Parker 04 - The Fury (35 page)

"It was a one-time thing," Helen said. "I figured after

all those years, after what he'd done to me and our

baby--that's right,
our
baby--the least he could do

was help us start a new life."

I couldn't really argue with that. My father owed

them far more than he could ever make up for.

"So you threatened to sue him," I said.

"I didn't know any other way. The old James Parker

I knew would rather burn his money than give it away."

"You couldn't say something a little more noble, like

you needed it for a kidney transplant or something?

Maybe that would have tugged at his heartstrings a little

more than the rehab story."

"I don't know how well you know your father,"

Helen said sardonically, "but he's not exactly the senti

mental type."

I couldn't argue with that either.

"So he came into the city to see you, then what?"

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"How much did he tell you?" she asked.

"He told me you pulled a gun on him," I said. "Is

that true?"

Helen nodded. "Yes. But it was Stephen's gun. He

kept it for protection. He taught me how to use it, just

in case. I was scared, of your father and for Stephen. I

got carried away."

"Where was Stephen during all of this?" I said.

"I'm not sure," Helen said. "He told me he was going

to try and talk to someone. He said there was one

person who might be able to do something if he knew

the whole story."

"Oh God," I said. "He was with me. He was at the

Gazette
waiting for me." I felt sick. I put that from my

mind, tried to focus.

"My father said he took the gun from you. Is that

true?"

"It is," Helen said.

"Would you be willing to testify to that? The police

say my father's fingerprints were found on the gun. If

you testify that they got there another way--other than

him actually firing it--it will help his case."

"I don't know if I want to help his case," Helen said.

"As long as he's locked up, the cops aren't hunting the

person who really killed my son."

"So you know it wasn't my father," I said. Helen said

nothing. She turned away. Didn't even look at me. I was

taken aback by this indifference. Stunned, I said, "Don't

you care about your son's killer getting what he

deserves?" I said.

Helen's face turned to stone. She said, "It must be

nice to live in a world where everyone who deserves

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293

justice gets it. My son was taken from me. I tried to save

him...help him save himself. And now he's gone. And

let me tell you what I want now, Henry... I want to live.

And if living means letting this end, letting the people

out there think that someone is taking the fall, I can't

say that's an ending I dislike."

"You must know, though," I said. "You have to know

who killed your son."

"I don't know for certain," Helen said. "After James

and I had our...talk...he left for the airport. He put the

gun back down. We both knew I wasn't going to use it.

And I knew that was the last time I would ever see your

father."

"Then what did you do?" I asked.

"Then I went out. I needed a drink. Needed to smoke.

James didn't have that much money, only a few

thousand dollars. I didn't know what was going to

happen with Stephen. He was so scared, so afraid."

"So your choice then was to go out rather than see

him."

"That's right. I did. I had to calm my nerves. I just

needed something to get me by. And I thought if I could

relax, I could figure out just how we were going to get

out of the city. I must have been gone for, I don't know,

two hours or so. When I came back to the apartment, I

walked in and saw him...Stephen...facedown on the

floor. Blood everywhere. And I just started screaming."

"And you felt you were in danger."

"I knew I was," Helen said. "Whoever killed him did

it because they thought he knew something he wasn't

supposed to. And if he knew, then chances were I would

too. I left that night, before the cops ever came. And I

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remember the street, the quiet, the neighbors who didn't

even know what had just gone on. I went right to BethAnn's apartment, and we went up to the lake. I had no

idea they would find us there."

"So you didn't see who killed Stephen," I said.

"No. Just the people on the street. Neighbors,

people I'd seen around before..." Helen trailed off,

looked at Clarence.

"What is it, Mom?" he said.

"One man," Helen said. "There was one man

standing on the street, staring at me as I left the apart

ment. He was just there, standing by a lamppost, and I

could have sworn he was crying. And honest to God, I

think that boy looked at me and said..."

"Said what?" I asked.

"Said he was sorry. And all I could think to do was

run."

"I don't understand," I said. "Why didn't you call

anyone? The cops? Someone?"

"Stephen told me a long time ago not to trust anyone

in this city. He said the people he knew, the people he

worked for, if they thought you might hurt them they

would hurt you first, and hurt you worse than you could

ever do to them. When he came home that night, scared

out of his mind, he told me our only option was to run.

That if we told anybody, we would be in trouble. That's

all he said. Trouble. But the thing is--" Helen stopped,

looked at the floor.

"What is it?"

"The night he died," she said, "Stephen told me there

might be one way out. He said he knew one person who

might be able to help us. He knew about your father,

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295

about his family, and I told him there was a good chance

James Parker wouldn't give us a dime and we wouldn't

be able to leave the country. So finally he told me there

was one last option. There was someone he knew wasn't

on the take, wouldn't hurt us. Someone who could give

them more trouble than they ever imagined. He went out

that night. Never told me who he was going to see. And

then, a few hours later, he was dead."

It felt like a piece of coal was burning in the pit of

my stomach. I knew Stephen had been talking about me.

For some reason, he considered me his last hope. And

then he died. Because I didn't trust him.

"You said the night Stephen died, you saw someone

outside the apartment. A young man crying. Who was

he?" I asked.

