Read Parker 04 - The Fury Online
Authors: Jason Pinter
James Parker had another son. Or that Stephen Gaines
had a brother.
But there was a glimmer of recognition there as she
searched for a reaction. Perhaps Stephen had mentioned
me the night he died. Maybe Helen knew there was
another son.
Clarence Willingham's hand was on my back, but
there was no force to it. As if he himself wanted to
know just what was going on. When he'd first opened
the door to his apartment building, I assumed Clarence's
paranoia was due to the high, not wanting to get caught.
The dead bolts on his door, they were protecting a man
whose father had been gunned down mercilessly. He
grew up in fear, and now he was protecting Helen
Gaines. But why? How did they even know each other?
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And how did Helen end up here, of all places, after
fleeing Blue Mountain Lake?
Bernita had stopped screaming. Perhaps because
they were both curious. Or perhaps because they didn't
want to get anyone else involved. Because they were
still protecting Helen.
"You're Henry," she said. "Oh my...I've wanted to
meet you for so long."
That answered my question.
"I only just found out you existed a few days ago,"
I said. "Why didn't you ever try to reach me?"
"I didn't know how," she said, but her voice betrayed
that thought. She never really tried. The idea of my ex
istence was grander than the reality of it.
I walked over to Helen. Extended my hand. She did
not offer hers, and for a moment I was embarrassed, but
then she stood up, took a breath and gathered me in her
arms. It was a strange sensation, and one I wasn't sure
was deserved or appropriate, but soon I felt my arms
wrapping around this small, frail woman who'd been a
part of my family's life long before I ever arrived.
Her pulse was racing. A slightly sour smell came
off of her.
When Helen Gaines pried herself away from me,
she stepped back, sat down on the bed with a sigh. The
woman's pupils were dilated, and I had to take a
moment to realize just how small, just how thin she was.
I remember the photo my father had shown me. The vi
vacious young woman with the unruly brown hair, the
bright green eyes. The eyes were still green, but they
were slightly dulled. Too much life had passed by them.
Not enough love to keep them shining.
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The veins in her wrists were thick, ropy. Blue streaks
roamed underneath her skin. The brown of her hair had
nearly all been wiped away, replaced with a stringy
gray.
Then I heard a smacking sound and saw that she
was licking her lips. Dry mouth. A symptom of crack
addiction.
She was Stephen Gaines's mother all right.
"Wait," I said. Suddenly I was the one confused. I'd
been so caught up in discovering the earring and
finding Helen that the biggest question hadn't even
occurred to me to ask.
"How in the hell do you two know each other?" I said
to Helen, then turned to Clarence.
Clarence bowed his head. Then he stepped by me,
went and sat down on the bed next to Helen. She placed
her hand on top of Clarence's head. He smiled weakly,
tilted it slightly.
"Butch Willingham," Helen said, "saved my life. When
I came to this city I had nothing. I started using, but I was
out of control. I bought from Butch, but he never sold me
enough to kill me, which is what I wanted. One day, Butch
found me passed out in a gutter. Facedown. Drowning in
filth. He took me in. Nursed me back to health. He was
my lover. My protector. He was the husband your father
never was. The father Stephen never had."
"And when my dad died," Clarence said, "Ms.
Gaines always looked after me. The city wouldn't allow
her to adopt me because of her...issues...but she visited
every day. She was the mom I lost when I was a kid."
"So when Beth-Ann was killed," I said, extrapolat
ing what I'd learned, "you called Clarence."
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"He was my only friend left," Helen said. Her eyes
were sunken. She began to weep softly, her small body
trembling. Clarence wiped her tears away with his
finger, took her frail hand and kissed the back. Helen
smiled, nestled her head against his neck.
"She was
here
when I called," I said. "That's who I
heard in the background."
"I wouldn't let her stay at my pad. Too many
people have my business card. Bernita here doesn't
even have e-mail."
"I found the earring," I said to Helen.
"Earring," she said, stumbling over her words. "Oh
my, from the cabin!"
"That's right."
"I didn't even know I had the other one with me. It
must have fallen."
"Onto Clarence's carpet," I replied. "So he shuttled
you downstairs to hide while I talked to him."
"Didn't have time for anything else," Clarence
replied.
"You went to all this trouble," I said.
"I'd do anything to protect this woman," Clarence
said. "Anything." Then he stared at me, his eyes gone
from tender to fiery in an instant. "Anything."
I knew he was talking to me. That if I even thought
about exposing Helen, about putting her in harm's way,
Clarence Willingham would have no problem making
sure nobody heard what I had to say.
"So you hid her here," I said.
Bernita chimed in, saying, "Man did pay me."
"I trust Bernita," Clarence said. "Helen wasn't so
sure at first."
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"I didn't--still don't--know who to trust," Helen said.
"I couldn't keep her with me," Clarence said. "I have
clients coming over to my office, and there's no way she
could have stayed upstairs. Besides, who would think
to look here?"
"I would. I did," I said.
"Yeah, well, most people ain't you, Parker." I wasn't
sure whether he meant that as an insult or a compliment.
"We need to talk about Stephen," I said. "Helen, I
need to know what happened. The police have arrested
my father for Stephen's murder. They know he came
into the city to see you. They know you tried to black
mail him. I need to know why. It wasn't for rehab for
Stephen. I need to know what that money was for, and
what happened that night."
