The Stolen - Jason Pinter [68]
for ten minutes. Then right as I was about to grab the thing
and douse Amanda and me with it, Wallace Langston
entered, followed by Curt Sheffield. I'd never been happier
to see anyone in my life.
"I got your message," Wallace said. "And I figured you
could use a little backup."
The cops eyed Wallace with skepticism, but when they
saw Curt standing there, all six foot three, two hundred
sculpted pounds of him, they went right into bully mode
once the bullies had been called on their bluff.
Wallace, happy to be good cop to Curt's badass one,
passed out his business card to the cops.
"Gentlemen," he said. "My name is Wallace Langston,
and Henry Parker is under my employ at the New York
Gazette. Our legal counsel is on the way, but I do have
some familiarity with legal rights, and unless you're
holding Mr. Parker or Miss Davies for a crime, I'm going
to ask you leave the room so we can speak in private. And
then we plan to leave your care posthaste."
The Stolen
193
The cops conferred in a lame attempt at whispering, but
we all heard every word. Since it was primarily lots of
cursing under their breath, we didn't learn anything new, but
they didn't seem particularly keen to grant Wallace's request.
Yet when Curt stepped forward with his hands folded across
his chest, they got up right quick and left the room.
As soon as Ditka and his buddy closed the door, I
grabbed the pitcher and poured two glasses. We gulped
them down in less time than it took Wallace to say,
"Thirsty?"
Water dribbling down my chin, I said, "Yeah, thanks.
Hope those assholes are better detectives than they are
hosts."
"I don't think they're any worse detectives than you'll
find in most departments," Curt said. "I get the feeling
they're slacking off for a reason that doesn't involve apathy."
Wallace walked around to the other side of the table,
pulled a chair out and sat down. He looked tired as he ran his
hands through his thinning hair. Curt sat down, as well, much
more at ease now that he didn't have to play bodyguard.
"Damn, it's fun to scare assholes," he said. "How you
holding up, Henry?"
"My chest hurts like hell and other than getting handcuffed to a pipe and seeing the dead body of the doctor I
planned to investigate for his involvement in several kidnappings, I'm doing just peachy."
"Amanda?" he said.
She said, "Hey, Curt. I'm okay." Her words betrayed
her. Her eyes gave away the terror we'd just escaped.
"Bullshit, but you're one hell of a trouper, Amanda.
You're lucky it's my day off, no way Carruthers would let
me come up here to help your ass out on my normal shift.
I expect major reciprocation. I mean major reciprocation."
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Jason Pinter
"No problem," I said. "I can pull a few strings, get you
in the gossip pages at the Dispatch for having a thirteeninch prick or something."
"Friends like these," Curt said.
Amanda was still silent. I could tell she was upset, but
there was a lot to choose from. If she was still scared or
in shock from what happened last night, or from the fact
our leads seemed to have shrunk, I couldn't tell. At some
point I'd need time to talk to her.
Wallace said. "Henry, tell me, what the hell were you
thinking?"
I was taken aback, said stupidly, "Sir?"
"I can't think of any reason for you to be up here. I
spoke to the watch commander. He told me you claimed to
be pursuing a Dr. Dmitri Petrovsky about his involvement
or knowledge about the disappearances of Daniel Linwood
and some girl named Michelle Oliveira. Last I recall, I
didn't give you permission to be working this story. In fact,
I distinctly remember telling you to stay the hell away from
it."
"Sir, I know," I said. "But there is more to this case than
we think. Michelle Oliveira disappeared and reappeared
in the exact same way as Daniel Linwood. And we were
able to confirm that Petrovsky was the attending pediatrician for both children. He's involved. We can be sure about
that now. He set us up last night."
"And now, what, you go on stakeouts? You put on a surveillance detail?