"I don't know. It was dark out," Helen said, her voice

sorrowful, apologetic. "And my mind, I was so

confused, so scared. I didn't see his face. All I remember

is noticing something on his neck...a birthmark. Such

a young man, younger than Stephen even..."

I nearly fell to the floor. The room went blurry on me.

Clarence got up, came to my side, helped me stand.

"You okay?" he said.

I nodded, but felt anything but okay. I knew who that

man was. And now I knew who killed Stephen.

And I knew where he lived.

31

"I have to go," I said, standing up. Right under my

nose the whole time. My brother's killer. I didn't have

time to talk to Helen. To worry about how disturbing it

was that a mother would prefer to protect her own hide

than find justice for her son's killer.

I couldn't think about how this might affect Helen.

She could be helped. She could be protected. And if her

eyes hadn't deceived her that night, I knew who had

killed Stephen Gaines.

"Tell me you'll be here," I said to Helen, looking at

Clarence. "I swear on my life I know people who can

protect you. And if I'm right, you won't have to worry

anymore, because the man who killed Stephen will be

behind bars the rest of his life. There's nobody else

who can hurt you."

"You don't know that," Helen whispered. "Stephen

was much stronger than I ever was. And look what

happened to him."

There was no boogeyman. No higher power. It was

the law of the jungle. Kill or be killed. Stephen found

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297

himself on the shit end of that equation. And it was time

for me to even the score.

"Please be here," I said. "If I'm right, you'll need

to testify."

"If you're wrong," she said, "neither of us will be

around long enough for it to matter."

I said nothing. I thanked Clarence for his help. Then,

crossing over to Helen Gaines, I put my hand on her

shoulder. The bones protruded, sharp angles. There was

no muscle, no strength there. She was a skeleton with

skin. A woman whose soul seemed to have left her long

ago.

Helen Gaines smiled weakly at me. I didn't know if

she would still be here later. There were only so many

lives I could affect. My duty was to the truth, to uncover

it at all costs.

"Watch after her," I said to Clarence. His nod told

me he would.

I left Bernita's apartment, exiting the building. The

sun was hanging bright and hot over the city. Every

second seemed to take an hour. Every moment he

breathed thinking he'd gotten away with murder was

one that made my blood boil.

Before I left, I took out my cell phone and my wallet,

then removed the thick stack of business cards that had

turned brown from the leather. Shuffling through them,

I picked out the one I needed. Then I called the cell

phone number listed.

"Detective Makhoulian," came the answer.

"Detective," I said, "it's Henry Parker. I know who

killed Stephen Gaines."

I gave him the address and told him when to be there.

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Only, I would be there ten minutes earlier. We needed

some time alone.

I headed toward the subway, my mind completely

clear except for the anticipation of what was about to

come. The judicial system would have its turn. But first

I needed mine.

The train was hot, crowded and sticky. It only served

to get my blood up. Once I got out downtown, the walk

was short. My legs carried me faster than I knew they

could. In my mind I could see images of the people I

knew. Had known. And had never known.

My father.

My mother.

Jack.

And Stephen Gaines. The brother I never had.

I arrived on the block with half an hour to spare. I

checked my watch every thirty seconds, trying to

contain the rage building inside of me. Everything had

led up to this.

I paced up and down, breathing steady, controlled. It

wasn't easy. The last time I remembered feeling like this,

helpless yet ready to explode, was several years ago when

my then girlfriend Mya was attacked and nearly raped.

That night I paced the street, a fifth of vodka in a paper

bag, praying I would somehow find the man who was

cowardly enough to attack a woman half his size. Though

Amanda and I had been through some trying ordeals, to

the point where I wondered if we would live to see the

next day, we were both strong-willed people. We could

overcome it. We knew that. Stephen wasn't strong enough

to overcome his demons. He'd been seduced by the vial,

the needle, and once they were in they were in for good.

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299

And suddenly I turned around and there he was.

Wearing a brilliant suit, slightly disheveled after a long

day's work. A briefcase slung over his shoulder. His

shoulders were slumped as he walked, his eyes cast

down to the street. As he got closer I could see the birth

mark on his neck. The same one Helen Gaines saw the

night he killed my brother.

He didn't see me waiting for him. That was probably

for the best.

"Scott Callahan," I said.

Scotty's eyes snapped up to meet mine. At first he was

confused, then a small smile crossed his lips when he

recognized me. Then that smile disappeared when he

realized I was not there for a social visit. Nothing like

it.

"Henry?" he said, trying to understand what I was

doing there.

I walked toward him. Picking up my pace with

every step.

"Cops are on their way," I said, voice even, teeth

gritted. Scott kept on walking, tentative, until we were

just a few feet from each other. "But they won't be here

for a little while. So we have some time to chat."

Scotty's face went an ashen gray. "The cops?" he

said. "Wha...I don't understand. You promised me

you'd keep my name out of this. Goddamn it, you

promised
me!"

"I promised I wouldn't turn you in for dealing. I was

looking for something more. But I never said a word

about keeping your name clean from murder, you piece

of shit."

"Murder? What the hell..." Scotty was breathing

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hard. I saw his eyes flicker to the building next to us,