The Fury (2009)
Page 24
Amanda finally relented, and we made our way
down the steps and toward the exit. For the first time it
seemed to dawn on Amanda that something was wrong.
I couldn’t walk too fast due to the fact that she was in
heels and had no hand-eye coordination to speak of, so
to other clubgoers I looked like the no-fun boyfriend
dragging his fun-as-hell girlfriend away because he
didn’t approve of her shenanigans.
I had to give Amanda credit, though. She looked
stunning. Outclassed every girl at the club. I’d have to
remember to tell her tomorrow, when she would
remember.
We got to the tunnel leading to the outside, and the
girl inside the coatroom remembered me. Guess not
too many guys dropped off their luggage before
entering.
“Can I get my bag?” I asked.
“Five dollars,” she said, smacking gum between her
lips.
“You just saw me with Shawn, I—”
“Five dollars,” she repeated, bored by the whole
thing. I didn’t want or have time to argue, and pulled a
crumpled ten from my pocket. She counted change,
then swung the door open and let me take the suitcase.
As I lugged it into the hall, Amanda said, “Where
are we going?”
“A hotel, baby,” I said.
“I thought you were kidding,” she said, a joyous glow
in her eye. “I have the best boyfriend in the whole
world. ”
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She threw her arms around me again, and I nearly
stumbled over a small girl trying to make her way back
into the club. She called me a name that I’d most defi
nitely never been called by a girl before.
Gripping the bag with one hand and Amanda with
another, we stumble/bumped our way outside. A row of
cabs was waiting five deep down the block, knowing
every minute brought another inebriated person out
who needed a ride home (hopefully to another
borough).
It was a delicate balancing act carrying Amanda and
the suitcase outside since they were both essentially
dead weight. The next cab in the line pulled up, and
thankfully the driver came outside to help me with my,
er, belongings. He hoisted the bag into the trunk while
Amanda and I slid into the back. As soon as he closed
the door and said, “Where to?” I realized I had no idea
where we were going.
The list of New York hotels I knew offhand was quite
slim, and one of those, the Plaza, hadn’t reopened yet.
Before I knew what I was doing, I said, “Times
Square. The W Hotel, please.”
“Henry,” Amanda cooed, her cheeks flushing red
her hand delicately tracing the curve of my calf. “I
had no idea…”
“Me, neither,” I mumbled as the cab sped away.
Amanda spent the whole cab ride either staring outside,
the world swimming by her drunken haze, or awkwardly
trying to grope me. Ordinarily I might have felt frisky
enough to try a little something in the backseat while the
cabdriver wasn’t looking, but Amanda was as subtle as
a hyena and I had too much on my mind to truly focus.
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Who was that guy outside my apartment? Clearly
somebody knew I was following leads, but nothing had
been printed in the newspaper, which limited the list of
culprits significantly. I wondered, could it have been
Scotty Callahan? Sure seemed like it. The notion that
this guy, an admitted company man, would have spilled
his guts and walked away seemed awfully unlikely. But
there were others. Rose Keller. She was a friend of
Stephen’s, perhaps better than I knew. Stephen was
more than I’d previously thought, so it occurred to me
that Rose might have been as well.
I lowered the window, breathing deeply as I inhaled
the warm air. Now Amanda was leaning back against
her seat, eyes closed. I wondered if she was sleeping,
dreaming peacefully.
Fifteen minutes later the cab pulled up in front of the
W Hotel. I ran my credit card through the cab’s machine,
gave him a twenty percent tip and helped Amanda out.
We walked into the lobby quite a sight, Amanda wearing
a slinky dress and clinging to my arm, me looking like
I’d just rolled out of a bed in a sewer and carrying a
single suitcase. The building itself was beautiful and
massive. I’d read somewhere that it housed a stagger
ing fifty-seven floors, but in the dark of night it looked
like even more, a mammoth structure in the heart of
Times Square. The lobby was awash in subtle blue and
gray tones, and a waterfall ran down one of the walls.
There were two receptionists on duty, two young
women who looked remarkably similar. They both had
dark hair and skin, red fingernails and bright smiles
that seemed almost attuned to one another. As we
walked up they both said, “Good evening, sir.”
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Their name tags read Rae and Gabrielle. You could
have switched the tags and I wouldn’t have known the
difference.
“I’d like a room, please,” I said.
The one with the Rae tag began to punch some keys
on her computer while Gabrielle stared at me with that
same, unwavering smile. Suddenly I felt Amanda’s
breath on my cheek, and then a big kiss followed suit.
