The Fury - Jason Pinter [71]
tioned? 718?"
"718 Enterprises," I repeated.
Curt scratched his nose, downed the rest of his
beer. "Not sure why, but for some reason that name
sounds familiar."
"That means it's likely not a good thing," I said.
Curt shook his head, thinking. "Give me some time
tonight, I'm going to go back and dig into some of the
files, ask around."
"Curt, you don't have to do that, I--"
"Don't even start. I need to get some action, so don't
look at this as a favor from me to you, but an excuse for
me to get back on the horse."
"Then giddyup, cowboy," I said.
"You know damn well there were no black cowboys,
and no, I don't count Mel Brooks movies."
"Actually I think there were," I said. "I know a little
about the Old West."
"You being cute with me?" Curt said.
He stood up. We'd finished just one beer, but I could
tell he was motivated. And since his motivation might
answer a few questions, who was I to stop him?
"Keep your cell on, I'll give you a call tonight," he
said. We shook hands and gave an awkward fist-bump
man hug that I always felt silly doing but practiced
nonetheless.
We both left the club, Curt hailing a taxi while I
headed toward the subway. I hadn't known Curt to
spend money on cabs too often, he preferred to walk or
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209
use public transportation. That he was willing to spring
for a cab meant his leg was bothering him enough to
forgo the walk to the bus stop.
I arrived home a little past nine. Amanda greeted me
with a hug and a kiss and a plate of cold spaghetti. She
was wearing an oversize gray sweatshirt and a pair of
light blue boxer shorts, and looked absolutely adorable.
Even the rumples of the sweatshirt couldn't hide the
body beneath, and I made sure to squeeze her extra
tight during our hug.
Changing into shorts and a T-shirt, I sat down at the
table and dug into the food. She'd sprinkled a light
sheet of parmesan over the tomato sauce.
"I can warm that up for you," she said.
"It's actually good like this," I said. "I ran some track
back in high school and always ate cold pasta before
meets. It always tastes better cold than reheated."
I proved this by shoveling another forkful in my
mouth and grinning.
As I finished the meal, I couldn't help but think about
how just yesterday a briefcase full of drugs had
occupied the tabletop. Now the owner was dead, and it
frightened me to think that whoever Hector Guardado
was working for, his life was expendable compared to
the contents of the briefcase.
And I wondered, again, why my brother's name was
in a dead drug dealer's cell phone. And why Hector
Guardado had called him once and only once, the night
Stephen was murdered.
And as I sat there chewing and thinking, my cell
phone rang.
Rummaging through the pile of laundry on the floor,
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Jason Pinter
I pulled the phone from my pocket, clicked Send. I rec
ognized the prefix as coming from Curt's precinct.
"This is Henry," I said.
"It's Curt."
"You find anything?" I said, beginning to feel that
familiar rush of apprehension and excitement. Then I
remembered what I'd told Wallace, promising that my
mind was still with the paper. I had to think about all
this information both as a son and a reporter.
"You could say that. Now I know why the name 718
Enterprises sounded familiar. You sitting down?" he
said.
"Yes," I lied.
"Your boys Gaines and Guardado, they're not the
only ones."
"What do you mean?"
"Five bodies, Henry. Christ, what have you gotten
into."
I stood there, listened, feeling dread pour through
me.
Curt continued, saying, "Five young men murdered,
the coroner's reports all suggesting the use of a silenced
pistol. All gunshots from close range, all executionstyle. Assumed that the victims knew their killers. So
if that's true, these guys were all killed just like Stephen
Gaines. Which means all five people were somehow
connected to this 718 Enterprises. And all of them killed
in the past three months. It's not just Gaines and
Guardado, man. Somebody is systematically taking out
everyone who works for that organization."