The Fury - Jason Pinter [106]
he was going to spill on the whole operation. He didn't
fully trust the cops to protect him, but he figured if it
made the papers first he couldn't be killed without the
public being aware of it. His only hope was to cause a
big enough story that he would be forgotten. That he
could disappear in the maelstrom.
But he was killed before he could ever come clean.
And his story was about to die as well.
Kyle then took the gun and placed it in Scotty's dead
hand. He wrapped his own finger around Scotty's in the
trigger guard and aimed it at me.
Just then a car sped onto the block. It was a black
CrownVictoria. Kyle's attention turned from me to the car.
The door opened.And out got Detective Sevi Makhoulian.
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"Freeze, police!" the officer yelled. Kyle couldn't
turn away from Makhoulian. A strange look crossed his
face, and I swear the gun began to lower. He was going
to give up.
And then three successive explosions turned the air
into a thunderstorm, and Kyle Evans's body was flung
backward onto the street. He landed next to Scotty, his
friend, Kyle's eyes and mouth open.
I turned to Makhoulian, hands covering my ringing
ears. He was saying something to me, but I couldn't
hear the words.
He walked closer, gun at his side, the flashing lights
now on our block. I felt the detective's large hand on
my elbow. He was mouthing, Henry, are you all right?
I knew instinctively that my voice wouldn't work, so
I nodded. Then I turned back to see the dead littering
the street.
33
One week later
LaGuardiaAirport was surprisingly empty.We bought
a couple of coffees at a java stand in the food court. I
waited while he came back from the newsstand,
carrying a bag with a paperback book and a copy of the
Gazette.
My father was thinner than I'd ever seen him. His
eyes were sunken and his skin wrinkled. Gray hair
taking up most of whatever was left. My father no
longer looked angry; he just looked old.
Prior to a few weeks ago, I hadn't seen James Parker
in years. My family was a memory, one I'd longed to
forget. If you leave a person, your memory retains your
last image of them. My last image of my father was an
angry middle-aged man. Now he sat here, one step from
broken, waiting for a flight back home.
"Mom's picking you up in Portland?" I said.
"That's what she said," my father answered, as
though not believing her.
"If she says she'll be there she'll be there." He
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nodded, thinking more about it and agreeing with me.
I popped the top off my coffee and took a sip. Strong
and sweet. "At least you've got a great story for your
bowling league."
"I missed three league tournaments," he said, resent
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,"