A split second later I felt her tongue on my jawbone,
winding its way toward my earlobe.
Gabrielle was still grinning, but now it was the kind
of grin you gave to your neighbor who got his morning
newspaper while wearing nothing but tighty-whities.
Rae looked up and said, “We have two rooms avail
able, one with two twin beds and another with one
queen.”
“I’ll take the queen,” I said, trying to push Amanda
away while I feel my face turn bright red. Rae noticed
what was going on, and her bright smile quickly turned
like bad milk.
Gabrielle looked at Amanda, then looked at me, then
looked at my suitcase. Her eyes went back and forth
between the three while I stood there confused. Then I
realized what she was thinking. Attractive girl wearing
revealing clothes. Dorky guy wearing the same clothes
he’d probably worn the last three days. A suitcase.
No doubt Rae and Gabrielle thought Amanda was a
hooker, and would end up chopped to bits and stuffed
into the suitcase by the end of the night. I noticed neither
of them had made any movements to confirm my room
or make a key.
“You okay, honey? ” I asked, stressing the last word
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in an attempt to let Rae and Gabrielle know that we did,
in fact, know each other.
“I’m just peachy, Henry.” I smiled. See, she knows
my name!
“So…about that room…”
“I’ll need a credit-card imprint,
” Rae said. I slipped
her my AMEX, and she ran it through, never taking her
eyes off of us.
“Hen- ree, ” Amanda whined. “I’m ti-red.”
“Just a minute, baby,” I said.
Gabrielle seemed to be softening up, but Rae was
eyeing me with squinty eyes, letting me know she could
have hotel security at our room if she got the slightest
hint that an ax might make an appearance.
“How many nights will you be staying?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “Can we just keep it open?”
“Sure,” Rae said, taking two plastic cards and
running them through the machine to magnetize them.
She slid them into a paper sheath, wrote a number on
it and handed it to us along with my credit card. “Room
2722 on the twenty-seventh floor. Please call if you
require any assistance.”
“Please,” Gabrielle added. “Any assistance.”
“Anything at all, for you or your friend,” Rae added.
“One thing,” I said. “I don’t want anyone to know
I’m here. So can you put me down under a different
name, just in case anyone calls?”
The sisters looked at each other with a worried glare.
“Sure…” Gabrielle said. “What name would you
like to put on the room?”
“Put down…Leonard Denton,” I said.
“All set Mr.…Denton.”
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“Thanks. Come on,” I said to Amanda. “Let’s get you
some sleep.”
I felt their glare in my back as we headed to the ele
vators. The ride was silent and smooth, and I barely felt
like we were moving, let alone going nearly thirty
stories. At some point, right around floor twenty-five,
I felt my eardrums pop. Once the elevator opened, we
made our way down the hall to room 2722, where I
managed the task of propping both Amanda and the
suitcase against the wall as I opened the door. Once
open, I threw the bag inside and helped Amanda in.
She collapsed on the bed, and I sat down next to her.
For the first time all night, I realized just how tired I
was. My nerves were still on edge, and tomorrow would
be a long day. I needed to find out who that man was,
who sent him, and just how deep in my brother was.
But in the meantime, Amanda had somehow
wriggled out of her dress, and was wearing nothing but
a silk bra and underwear, her eyes suggesting that
sleepiness had taken a hiatus for the time being.
Tomorrow would be a long day. As I climbed into
Amanda’s waiting arms, I hoped the night would be
long enough to stay with me.
27
I woke up the next morning with my boxer shorts
dangling off my shoulder, the taste of secondhand
vodka in my mouth and a strange pain in my right knee.
Then the previous night came back to me, and I smiled.
Turning over, I saw Amanda lying next to me. She
was wearing my old Oregon Ducks sweatshirt. It was
at least three sizes too big for her, and I’d seen her
spend many nights sitting on the couch reading a book,
the sweatshirt pulled over her tucked-in knees.
My body ached as I threw my legs over the side of
the bed and surveyed the room. It was stunning. Satin
sheets, state-of-the-art stereo, a bar countertop on the
porcelain bath, a flat-screen television wider than our
bed at home.
Then I noticed the sunlight pouring into the room
from what seemed like every angle. Standing up, my
breath was taken away by the beautiful view outside and
the massive wraparound balcony just outside our room.
