The Darkness - Jason Pinter [7]
hooker, but her words touched a nerve because they cut
deep.
The stain on my reputation had begun to disappear
over time. I didn't know if Jack's ever would.
"Henry!" Jack's voice boomed over the newsroom.
He was waving me over, the reporters around his desk
looking in my direction expectantly. I smiled, big and
wide, and walked over.
"Jack," I said, "how's the first day back?"
"Coffee still sucks, elevator's still slow, and the receptionist still doesn't know my name. Just another day at
the office, and I'm loving it."
He was wearing a suit and tie that both looked new.
His beard, usually shaggy, was neat, the gray more
evenly spread. The bags beneath his eyes looked to have
dissolved, and his movements were sharper, livelier. It
was great to see him like this, and though my smile was
wide on the outside, it was nothing compared to how I
felt inside.
Jonas Levinson, the paper's science editor, said, "We
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Jason Pinter
didn't know when we'd see you again, old boy. No note,
no forwarding address. Who are you, my ex-wife?"
"I guess when you have enough of them," Jack said,
"you start to inherit their best qualities." The group laughed.
"Coffee tastes a whole lot better with a sprinkle of
Beam in there," Frank Rourke said. "I got a bottle at my
desk, Jack. Stop by if you need a taste."
The smile disappeared from Jack's face. "Hey, Frank?"
"Hey, Jack-O?"
"Why don't you go back to your desk and slam a
drawer on your head a few times."
Rourke seemed taken aback. "Christ, it was just a joke,
O'Donnell."
"Just leave. Amazingly you've got less tact than brains,
and that's not an easy feat. Go on, git. "
Rourke walked away, fuming. Jack's face warmed
again, then he turned to me. Speaking to the rest of the crew,
he said, "Fellas, would you give me and Henry a minute?"
They all gave Jack a firm handshake, a pat on the back,
a hug or two. I could tell Jack hadn't been hugged a
whole lot. He wasn't sure where to place his hands. Once
the crowd had thinned, he motioned for me to pull up a
chair. I grabbed one from an empty desk a few rows away
and pulled it into his cube. "Sit down," he said. I obliged.
"It's great to have you back," I said. "I wasn't sure--"
"You're late," Jack said. I checked my watch.
"It's not even ten past eight. You told me to be here at
eight-thirty."
"If a press conference is called for four and you show
up at three-thirty, you'll be sitting in the back row with
the reporters from the high school newspapers."
"I get your point," I said.
Jack continued. "So far, you've made it by on talent
The Darkness
25
and luck. You want to be great at this job, you need to add
a spoonful of brains. With the story we're going to be
chasing, there's no half an hour early. Murderers don't
want for you to be on time. Drug dealers don't use personal data organizers. When you catch people off guard,
that's when the truth comes out. Never give someone the
time to make up a lie."
"I know how important this is," I said. "I know that
what my brother was killed for goes higher than the
assholes who pulled the trigger."
Jack stared at me. "You don't know anything, Henry.
You never go into a story 'knowing' anything. A good
reporter is open to every possibility. If you have on
blinders, you miss the bigger picture. You might think
there's a massive conspiracy, but then you look for facts
to support your thesis. You may be right about Gaines.
But you don't know anything yet. So let the picture paint
itself for you."
"Gaines was killed because somebody thought bumping
him off was the quickest route to money and power," I said.
"And they wouldn't have thought that without a reason."
"You said there was a connection between Gaines and
some company, right?"
"718 Enterprises," I replied. "I think it's a shell corporation. I saw a battalion of drug dealers leaving the
company's midtown headquarters, but I didn't find out
what it is or who runs it. Plus my buddy at the NYPD,
Curt Sheffield, told me that five people connected to 718
have been killed over the last