The Fury - Jason Pinter [30]
But I know what you live for. You take that away, even
for a little while, you forget who you are."
"The past few days have shown me that I don't even
know who I am."
"If you want time," Wallace said, "I can give you a
leave of absence. Or, you can stay on the job. Do what
you need to, but keep your nose to the grindstone anyway.
Some of the best work reporters do is during times of
crisis. If that's too much to ask, I understand. But it might
also be good for you. Give you another outlet."
"I don't know," I said, considering what Wallace was
saying. "I need to do what feels right here. And right
now I don't know what that is."
"What's right to one man is wrong to another. You
over anyone should know that by now. Every villain is
the hero of their own story, Henry. If your father is
innocent, somebody killed Stephen Gaines for a reason
that they felt was justified. If you can aid his defense,
that's a noble deed. I don't want to sway you. But I've
seen too many young reporters get lost in the chaos. You
have a great career ahead of you. You end up in the
middle of trouble more than anyone I've ever known.
And you can either use that, work with it, or you can
let it consume you. You do what you want, Henry."
I nodded. Wallace was right. And in the past, he'd
always stood by me. I'd like to think I'd earned his trust
through hard work, and that even if I did get myself into
the occasional--okay, regular--scrape, it would be
because I was doing the right thing.
"With Jack and I both gone," I said, "that's a big hit."
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Jason Pinter
"Don't I know it. Hey, I never said I didn't have the
paper's interests in mind, too."
The way Wallace said it, he wanted me to know he
had more on his mind than a simple lack of writers. The
Gazette had been engaged in a bloodbath with the
Dispatch over the last few years, each doing whatever
it could to lure new readers into the fold. Our industry
wasn't quite dying, but it was being forced to deal with
innumerable obstacles.
Each reader was valuable. Each demographic worth
its weight in gold. Jack had amassed a large and pas
sionate readership over the years through his columns,
his books and his numerous awards. Though I hated to
think of myself as a quantity, I got enough letters from
readers to know that there were quite a few people
tuning in to our pages to see what stories Henry Parker
had unearthed that day.
If I took a leave, I'd be pulling away one more tent
pole that was keeping the Gazette upright. I owed
Wallace. And Jack. I loved the Gazette, and if years
from now I was still cranking away on my keyboard
racking up bylines while my fake teeth were chattering
around in my mouth, I'd be a happy old codger.
And yes, blood is thicker than ink. As little as I owed
James Parker and Stephen Gaines, I owed them my best
efforts. I had to help find Stephen's killer, to get my
father out of prison. It didn't look like the cops were
going to bend over backward to dig up new leads. They
had their man, and likely enough evidence to send him
away for a long time.
And perhaps send him somewhere a lot deeper than
a prison cell.
The Fury
93
"I'll stay in the game, Coach," I said. Of course, I
couldn't be sure how effective I would be. I had no idea
where the truth about Stephen Gaines lay, or where
exactly to begin my search.
Wallace smiled.
"I'm glad to hear that. For both of us. You have my
number, Henry," he said. "Keep in touch. Go fight the
good fight."
"Thanks, sir," I said.
"I mean it, Henry. Keep in touch. It's not too much
to ask for a good story, is it?"
"No, sir," I said. "Not at all. Thanks, Wallace."
Wallace nodded. "You're going through something
not many do. Stay safe, Henry. And stay smart."
I said I would. But I wasn't sure if I meant it.
12
Leaving the Gazette, I endured a brief man hug-back
slap from Tony Valentine. I ran my hand over my face
and checked my clothes to make sure none of his spray
tan had rubbed off on me. Some kind of sweet cologne
did