Jason Pinter - The Fury

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.

"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 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.

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.

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 hard. I saw his eyes flicker to the building next to us, where he lived. He was carrying nothing but his brief case and his wallet. There was nowhere to go. No place to hide.

And then, from the opposite end of the street, we both heard the faint shrill of police sirens. Scotty whirled around. The cops weren't within sight yet. He was sweating, nervous. Then all of a sudden Scotty came around and punched me in the stomach.

It wasn't a hard blow, but I was unprepared. Rather than buckling and trying to absorb the hit, it landed square in my gut, knocking the wind from me. I fell to a knee, gasping for air. Scotty began to run. So I did the only thing I could. I grabbed his ankle as he ran past.

Scotty's leg went out from under him, and he landed with a thud on the pavement. His briefcase went flying, fluttering pathetically in the wind. Forgetting about my own lack of air, I leaped up and pounced on him. I dug my knee into the small of his back, then rolled him over and reared back to deliver my own blow. Scotty brought his elbows up to protect his face, and my punch hit nothing but bone. The pain was terrible, but it dissipated in an instant. I connected with a solid right to Scotty's ear, knocking his face sideways. A scream escaped his mouth.

I threw another punch, but Scotty was able to block it, twisting sideways. I still hadn't recovered from his punch, so I was thrown off balance and fell off him. I managed to keep my hand on his shoulder, pulling him back down as he tried to get up.

Scotty was crawling for something; I couldn't see what. My face was still close to the ground, and I could smell the concrete. Then I heard a clang as something toppled over, and that was followed by a whoosh of air as he swung what appeared to be the lid of a garbage can at my head.

I managed to roll away, catching a glancing piece of the aluminum on my jaw. It stunned me and I fell back.

Scotty stood up, limping, clutching his knee. The sirens were growing louder. Not long ago the police had been after me, and I'd managed to escape. At least for a while. Scotty had lived here for years, knew every inch of the city. He had friends who would protect him. If

Helen Gaines, a frail junkie, could find a safe house, no doubt a dealer with innumerable contacts could as well.