I opened the door, stepped outside and felt alive. The
cool, crisp air washed over me as my eyes adjusted to
the light. The sight of New York from twenty-seven
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stories up. It truly was a magnificent city, and I smiled
when I thought of the last time Amanda and I had hidden
out in a hotel room under a fake name. It was a sleepn-save somewhere outside of Springfield, Illinois. Even
though I hadn’t lost my natural ability to get in way over
my head, at least we were starting to hide out in classier
hotels.
Reentering the room, I found my jeans crumpled
into a ball on the floor, found the room-rate card. When
I looked at it, I nearly had a heart attack. There had to
be other hotels in this city that wouldn’t wipe me out
within days.
Amanda stirred. I got up and went into the bathroom,
not wanting to wake her just yet. I ran a hot shower,
stayed in a little longer than I needed to, thinking about
the previous day.
It was no secret that I would want to get to the bottom
of Stephen Gaines’s death, and while yesterday I
thought about the possibility of Rose Keller or Scotty
Callahan being involved, the options were likely far
greater.
The New York Dispatch had certainly mentioned my
father’s arrest, as did my own paper, and surely a few
other locals as well. Anyone who knew me and my rep
utation would correctly assume that I would do anything
to clear my family’s name. It was possible I was being
followed, that somebody had seen me talk to Sheryl
Harrison, to Rose Keller, to Scotty. It was even possible
that my discovery of Beth-Ann Downing’s body had
alerted someone to my interest. Whoever killed Stephen
wanted it to be seen as one single murder. A lone death,
unconnected to anything else.
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I knew better. And someone else knew that.
When I stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped
loosely around my waist, Amanda was sitting up in bed,
her knees tucked up to her chin, her arms wrapped
around them. She smiled at me. Her eyes were blood
shot.
“Hungover?” I asked.
“Just a little.”
“Hang on.” I went to the minibar, did a little trolling
and found a packet of Advil. I ripped it open, poured
her a glass of water and watched her down the pills.
“Thanks, Henry,” she said.
“How you feeling?”
“Like a raccoon run over by a truck. Don’t ever let
me go drinking with Darcy again.”
“I think I told you that the last time you went
drinking with her.”
“Well, next time come with us, so you can monitor
my alcohol intake.”
“If memory serves me right, the reason you didn’t
invite me last night was because you didn’t want me to
monitor your alcohol intake.”
“And you listened to me?” she asked with a smile. I
sat back down next to her. She scooted over, rested her
head against my shoulder. I could smell her hair, hear
her breathing. Then she sat back up and looked at me.
“Now, tell me why we’re here.”
Sighing, I faced her and told her everything that had
happened. About my meeting with Scott Callahan.
Finding the man waiting for me at the a
partment last
night. The fear that if they knew where I was, that if
somebody had been following me, they could have been
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doing the same for her. Enough young women had been
killed in New York coming home from bars over the last
few years, the confluence of paranoia made it impera
tive we get to safety.
“How long do you think we need to stay here?” she
said.
“I honestly don’t know. Until I know who killed
Stephen, and know that person isn’t a threat to us
anymore. With any luck I can do that before my credit
card starts getting declined.”
“And what am I supposed to do? Just stay here? I
don’t think so, Henry.”
“Today’s Friday,” I said. “Call in sick. If Darcy
shows up, she’ll surely vouch for you. Then we have the
weekend. And I need to get my father out before the
grand jury convenes. But right now I just need to keep
you safe. Once things calm down we can talk about
what to do next.”
“You need to keep me safe?” Amanda said with a
laugh. “You realize that since I met you I’ve had my life
jeopardized approximately a hundred and ninety-six
times. I won’t be surprised if we both get turned down
for a life-insurance policy. Safe to say if I never picked
you up on the side of the road, Henry, I wouldn’t have
to worry about my safety quite as much.”
I opened my mouth, ready to question why, if that
was the case, she was still with me, but smartly stopped
before a word came out. I learned a long time ago that
she was still here by choice. No other reason. She’d had
plenty of opportunities to leave and had not, and every
moment I wasted contemplating why only divided
myself from the reality of our relationship. She was here
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to stay. And knowing myself, knowing that I’d learned
from past mistakes, as long as it was in her hands, she
wasn’t going anywhere.
So instead of bucking for a compliment and starting
an argument, I just leaned over and kissed her. Her lips
were soft, and I could tell she was smiling.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Amanda said.
“Where is your mother in all of this?”
I sat back, rubbed my forehead. “To be honest, I
don’t know. Probably nowhere. I remember the last few
years before I left for college, she and my father barely
spoke. It wasn’t like she was angry with him, it was as