The Fury - Jason Pinter [74]
head down, and for a moment I felt sorry for the guy.
He was still in his rumpled suit, still carrying the same
briefcase. As he walked, the case flopped against his
side like a fish running out of air.
I led him to the back of the restaurant, where we took
a booth. A waitress came by and dropped two menus
on the table with a thunk. One good thing about New
York coffee shops, they took the food from every menu
in the city and crammed it under one roof. You could
order anything from a BLT to baby back ribs to sushi.
Though I wouldn't recommend coffee-shop sushi.
Scotty slid into the far end of the booth. He looked
tired, and I could imagine that this was literally the
very last place on earth he wanted to be. After a long
day delivering house to house, I was sure a cold beer
and a warm bed were the next two items on his agenda.
They'd have to wait a little while.
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"You're making a big mistake," Scotty said. "I don't
know anything."
"See right there," I said, pointing at him. "That's
how I know you're lying. Anyone who says 'you're
making a big mistake' knows a whole hell of a lot."
"Great, so you're a mind reader. Read my palm and
let me the hell out of here."
"You stand up before I say you can, and you know
what the front page of the paper says tomorrow?" I
held up my hands as though spelling out a movie
matinee for him. "It says, 'Scott Callahan, drug
dealer.' Now, I don't know what your dreams and am
bitions are, Scotty, but I'm going to guess you'll have
a tough time finding gainful employment after that
happens. So we're going to sit here, I'm going to have
a big-ass chocolate milk shake, and we're going to
talk. Then, maybe, if I feel like you've been honest,
you can go."
"And if not?"
I held up my hands again, framing the marquee.
"Then consider yourself Spitzered."
"You're a classy guy."
"Yeah, and how's the drug-dealing business going?"
"I'm not a drug dealer," Scotty said. The anger in his
voice told me he actually believe what he said.
"Now, I'm not sure what the actual term 'drug
dealer' is in Webster's, but I'm pretty sure that if you
go door to door selling drugs, you'd find a picture of
yourself next to that definition."
The thing was, I had no proof of Scotty being a
dealer. I could link him to 718 Enterprises, and Hector
Guardado, and possibly even my brother, but I hadn't
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actually witnessed him doing it. Thankfully by denying
it with such vehemence he proved it for me.
"I'm not a dealer," he said. His voice was quieter this
time. I wondered if Scotty had ever sat alone in the dark
thinking about what he was doing, what he'd become.
The softness in his tone told me he had. "That's not what
I do."
"Then, please," I said. "Enlighten me."
He looked at me suspiciously, his eyes traveling over
my shirt, my chest. Then he leaned over and peered
under the table.
"Can I help you?" I said.
"Are you wired?"
I shook my head. "I'm not. This is between you and
me, for now. I'm not looking to bust you. That's the
truth. I just want some answers and I know you have
them. You help me, I help you."
"How do you help me?" he said.
"By keeping my mouth shut."
"And how can I know I can trust you?" he asked. "I
have a family, man. I have friends. They all think I'm
living on a sweet severance package."
I sat for a moment. "You know what guys usually say
in the movies when someone asks how they know they
can trust them?"
"No."
"They say, 'because you have no choice.' So right
now, you have no choice but to trust me. I'd be happy
to strip down to my George Foreman underwear, but I
don't think that's a scene either of us needs."
Just to show him I was on the up-and-up, I stood up,
flattened out my jeans and did a quick flip-up of my top.
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219
Sitting back down, I could tell Scotty was far from sat
isfied, but he also knew if motivated, I could cause him
a world of trouble.
"They're not my drugs," he said. "I never wanted to
do it. I mean, you're a reporter, right?"