The Fury - Jason Pinter [53]
ing them if it doesn't look like you were rolling around
in the drugs beforehand."
My arm shot back. The girl had a point.
"This is unreal," I said, the words not even doing
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justice to the feeling of seeing all the drugs spread out
on our table. My college never offered a Drug Dealing
101 course, so I had no idea what the value of the nar
cotics were. Though, based on the amount of stops
Scotty had made yesterday, and the money Rose Keller
claimed to have shelled out over the years, it had to be
several thousand at least. And if I factored in all the dif
ferent suit-wearing carriers I saw this morning, there
had to be at least a hundred grand making its way
around the city every single day.
"What do we do with this?" Amanda asked. The truth
was I wasn't sure. If I delivered it to the cops with the
story, I'd have to explain the stolen briefcase. And then
I'd have to explain how I got there, how I'd followed
Scotty, and why I was doing all this in the first place.
The goal, of course, was to find Stephen Gaines's
killer and free my father. That would likely have to wait
until I had the full picture. If I went in with half a bird
in hand and the other half hiding in the bush, they'd
laugh me off and then possibly arrest me. Neither of
which sounded particularly appealing.
I picked up the cell phone. It wasn't as fancy as mine
or many of the newer models, and didn't look to have
photo or video capacity. There was no flip top, just a
dimly lit LCD screen and chunky buttons that looked
old and worn. Clearly, this phone was meant for one
thing, and one thing only. And whoever was using it
didn't need all the excess accoutrements.
The phone was still on. The screen said there were
five missed calls. I checked the log, and saw they'd all
come from the same number. I didn't recognize it, and
rather than a name popping up it was just the number.
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Most likely it was the kid whose briefcase I'd stolen
calling from a pay phone, praying someone would pick
up. It was only a matter of time before the phone was
disconnected.
Though somehow I didn't think there was a high
probability of the owner calling the cops to report it.
On the LCD screen, there was a "contacts" line
directly above a flat, rectangular button. I pressed it.
Immediately a roll call of the kid's contacts came up.
I scrolled through the names, hoping for something.
Then I saw two names that did ring a bell.
Scott Callahan and Kyle Evans.
Scotty and Kyle from this morning.
It didn't shock me that they were listed in the kid's
contacts list. They did share the same "occupation,"
and odds were Scotty and Kyle had this kid's number
in their database as well. I kept scrolling.
Then a name appeared on the list that made me
catch my breath.
"What?" Amanda said. "What it is?"
I showed her the phone, my finger underlining the
name.
"Oh my God," she said. "Why would he be..."
I looked at her. We both knew why he was there.
Halfway down the lists of contacts was the name
Stephen Gaines.
"He knew my brother," I said. "Wait a second..."
I exited the contacts list and returned to the main
menu. I knew what I was looking for but didn't know
if it was there.
I hoped it wasn't.
I pressed the send button to bring up the list of the
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most recent calls from this cell phone. There were
several from a name marked Office. I clicked edit to see
the number. It was from a 646 area code in Manhattan.
I wrote it down, then kept on scrolling.
None of the names were recognizable.
But then, at the very end of the list, was the one
name I'd hoped not to see.
"He called Stephen," I said to Amanda. "He called
my brother the night he died."
19
The next morning, Amanda and I took the subway to
100 Centre Street, which housed the New York County
Correctional Facility. My father was being held there
before his grand jury hearing, and we were on our way
to show support, discuss his court-appointed lawyer.
And ask him some questions to which