The Darkness - Jason Pinter [29]
of what we make of it. Now, if you want to work for a
company that only reports what you want, go start a blog."
"I understand what you're saying, but I don't have
to like it."
"Like it, hate it. It ain't changing," Jack said. "Now
here's the deal. I want you to call Brett Kaiser."
"Why me?"
"I've heard of his firm before. They handle civil litigation, among other things, including libel. Which means
they know a lot about newspapers, which means, no
offense, kiddo, he'll be a little less threatened by a--how
should I put this?--wet-behind-the-ears guy like you."
"I'm not that wet behind the ears," I replied.
"Come on, Henry. What was it, a year ago that you
could finally rent a car without paying extra fees?"
Rather than argue (and lose), I just nodded. We went
to my desk, Jack perching on the corner while I picked
up the phone. I dialed the number for Kaiser, Hirschtritt
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and Certilman from the paper Talcott gave us. A woman
picked up on the first ring.
"Kaiser, Hirschtritt and Certilman, how may I direct
your call?"
"Hi, I'd like to speak with Brett Kaiser."
"And who may I ask is calling?"
I looked at Jack, knowing where this was about to go.
"My name is Henry Parker. I'm with the New York
Gazette. "
"Hold on," she said, wariness in her voice. "I'll put
you through."
The next thing I heard was a dial tone. I placed the
receiver down.
"You got hung up on," Jack correctly surmised. I
nodded. "Go home."
"What?"
"It's been a long day. Get some rest. We're going to
be working like dogs over the next few days, and I don't
need you conking out on me."
"In case you haven't noticed, I've got almost fifty
years on you."
"True, but while you were smoking from atomic bongs
and doing keg stands in college, I was chasing leads. Get
some rest, Parker. I'll see you here tomorrow. Nine o'clock."
"I'll see you at eight," I said.
A smell greeted me in the apartment that I did not
immediately recognize. It resembled some sort of meat,
maybe chicken or fish, something sweet and citrusy--all
mixed with the tangy smell of something burning.
Making my way through the pungent stench to the
kitchen, I found the oven on and some sort of concoction
roiling and baking inside that, from the look of the sauce
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coating the insides of the appliance, didn't seem to be
enjoying it. As I got closer, a small bit of smoke escaped
the oven, so I quickly shut the device off.
"Amanda?" I yelled. "Are you here?"
There was no answer, so I tried again.
"Amanda?"
I heard a squeak as the bathroom door opened. The
shower was still running, and I could see Amanda's wet head
poking from behind the curtain. Her hair was filled with
shampoo and her eyes looked at me through a haze of steam.
"Henry?"
"Amanda, what the hell are you doing?"
"Bowling. What does it look like I'm doing?"
"You're aware that this apartment was about thirty
seconds from being on the eleven o'clock news."
"What?" she said, wiping suds from her face.
"I saved your mystery meat dish just in time before it
burned down the neighborhood."
"No way. The timer was supposed to go off after half
an hour. I didn't hear anything."
"You are in the shower, you know."
"No way. I have a keen sense of hearing."
"When you pressed half an hour," I said, "what exact
buttons did you press?"
"I held the button until it read three zero minutes and
zero seconds."
"Really," I said. "You're sure about that?"
"Sure. Why?"
"There's no seconds on the oven. It's just minutes and
hours. You set the timer for three hours and zero minutes."
"Oh. Crap. Sorry."
"It's okay," I said. "Just...never cook again. And apologize to the fish in there."
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"It was supposed to be orange chicken," she said.
"Well it's probably got the texture of volcanic rock
right now. You feel like pizza?"
She offered a sheepish grin, and said, "Let me finish
up in here and we'll order."
"Sure you don't want me to join you?"
"No, the toaster is on, too. Would you mind checking
on