The Fury - Jason Pinter [5]
to talk! I'm begging you, man!"
"Sorry, don't have time," I said. I picked up the pace,
broke into a run and crossed the street just as the light
was turning red. As I reached the other side I looked
back. The man was about to race through the oncoming
traffic, but then apparently thought better of it.
Our eyes met for one moment. His were pleading,
scared, and for a moment I debated crossing back over
to see what he wanted. Then I saw him reach into his
The Fury
19
pocket, put something to his nose and take a quick snort.
That was all I needed to see.
I turned around and headed toward the subway. If he
really needed to reach me, he could call. I'd been
through enough over the last few years to know there
were some things you needed to turn your back on.
2
I arrived home half an hour later. I left Amanda a
message. We had plans to have dinner and catch a movie
tomorrow night, and I wanted to order tickets in
advance. New York prices being what they were,
between service charges, snacks and tickets themselves,
you practically had to win the lottery to afford them. A
few months ago Amanda had received a nice year-end
bonus, and Wallace Langston had told me to expect a
promotion in the near future. Both of our salaries had
crept higher over the last few years, and we'd begun to
think more about where we wanted to be. This apart
ment had served its purpose, but I wanted more space.
We weren't living together, but she would spend
three or four nights a week here and then crash in her
friend Darcy Lapore's guest room the rest of the time.
The number of nights spent next to each other had
begun to creep up over the last few weeks. It was still
early and we were still healing from recent wounds. Re
gardless, our relationship had grown more serious and
I started to think about where our future was headed.
At some point we'd have to have one of those talks.
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21
Where you each share your hopes and dreams. The
"where do you see yourself in five years" part of the job
interview, only for a position you wanted the rest of
your life. Tonight, Amanda was crashing with Darcy. I
figured I'd eat dinner, pop in a movie and veg out.
Nights like that were sorely underrated.
I peeled off my clothes, stepped into a hot shower.
The day seemed to rinse right off me. I thought about
that man who'd confronted me, how there was a look
of genuine terror in his eyes. I began to regret turning
from him. And hoped he actually did call the next day.
When I got out of the shower, I threw on a pair of
shorts and a T-shirt. I was six foot one depending on the
shoes, a hundred and ninety pounds of lean, mean, vendor
hot dog-eating machine. My brown hair was getting a
little longer, and I made a mental note to stop by Quik
Cuts tomorrow during lunch. I warmed up a plate of
leftover chicken masala Amanda had cooked over the
weekend. In my place, leftovers were made to last.
I sat down and began to eat, washing the food down
with a glass of iced tea. I splayed a few newspapers in
front of me and read while I did. The Gazette's pages
looked naked without the familiar byline of Jack
O'Donnell. I hoped wherever he was, he was getting the
treatment he needed.
Dinner was a long affair. I made the pasta last, and
made the newspapers last. I gorged myself on every
word, fascinated at just how many stories there were
within this small teeming city.
When I finished, I was getting up to put my dishes
in the sink when the phone rang. I picked it up. Didn't
recognize the caller ID.
22
Jason Pinter
I clicked Send and said, "This is Parker." I'd strug
gled with my greeting for a long time. Since this was
my work phone as well as personal, saying hello felt too
casual. As did "Henry." I considered, "Parker, Henry
Parker," but Amanda threw a dirty sock at me the first
time I tried it. "Parker" sounded nice, succinct.
"Is this Henry Parker?" the voice on the other end
said.
"Yes, who is this?"
"Henry, I'm Detective Makhoulian with the NYPD.
Are you busy right now?"
I looked at