The Guilty - Jason Pinter [43]
to the kind of stories he's had. Did you know he's covering
Athena Paradis's murder?"
"I read his stories," Mya said.
"So much pressure though," Paulina said, as though the
weight of the world was pressing on her shoulders. "If you're
not up to the job, in our profession there are catastrophic
consequences."
Mya sipped her coffee, said nothing. Paulina offered a
warm smile.
"My ex was addicted to coffee," she said. "If he didn't
drink a minimum of six cups a day, he'd throw furniture
around our apartment like he was shooting rubber bands. I
think I spent as much money staying in hotels to get away
from him as I did paying our mortgage."
"Really?"
"God, yes. If you're ever in an abusive relationship, please
take it from someone who's made too many mistakes in the
love department, get your ass out of that place quick and
don't ever look back."
They both laughed. Mya looked at Paulina. Her smile
seemed so genuine, like she wasn't simply a reporter, but
The Guilty
129
someone who truly cared. Mya thought about her friends, the
ones who said they'd always be there for her. The ones who
never called, never checked up, always assumed her tears
came from happiness. Never stopping to think that she had
nothing to be happy about. And hadn't for a long time.
"We were together almost three years," Mya said, sighing.
"Then it ended."
"Just like that." Paulina spread some raspberry jam over a
slice of toast. She bit into it, brushed some crumbs off her lip.
"Was it one thing, or just a lot of one things?"
"Kind of both. You know how college relationships are.
Eventually you either move in or get lost. I was a year older
than Henry, and when I moved back to the city we just grew
apart." Paulina kept chewing. "And then..."
Paulina stopped chewing. Waited. Mya stayed quiet.
"And then what?"
"You know, shit happens. Life. He was up there, I was
down here. Shit."
Paulina spoke faster now, like she'd sensed something.
"No, I have a feeling it was something specific. Did Henry
do something? Did you?"
Mya stayed silent. She didn't know if she could go on.
Thought about her father. Thought about Henry. The two men
in her life who'd promised to care for her, had in the end abandoned her. She stared at the tape recorder, cold gray, wheels
turning. A memory that wouldn't be erased.
Paulina reached across the table. She placed her hand on
top of Mya's. Kind. Mya felt her skin, smooth with just a hint
of roughness around the fingertips. She looked at Paulina's
lips, coated with a demure red gloss. Mya felt tears come to
her eyes again. She wanted to excuse herself, to go to the
bathroom and wail and pound the walls and let it all out, let
130
Jason Pinter
all the shit ooze into the walls and cracks and disappear. Then
she could come back and sit here silent, without feeling like
a dam about to burst. The tape recorder might as well have
been a magnet holding her down. All she could do was talk.
Afterwards her story wouldn't get lost in the cracks, it would
be recorded in those metal wheels. For some reason, she felt
better knowing that.
"It was about a year and a half ago," Mya said. She felt the
tears subside. Her jaw didn't hurt, but she could feel the scar.
Her eyes dried up. It felt good to get it out. "Henry and I were
in a fight."
Paulina listened to the whole story. She nodded, smiled,
nearly looked to be in tears at the end. And while they
spoke, the tape recorder sitting on the table disappeared
from Mya's thoughts.
20
"So if you were a hundred-and-thirty-year-old gun whose
reputation was more notorious than Andy Dick on a bender,
where would you be?"
"Do you really expect me to answer that?" Amanda said.
"It'd be helpful if you could," I replied. "But I won't be
too disappointed if you don't."
Thankfully I had the deep resources of the Gazette archives
at my disposal. Speed was key. With a thread this important,
it was only a matter of time before other news outlets picked
up on it. Once a story began percolating, you had to spill it
before it grew cold. I