The Fury - Jason Pinter [23]
afford treatment."
"So why did you come all the way to New York?"
"I hung up on her. She called back. She said if I didn't
help them, she would sue me for child support and make
sure my name was in every newspaper as one of those
deadbeat dads. She said technically I owed her thirty
years' of payments, and that if she hadn't wrecked my
marriage thirty years ago she'd make it her mission to do
it now. I couldn't afford thirty years back payments for
the life of me. I told her I could give her some money, a
little, but that's it. She said she needed to see me. That
maybe meeting his father would snap some sense into
Stephen."
"And you agreed to go?"
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"Not at first," James said. "I told her I could send it
Western Union. She said those two words again, 'child
support,' and I was on a plane the next day." He looked
at me and grinned. "Sorry I didn't call."
"Where did you tell mom you were going?" I asked.
"I don't know, just said I was going fishing or some
shit. She didn't ask many questions."
"They say your fingerprints ended up on the gun
that killed Stephen," Amanda said. "That means two
things. One, they found the murder weapon. And two,
your prints were on it. Can you explain how that
happened?"
"Helen," he said, shaking his head slightly. "When I
got to their apartment--a real rats' nest. Ugh, just dis
gusting. Cockroaches everywhere, food left out.
Anyway, I hadn't seen Helen in almost thirty years. I
had some money with me. Not much, I ain't Ted Turner
in case you haven't noticed. Stephen wasn't there.
Helen told me he was working. It was late, and I didn't
care much. I'd gone that long without seeing the boy."
"The gun, Dad," I said.
"I'm getting to that. So I give her some money, two
grand. It's all I can do without biting into my 401k. Of
course, Helen tells me it's not enough. Rehab centers
cost tens of thousands of dollars. I tell her if she kisses
my ass, she can keep whatever money she finds in
there."
"And then what?" Amanda said.
"Then...Helen goes to the closet. I have no idea what
she's doing. And suddenly out she comes holding
this...this cannon. Then she pointed that thing at me
and told me she needed money. Of course I've handled
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a gun or two, and I notice the safety's off. But she's
holding the thing all awkward, and even though I didn't
think she'd shoot me on purpose, the way she was
holding it--both hands on the butt, two fingers in the
trigger guard--that thing could have gone off by
accident and blown my head off."
I looked at Amanda. She was thinking the same thing
I was. If Helen Gaines didn't know how to handle a gun,
chances are the gun she pointed at my father belonged
to Stephen. He was killed with his own gun. But if my
father never saw Stephen, how did his prints get on the
gun? And who did kill him?
"So I go up to her, slowly. And before she can move
I grab it out of her hands."
"Slick, Pop," I said.
"How did you take it from her?" Amanda asked.
"Just like this, I guess." My father mimicked
grabbing the barrel of a gun and yanking it away, the
chains holding his wrists preventing much of a visual
demonstration.
"The cops say your fingerprints are on the murder
weapon. If your prints were just on the barrel, and not
on the trigger, they wouldn't immediately think you
killed her." Amanda and my father met gazes. Then he
looked down. We both knew he was lying.
"So I might have held it normal," he said.
"Come on, Dad, we're trying to help you. Nobody
else will, trust me."
"I might have pointed it at her," he said.
"You might have or you did?" Amanda demanded.
"I fucking did, all right? The bitch wanted to take my
hard-earned money for her junkie son, then she points
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a gun at me? What am I supposed to do? I just wanted
to scare her, is all. Just scare her."
"Did you fire that gun?" Amanda said.
"Absolutely not," James replied. "I pointed it at her
once."
"Somebody used that gun to kill Stephen Gaines,"
Amanda said. "If it wasn't you, someone was able to
kill Stephen