The Fury - Jason Pinter [89]
It was great to hear the editor in chief's voice.
"Henry, how are you?" he said. "I was beginning to
worry."
"About me? Why?"
"If you've given me one reason not to worry about
your safety in the time we've known each other, I'm not
aware of it."
"I'll try harder."
"So I have Jack's files," he said. "Of course, there could
be more at his home, but this is everything he kept at the
office pertaining to Through the Darkness. They'll be here
waiting for you. They're in my office for the time being."
"Wallace, you're a lifesaver. With any luck this will
shed some light on this Fury thing and help get my dad
out. And when it's all over, I think there might be a hell
of a story."
"I was hoping you might say that," Wallace said,
"And frankly, if there wasn't, we'd need to have a
serious chat about all this 'personal time' you've been
taking. So in case I'm not here, I'll make sure you have
access to my office."
"You know," I said, "is there any chance you could
have them messengered over?"
"Why?" Wallace asked.
"Something happened last night, let's just say I need
to stay out of sight for a little while."
"What the hell did you do, Henry?" I could sense the
frustration in his voice.
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Jason Pinter
"Nothing. Really. It should all blow over soon."
"Spoken like someone who has no idea what he's in
for."
"Please, Wallace," I said.
"Fine," he sighed. "I think I have your address some
where in my Rolodex here..."
"Actually, I need them sent to a different address."
"Okay, where to?"
"It's on the notepad here, one sec."
"On the notepad?" Wallace asked. "Where the hell
are you, a bar?"
"Not exactly. But on that note, there's one more
thing...if this does lead to a story, I might need to talk
to you about extending my expense account for a few
days. Oh, and I'm staying under the name Leonard
Denton."
"Henry," Wallace said, "what the hell have you
gotten yourself into?"
I had an hour before the files were to arrive, so I went
downstairs and found a deli where I bought a bagel
with cream cheese and a bran muffin with two large
coffees for breakfast. I could almost feel Wallace's hair
turn a deeper shade of gray when I told him where we
were staying, but there was a chance if a story came out
of all of this that the Gazette would pick up the tab.
Since I might have to resort to selling locks of my hair
if the charges remained on my credit card, I hoped for
my sake and theirs that one would emerge.
When I got back to the room, Amanda had showered
and was wearing a pair of jeans and a tank top. She was
sitting out on the balcony, the breeze whipping through
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her hair, a glass of water on the edge of the lounge
chair.
She turned her head to look at me, smiled.
"This is kind of nice," she said. "Maybe we should
move in here."
"I'll go buy some lottery tickets."
"Sit down," she said. "Stay a while."
We ate on the balcony, the skyscrapers of Times
Square surrounding us. When the coffee was done, I
went inside and brewed another pot from the instant
machine and we had seconds. It might have been the
greatest breakfast I ever had.
When we finished, the phone rang from inside. I
picked it up. It was the front desk. A package had arrived
for me.
I went downstairs and signed for the package, a large,
bulky padded folder with Wallace's messy handwriting.
A minor miracle it didn't end up somewhere in Antigua.
I brought the package upstairs, cleaned off the bed
spread and laid out all the papers in front of me. There
were reams of pages, half a dozen thick notebooks filled
to the brim. This is what Jack had worked with while
writing one of the seminal books of his generation on
crime. Just looking at these old pages brought a smile
to my face and courage to my heart.
And with those in mind, I began to read.
Amanda stayed in the living room, watching something
on television at a low volume. I was perched on the bed
amidst a mess of files, trying my best to keep them in order.
From the smell of the pages I could sense that nobody had
gone through