Passion and romance rose to a peak, then fell into a trough until they flatlined. And when that happened, it was time to move on.
But it made him a great reporter. He devoted himself to the craft, and in doing so became something more than just a newsman. Within Henry, Jack could see the same potential. He would have to make sacrifices. Sacrifices ordinary men could never make. Family, friends, even some happiness. But by doing so Henry would become what Jack believed he could be: someone who made a difference.
Someone whose work lived on.
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 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 sure to send Carruthers a fruitcake."
"No fruitcake. His in-laws send one every Christmas and he chucks it. Later, Henry, give me a ring if you need anything." I hung up, then dialed the number Agnes Trimble had given me for Largo Vance. Hopefully Vance was an early riser. The phone picked up on the very first ring.
"Yes, who is this?" a high-pitched voice croaked out.
"Hello, is this Professor Largo Vance?"
"If this is Jehovah's Witness, then no. If it's anyone else, depends who's calling."
"Mr. Vance, my name is Henry Parker. I'm a reporter with the New York Gazette and I was given your name by Professor Agnes Trimble-"
"Agnes! I haven't seen that minx in years." There was a moment of silence as I tried to think of what to say. "Oh, come now, Mr. Parker, don't be offended. I mean that with the highest compliments. Agnes is a randy little minx, she and I go way back."
"That's, um, wonderful. Anyway, Mr. Vance, if you have a few moments today, I'd like to talk to you about Brushy
Bill Roberts."
This time the silence came from Largo Vance's end. His response came sputtering out. "How fast can you be here?"
"Um, I don't know where you live, Mr. Vance…"
"3724 Bleecker. Be here in half an hour." He hung up.
"Who was that?" Amanda asked. She was sitting up in bed, clutching a pillow in her arms.
"A potential source Professor Trimble gave me yesterday,"
I said. "An old professor. I think he has some more information on the Billy the Kid lead."
"Henry," she said, "please…be careful. Just yesterday you were in the emergency room and…"
"I know that." I went to the bed and sat down next to her.
I took her hand in my good one, raised it to my lips and kissed her fingers. "I promise I'll be careful. There are policemen downstairs who are going to watch you, just to make sure this lunatic doesn't come after us again. If you go anywhere other than work, you know Curt's number. Call him."
"This lunatic killed four people," she said. "If he wants to kill, he's going to get them." I let that sink in, knew she was probably right.
"Call in sick today. Just this once. I have to go talk to this guy Vance. I have to."
"Then go," Amanda said. "The sooner you go, the sooner you get back, the less time I have to spend worrying about you."
"Listen, that guy wouldn't have attacked me if he didn't have something to hide. He has an entire city police force looking to draw and quarter him. A newspaper reporter doesn't pose that much of a threat, comparatively."
"If he was willing to break into our apartment and do what he did, it must be something awful he wants to keep a secret."
"That just means I'm going to find it," I said. "I'll call a locksmith, have him change the locks and get a security system installed."