. They

were here to pick up our furniture, though we'd be

lucky if it made it to their warehouse without disinte

grating. I answered, and a hoarse voice told me the van

would be there within fifteen minutes. I turned to

Amanda, said, "Moving company's almost here. Should

we, like, start bringing stuff down?"

She looked at me like I'd just admitted to wearing

women's underwear. "Henry. They're a moving

company. We pay them to move us. That's their job."

"I know, I just feel a little silly watching people carry

all my stuff."

"This is New York. If you can pay four bucks for a

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315

coffee and not feel bad, paying someone to carry and

store your crap shouldn't even register on the guilty-o

meter. So enjoy it, babe. It's not too often people are

going to do your heavy lifting for you."

Suddenly the buzzer rang. "That was quick," I said.

"They told me fifteen minutes."

I went over to the window, expecting to see the truck

and some burly, impatient men. Instead, I saw just one

man standing on the street. He was wearing brown pants

and a blue shirt that was untucked and flapping in the

wind. He turned up to look at me, palms facing upward

as if to say,
Are you gonna let me in or what?

"No way," I said. Amanda came over to join me at

the window. She looked out.

"Who is that?" she asked.

"It's Jack," I replied.

"I thought he was..."

"In rehab. Me, too. I guess he's out."

"Well, you should go..."

I was out the door and running down the stairs before

she could finish her sentence.

The steps couldn't be passed fast enough. I hadn't

seen Jack in months, since his name was dragged

through the mud and he disappeared to presumably

battle his internal demons. He'd left no forwarding

address, no note. And now he was here, at my doorstep.

I had so many questions to ask I hoped he didn't have

plans for the next year.

When I arrived on the first floor, I sprinted through

the lobby and burst through the front door. Jack O'Don

nell was standing on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets.

Then he took them out, checked his watch.

316

Jason Pinter

"Forty-three seconds from buzzer to outside. Not

quite Olympic caliber, but not too shabby for a guy

who sits in front of a computer most of the day." I didn't

know what to say. So I just went up to Jack and threw

my arms around him. He stumbled backward, saying,

"Easy now, Henry."

When I untangled myself, I took my first real look

at Jack in months. His gray hair was neatly combed, if

slightly disheveled due to the weather. His face had

none of the red ruddiness I was used to, and his cheeks

seemed fuller. Jack's beard was neatly trimmed, cut

razor sharp along his jawline, and he looked like he'd

put on a few pounds.

"You look good," I said, patting him on the shoulder.

"Scratch that, this is the best I've seen you look since

we meet. Where have you been?"

"Away," Jack said. "We can discuss the wheres and

whys later. Just think of what I went through as dialysis

of the soul."

"I'm getting a disturbing image of you passing

Ghandi through your urethra." Jack laughed, a quick
ha.

"It's good to see you, kid. Been a long time. I spoke

to Wallace before. He filled me in on what you've been

up to, you busy little bee."

"You already talked to Wallace?"

"Hell, yes, my young friend, I spent all of last night

in the office, getting reacquainted with my computer.

Making sure nobody stole my Rolodex. And asking

him for permission to chase one particular story."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"Well," Jack said, "while I was on my little sabbati

cal, I got the
Gazette
delivered to me every day. Gen

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317

erally it was the same old stuff. World's going to hell

in a handbasket, the dollar can barely buy so much as

a loaf of bread, foreign investors are buying the Statue

of Liberty. And Paulina Cole still has a job. All things

that make you want to hide under your bed and cry.

Then I read one story last week, and that's when I knew

I was ready to step back into the light."

"What story was that?" I asked.

"Stephen Gaines's murder," Jack said. His face was

now solemn. The grin gone.

"I didn't write that."

"I know you didn't. Wallace told me he wouldn't let

you since Gaines was your half brother. But there was