The Fury - Jason Pinter [59]
subsisted for nearly thirty years to this point, it didn't
make sense that they suddenly needed a lump sum to
sate their cravings.
From what it seemed like, the dealers I'd seen the
other day had more than enough business to keep them
going. True, on the surface the ones I saw looked far
more put together than my brother. Scott Callahan and
Kyle Evans barely looked like they touched the stuff.
What was the old drug dealer's maxim--never get high
on your own supply?
These two, as well as their well-heeled cohorts,
looked as if they were in this game to make as much
money as possible. With the exception of the kid whose
briefcase now sat in my living room, they all looked like
red-meat alpha males, the kind of guys who would
normally be braying on the floor of the stock exchange
rather than riding the subway to dole out dime bags.
Thing is, the cocaine in the briefcase made it clear
that not all of their scores were small-time. Any
company built its business on a combination of small
revenue streams mixed with larger ones. The larger
ones took more effort and paid higher dividends, but the
smaller ones tended to be the most dependable, the ones
that would always be there.
With the economy tanking the way it was, with
people watching their wallets to a degree I'd never ex
perienced in my lifetime, it wouldn't surprise me if dis
posable income for recreational drugs--like it was for
The Fury
175
all other consumer products--was being severely
limited. Especially since coke was a favorite amongst
bankers, financiers (i.e., high-salaried types). The kind
of people whose livelihoods were being dashed against
the rocks as the economy tumbled.
Maybe Stephen and Helen really were trying to start
a new life. After all, Helen had desired nothing more
than to raise her son with James Parker (why on God's
green earth she would want to do this is an entirely dif
ferent matter. One I'm not sure had a satisfactory
answer).
Leaving the country would enable them to start
their lives anew, to begin fresh somewhere they
weren't known. Where demons and drugs wouldn't
follow them.
But that last word...Fury. I still didn't know what it
meant, if anything. It might have been a spasm, some
thing Helen Gaines wrote while her mental faculties
bounced around like Ping-Pong balls.
I put it on the back burner. If it was relevant, it would
come up again.
The apartment felt warm and inviting, though
compared to the visitation room in a correctional facility
an icebox would have felt warm and inviting. We both
stripped off our clothes, Amanda jumping into the
shower while I pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt.
Before long, steam was pouring through the slat in
between the door and the tiling.
I approached the door silently, then knocked gently.
There was no answer. I knocked again, and when there
was still no reply I knocked again, louder.
One more knock and I heard the water turn off.
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Jason Pinter
"What is it, Henry?" She sounded annoyed.
"Just wanted to say hi," I said. "Go back to your
shower."
"Gee, thanks."
The water came back on. Good thing there was no
lock on the bathroom door.
I gently turned the knob, the cool air flowing into my
face. I could see Amanda's body hazy behind the
shower glass. She hadn't seen me yet.
I stripped off my shorts, flung the T-shirt onto a chair.
Then I pulled open the shower door.
Amanda spun around, shampoo in her hair. The look
on her face quickly went from annoyance to surprise to
pleasure. She pushed the door open and I joined her,
wrapping my body around her, feeling her warmth
surround me.
We kissed, and then our bodies were clinging to each
other, skin on skin. Pain and hurt and everything else
melted away as we touched. My body was on fire as I
kissed her neck, Amanda throwing her head back as she
sighed. I kissed her up and down her body, feeling her
skin tingle below my fingertips. Then I pressed myself
against her, hard, and she moved in perfect rhythm with
my body.
We touched and held