Helen Gaines's hand went to Clarence's and held it
tight. He put his arm around her, comforted her as she
began to cry, this time harder. She wailed, her hand
covering her mouth to stifle the sobs.
"Oh...my baby," she said. "My baby is gone..."
"Helen," I said. But all I could do was wait it out. It
hadn't even been a week since Stephen was murdered,
and though Helen Gaines seemed far from mentally
stable, there were some things that pierced the heart no
matter how calloused it had grown.
She cried for several minutes. Clarence held her
head, stroked her hair. His eyes were closed, too, and
on his face I could see the pain of a man whose surro
gate mother was going through hell in every way, shape
and form. Clarence had admitted abusing drugs in his
younger years, but recently had begun to wean himself
off of them. No doubt having a dealer as a father exac
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erbated any curiosity he had. And even though Butch
was a supposedly "clean" dealer, being exposed to that
kind of trade could stir a desire that wouldn't have
existed otherwise. The temptation was there. His father
put it there, and Helen Gaines had become a victim of
it as well.
Maybe Helen and Clarence had actually bonded over
this. Perhaps it was even Helen who, after Butch was
gone, tempted Clarence. But looking at them now,
young man and older woman, they needed each other
more than anything in the world.
"Helen," I said, "I need to know why you got in
touch with my father. After all those years, why did you
suddenly need the money?"
Helen removed her head from Clarence's shoulder.
She wiped her eyes, only succeeding in smearing the
mascara she had on. Clarence took a tissue from his
pocket, handed it to her. She thanked him, cleaned
herself up.
"The money wasn't for me," she said. "It was never
for me. It was for Stephen."
"Rehab?" I asked.
"No. That ship sailed a long time ago. We tried--
both of us, actually. But it's easy to say you want to stop,
it's another thing to do it. It'd be like rewiring your
brain. When you have two people so close, both
addicted, you can either band together and use each
other for strength...or you can slip into the comfort of
nothingness. We chose the latter."
"So you know your son was using, and that he
probably started because of you."
Helen nodded. "I was young and stupid when I came
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here. Do you know what it's like to be nineteen years
old with a baby? To have to leave the only place you've
ever known and go somewhere where you don't know
anybody? To raise a child in a different world? I
couldn't handle it. So I escaped. But Stephen could
have made so much more of himself."
"Stephen wasn't just some street dealer," I said. "He
was much higher."
Helen blinked. "I knew he wasn't standing out on
corners. He had nice suits. Lots of them. He would
wear them during the day, even though I knew where
he was going. I always found it strange that someone
in that...line of work would get dressed up so nicely.
We never had money for anything else."
I thought about the building in midtown. All those
suited young men entering to get their daily packages.
A horde of young, urban professionals. Only the defi
nition had turned a one-eighty.
"How long had he been selling?" I asked.
Helen looked at the ceiling. Wiped her eyes again.
Clarence was staring at her as well, his eyes soft. I
wondered if he'd ever heard these stories.
"Screw this," Bernita suddenly announced. "I'm
getting a beer and watching
Judge Judy.
" Her pink
bathrobe turned with a flutter, and she left the room.
"She's a great cook," Helen said. "Made chicken a
l'orange last night."
"I have about ten pounds of leftovers in my fridge
at home," Clarence said with a laugh. "I know what
you're saying."
"How long?" I repeated.
"Almost ten years. He dropped out of CCNY after
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his sophomore year. I worked about a hundred differ
ent jobs over the years, but even with that and the money
Stephen made, with his student loans, there was no way
we could ever really make ends meet. Not in this city.
That's actually where I met Beth. We were both secre
taries at a public-relations firm. They fired us both
within the month when we came to work high. So
Stephen dropped out. Partly because of the money,
partly to take care of me. He said the only experience
he needed was in the real world. And I was too stupid
to stop him. And besides, he was making more money
doing that than I ever did working real jobs. And none
of it was taxed."
"So he was working for ten years, making good
money, obviously moving up the ladder," I said. "Again,
why did he need the money?"
"We went through it fast," Helen said. "Stephen
started using more, and I was a mess. We never saved
much. One day, about a month ago, Stephen came home
from work. I remember him coming in the door with this
look on his face, and I just froze. He was so scared...oh
God, his eyes were wide and his face was pale and I
thought he might have overdosed. He collapsed on our
sofa and asked for a glass of water. When I brought it to
him, he just sat there with the glass in his hand. Not
drinking, just staring at the wall. Then my boy started to
cry."
"Why?" I asked. "What happened?"
"He didn't tell me," Helen said. "All he said was, 'We
need to leave. We need to get far, far away from this city.
When I asked him what the matter was, he just said,
'You're safer if you don't know. We'd both be safer if I
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didn't know either.' I looked into his eyes. They were
bloodshot. Not from drugs, but from crying. He'd never
spoken like that before in his life. I'd never seen him so
scared, so terrified. So I told him we'd find a way."
I said, "My father told me he found a notepad in your
apartment. It read 'Europe' and 'Mexico.' That's where
you were thinking of going. Right?"
Helen nodded. "We didn't know where to go. What
city or country. We wondered if Europe was too far, or
if Mexico was far enough. Stephen just wanted to go far,
far away. We barely had enough money to cover the
rent."
"And that's why you called my father," I said. "For
money to leave the country."