The Fury - Jason Pinter [108]
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,