The Fury - Jason Pinter [103]
clear except for the anticipation of what was about to
come. The judicial system would have its turn. But first
I needed mine.
The train was hot, crowded and sticky. It only served
to get my blood up. Once I got out downtown, the walk
was short. My legs carried me faster than I knew they
could. In my mind I could see images of the people I
knew. Had known. And had never known.
My father.
My mother.
Jack.
And Stephen Gaines. The brother I never had.
I arrived on the block with half an hour to spare. I
checked my watch every thirty seconds, trying to
contain the rage building inside of me. Everything had
led up to this.
I paced up and down, breathing steady, controlled. It
wasn't easy. The last time I remembered feeling like this,
helpless yet ready to explode, was several years ago when
my then girlfriend Mya was attacked and nearly raped.
That night I paced the street, a fifth of vodka in a paper
bag, praying I would somehow find the man who was
cowardly enough to attack a woman half his size. Though
Amanda and I had been through some trying ordeals, to
the point where I wondered if we would live to see the
next day, we were both strong-willed people. We could
overcome it. We knew that. Stephen wasn't strong enough
to overcome his demons. He'd been seduced by the vial,
the needle, and once they were in they were in for good.
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And suddenly I turned around and there he was.
Wearing a brilliant suit, slightly disheveled after a long
day's work. A briefcase slung over his shoulder. His
shoulders were slumped as he walked, his eyes cast
down to the street. As he got closer I could see the birth
mark on his neck. The same one Helen Gaines saw the
night he killed my brother.
He didn't see me waiting for him. That was probably
for the best.
"Scott Callahan," I said.
Scotty's eyes snapped up to meet mine. At first he was
confused, then a small smile crossed his lips when he
recognized me. Then that smile disappeared when he
realized I was not there for a social visit. Nothing like
it.
"Henry?" he said, trying to understand what I was
doing there.
I walked toward him. Picking up my pace with
every step.
"Cops are on their way," I said, voice even, teeth
gritted. Scott kept on walking, tentative, until we were
just a few feet from each other. "But they won't be here
for a little while. So we have some time to chat."
Scotty's face went an ashen gray. "The cops?" he
said. "Wha...I don't understand. You promised me
you'd keep my name out of this. Goddamn it, you
promised me!"
"I promised I wouldn't turn you in for dealing. I was
looking for something more. But I never said a word
about keeping your name clean from murder, you piece
of shit."
"Murder? What the hell..." Scotty was breathing
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hard. I saw his eyes flicker to the building next to us,
where he lived. He was carrying nothing but his brief
case and his wallet. There was nowhere to go. No place
to hide.
And then, from the opposite end of the street, we
both heard the faint shrill of police sirens. Scotty
whirled around. The cops weren't within sight yet. He
was sweating, nervous. Then all of a sudden Scotty
came around and punched me in the stomach.
It wasn't a hard blow, but I was unprepared. Rather
than buckling and trying to absorb the hit, it landed
square in my gut, knocking the wind from me. I fell to
a knee, gasping for air. Scotty began to run. So I did the
only thing I could. I grabbed his ankle as he ran past.
Scotty's leg went out from under him, and he landed
with a thud on the pavement. His briefcase went flying,
fluttering pathetically in the wind. Forgetting about my
own lack of air, I leaped up and pounced on him. I dug
my knee into the small of his back, then rolled him over
and reared back to deliver my own blow. Scotty brought
his elbows up to protect his face, and my punch hit
nothing but bone. The pain was terrible, but it dissipated
in an instant. I connected with a solid right to Scotty's
ear, knocking