The Guilty - Jason Pinter [15]
the press conference with Jack. Think I can smell the mayor's
cologne a mile away," I said into the cell phone.
"Hey, babe. No problem," she said. "I'm about to go into
the library and I think they've starting arming the cell phone
police with automatic weapons."
"Good thing you finally learned how to use the vibrate
button." Jack elbowed me. Amanda, I mouthed. He raised his
eyebrows. Girlfriend. He opened his mouth to say ah. Then
he ran his thumb across his throat. Cut it off. "Anyway, I'd
better turn this off. Jack is giving me dirty looks. I'll call you
as soon as this circus is over."
"Is it a three-ring circus, or does Athena Paradis warrant
four?"
"You know, I think they might green-light the ever-elusive
five-star circus. Just for Athena."
"The news ran video of Costas Paradis getting off his
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Jason Pinter
private jet this morning. I've never much sympathized with
billionaires, but you have to feel for the guy."
I said nothing. Didn't have to.
"Give Jack my best. Knock the story out of the park, Henry."
"Will do," I said. "Stay quiet." I hung up. Jack was holding
back a thin smile. "What?"
He allowed a small chuckle. "Like two sweet jaybirds, you
two," he said. "Hope you don't mind my taking amusement
in the love rituals of the young and naive."
I eyed Jack's hand, barren of any rings or jewelry other
than a swank Omega wristwatch. I knew he'd worn a ring,
years ago. He never showed any desire to discuss it.
I took my press pass out of my pocket and looped the
lanyard over my head. Jack did the same. We rounded the
corner and immediately became two small fish in the biggest
school I'd ever seen. There must have been five hundred
members of the press corps standing outside of city hall.
Dozens of cameras, many of them live, along with Brylcreemed reporters and onlookers peeking out of open office
windows for blocks in every direction. Millions of people
would be watching this conference, whether live or on the
evening news. Which made our jobs near impossible. How
do you find a shadowy corner when there are hundreds and
thousands of eyes scanning every inch?
We ducked under a rope and tried to push our way to the front.
"Easier to dig to China," Jack said. "Screw this. I don't
need to be close to hear Perez."
"He'll have the text up on his MySpace page within an
hour anyway."
"Perez has a MySpace page?"
"Facebook, too. Wants to hit the young voters."
"Do young voters like him?" Jack asked.
The Guilty
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"I wouldn't vote for him," I replied. "A little too much selfpromotion for my tastes."
Jack pulled a pair of folding binoculars out of his pocket.
He stared through them, peered along the dais and around the
surrounding area. When he was done he passed them to me.
I took in the scene. The marble steps leading to city hall
were polished a gleaming white. The podium was empty,
waiting for Mayor Perez and, I assumed, Costas Paradis.
Three uniformed police officers stood on either side of the
podium. They stood straight, arms at their sides, guns visible.
I swung the binoculars from right to left. When I saw who
was standing directly to the left of the podium, I nearly
dropped the binoculars.
"I saw him, too," Jack said. "He's not here for you. Be a
professional."
"Professional," I said, my mouth dry. "Right."
Standing to the left of the podium was Detective Lieutenant Joseph Mauser. One year ago, Detective Joe Mauser had
chased me halfway across the country, shot me in the leg, and
barely escaped with his life after taking three bullets in the
chest.
I had followed Mauser's recovery over the months. Visited
his guarded hospital room and was turned away by the very
cops who'd wanted me dead before they found out the truth.
After two months in the hospital--fully recovered, minus
one spleen, two ribs and twenty pounds--Joe Mauser transferred from the FBI to the NYPD. He attributed the transfer
as a tribute to his fallen brother-in-law and in-arms, John
Fredrickson. The man whose death I was responsible for, indirectly or not. Mauser wanted to