The Guilty - Jason Pinter [76]
Amanda seemed like a nice enough girl, yet every loose
thread a man had was one that could be pulled. One that
could be leveraged. If a man had nothing, he risked nothing,
and would stop at nothing. A woman could hold him back.
Love could make him soft. Jack was unsure if he'd ever truly
been in love, though if he had he would have retired ages ago,
spent his elder years in some pastel retirement community,
flitting about in golf carts and wearing pants with shameful
plaid designs. Eating lunch at "the club" with the other
retirees before they went out and shot a hundred and fifty on
the back nine. That was no life for him. That was no life at
all.
He gulped down another hot sip of coffee, laced with just
enough Baileys to give it a little kick, keep his blood pumping.
He typed in his byline and got ready to send it off. It would
be in tomorrow's national edition. He knew many people
thought this killer was some sort of twisted hero, knocking
off people whose deaths would somehow benefit the common
good. They didn't think about the monster beneath, just what
it took to pull a trigger and end someone's life. The families
shattered. The soullessness of it all.
Jack was too old to go chasing villains. That was a job for
a younger man, one ready to claim the mantle for his own.
And Jack knew that if Henry kept his head on straight,
snipped off any loose threads, the story would be fully told.
And he could only hope it was told before the next victim fell.
35
I tossed and turned the whole night, every position bringing
a new bolt of pain. Whether it was my hand, my head, or
Amanda accidentally kneeing me in the groin, I would have
had a better night sleep covered in honey and stuck in an ant
farm. Amanda didn't wake once. I tried to be jealous, but
watching her sleep soundly, all I could do was smile.
After making love we fell asleep for an hour. When we
woke, I threw on a pair of boxers, Amanda slipping into
cotton underwear and one of my T-shirts that came down to
her knees. We fell into bed and wrapped our bodies around
each other, my head on two pillows and numbed by two
aspirin, my hand stretched above my head to prevent undue
pressure from ripping the stitches.
When the sun came up, I blinked the crust from my eyes
and went to the bathroom. After peeing for what felt like an
hour, I turned the water on for a shower.
"You're not supposed to shower for forty-eight hours,"
Amanda mumbled from the bed.
"Crap, I forgot. Good thing I'm all sweaty from last night,
I've always wanted to smell like a hobo at work." Though
224
Jason Pinter
Amanda's face was mushed into a pillow, I saw the edge of
a small smile.
I got dressed, and pulled out the note Agnes Trimble had
written me yesterday. My stomach clenched as I wondered if
the killer was watching me from the window. Watching
Agnes. Watching Amanda.
I took out my cell phone and called Curt Sheffield.
"Hey, Henry, how's the noggin feeling?"
"Feels like I went twelve rounds with Mike Tyson circa
1989."
"Damn, that's bad. Don't worry, give it a few years and you'll
be biting off ears and threatening to eat people's children."
"Those are some nasty side effects."
"You're telling me."
"Listen, Curt, I was wondering if you could get someone
to watch Amanda. Just while I'm gone during the day."
"Bro," Curt said, laughing. "Look out your window."
Confused, I pulled open the window with my good hand
and poked my head out. Below me I could see the sidewalk
and the building's entrance. Parked right in front was a blueand-white squad car. I could see two officers inside. And I
swear I could make out the outline of a donut.
"They'll be on your ass every morning and night for the
next week. You got a private escort to and from work, as does
your ladyfriend. You decide to shop for groceries, go to the
Chinese laundry mat during the day, that's all you."
"Thanks, Curt, I appreciate it."
"Don't thank me. Orders came down from Chief Carruthers's office. Guess there are people who want you to
stay alive."
"I'll be