The Fury - Jason Pinter [79]
dark blue. Sometimes I hated the towering skyscrapers
of New York and how they totally obscured the
horizons. But nights like tonight I could stare at the pin
pricks of light, the behemoths sparsely lit, and admire
the grandeur of it all. This was a magnificent city. One
that almost seemed to beckon you to claim it all for
your own, to rise up one of those towers and stand out
over the masses, arms spread, taking it all in. All for
yourself.
And maybe that's what seduced Stephen. And got
him killed as well.
The streetlight turned green, the red Stop hand
switching to the white "happy walking" person.
"That's my signal," Scotty said. I nodded stupidly,
unsure of how to end our little gab session. "Listen,
Henry, I respect what you're doing. If the guy was a
dirtbag, it might not be worth your time if you didn't
know him. I know better than anyone that sometimes
you have to do things you're not proud of to make ends
meet. You tell yourself it's okay, because it's the only
way, and it's only for a short time."
"If that's what it takes to help you sleep at night," I said.
"Judge all you want. At some point you'll have to
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make some tough choices too. And you gave me your
word about this being off the record. I know some bad
people, people who don't really give pink slips."
"Your name won't come up and won't appear in the
paper."
"Good. And maybe ten years from now you can look
back and know you did the right things because they
were the only things available. I--"
And then Scott Callahan turned and walked away.
I stared at his back, hands in his pockets, hunched
over, acting like the weather was far colder than it actually
was. And then he turned the corner and was gone.
Sometimes people forget about the weight on their
shoulders until you point it out.
My legs felt weak, and I debated just hailing a taxi.
Then I remembered how long it would take to get back
uptown, that I'd probably have to take on a second job
to pay for it, and headed toward the subway. Consider
ing prices of everything from milk to movies had sky
rocketed in New York to the point where you had to hit
an ATM just to buy coffee and a doughnut, you had to
conserve wherever possible.
I couldn't wait to see Amanda, to hear her voice, to
feel her arms again. Then I remembered she'd promised
Darcy Lapore a night on the town and realized it would
be several hours before that would happen. But it
wasn't all bad. Amanda didn't go out all that often, and
had never been a big drinker, but Darcy was dangerous.
Her husband was a high roller and the one time we'd
double-dated with them he took us to some club with
a kinky name where he plunked down four figures for
a table and two bottles, and we proceeded to get com
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pletely obliterated. In New York, when someone pays
a grand for you to drink, you drink your money's worth.
Anyway, because of Amanda's relatively light
drinking habits, she tended to get drunk rather easily.
Which had two results: the first that she would have a
wicked hangover the next day, but second that she was
frisky as all get out when she got home. One night a
month ago, she came home from a night out with Darcy,
and upon arriving home she proceeded to give me a
piece of her mind. The reason for chewing me out? I
was still wearing pants.
God, I loved that woman.
The train ride was uneventful, and I wondered what my
father was doing at that very instant. I'd only been to see
him once since his incarceration in the Tombs. Every part
of me wanted to see him released, to go back home and
live out the rest of his life with my mother in whatever hap
piness the two of them could muster. I wanted to believe
that, if he was released, he would treat her the way a wife
deserved to be treated. Loved. Cared for. Respected.
But I knew none of that would happen. Chances
were, things would not change. He would not suddenly
become the husband he should have been years ago.
That ship had sailed.
But it didn't mean he deserved