Parker 04 - The Fury (7 page)

hard to distance myself from him and what he repre

sented. My anger had, in essence, become a fuel.

Recently, the fuel had begun to burn itself out. But

sitting there, watching this man in front of me, knowing

what he'd done in his past, knowing just how little of

the story I knew, it was all I could do not to leap up from

my chair and knock him head over heels, that ugly

bathrobe flailing like paper in a gust of wind.

Those striking green eyes kept flicking to me, then

to Amanda, then back to me. Anytime he had unex

pected visitors, James Parker figured it was either a

court summons or an IRS audit. Amanda sat leaning

forward, eyeing James, as though trying to understand

an entire family history through those eyes.

He held a beer in his hand. The bottle was halfempty, and the bottom half was covered by his hand,

which was sweating. The air was hot, blowing from

some unseen fan that appeared to simply recirculate

the warm air over the whole house. He eyed me with a

look of confusion and contempt.

"Where's Mom?" I asked.

"Bridge lesson," he said. "Plays with her girlfriends

once a week. Whatever keeps her busy and out of my

hair."

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Jason Pinter

I bristled at the comment. "When will she be home?"

I hated being here, hated that he'd even put us in a situa

tion where we needed to be. But my hatred for this man

couldn't get in the way of finding out the truth about

Stephen Gaines. About myself.

"Listen, I don't know what you want from us," he

said, swigging from the bottle, grimacing because the

beer had likely grown warm. Not quite the "you never

call" line you'd expect from a parent you hadn't seen in

years.

"I just want to know the truth about you and Helen

Gaines. And how much you know about Stephen."

"What does it matter anyway?" James said, looking off

at the wall. "It was years ago. Before you were even

born."

"I know that," I said, anger rising inside me. "Did

you ever think to tell me I had a brother somewhere?

You never thought that I might be interested to know

that? Never occurred to you, huh?"

"He wasn't your real brother," James said slowly.

"Helen was not your mother. I never considered myself

that boy's father."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"She wasn't supposed to keep the baby," my father

said. I heard Amanda gasp under her breath. So far my

father had barely looked at her, like Amanda was a

referee, a third wheel, something to be ignored. I hadn't

bothered introducing her because I knew he wouldn't

care.

For a brief moment I glimpsed a flicker of pain

behind those eyes. A memory he thought forgotten had

come back to him.

The Fury

57

"But she did," I said. "And then she left. Tell me what

happened."

"I don't need to tell you anything," he snapped

suddenly, the beer sloshing liquid onto his bathrobe.

"It's thirty years ago. It's over."

"It's not over," I said, my voice quivering. "Your son

was found dead in a seedy apartment
this
week. It's not

over. You were the boy's father. I know it meant nothing

to you, but it damn sure meant something to him, and to

Helen Gaines. And it damn sure means something to

me."

"What?" he said, lurching out of his chair, knocking

the bottle flying. I recognized that look. The look of

rage, the look that said he didn't owe anybody anything.

"What does it mean to you? You never knew him. I

never knew him. He's a fucking stranger. What, just

because you share some, like, microscopic strand of

DNA in common all of a sudden this matters to you?

Please. Spare me, Henry. Go back to New York. Go

back to your big city and do whatever you do there." He

pointed at Amanda. "And take this
...whatever...
with

you."

"This is Amanda," I said. "And she's given me more

in just a few years than you have in a lifetime."

"Are you finished?" he asked, sitting back down.

"Because I have a league game tonight and I bowl like

crap when I'm not prepared."

"Right," I said. "Your bowling league. You cared

more about those pins than you did us."

"Pins don't talk back," he said. "Pins don't waste your

hard-earned money on books that don't put food on the

table. Speaking of that, will you be joining us for dinner?"

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Jason Pinter

"I'd rather break bread with Bin Laden," I said.

"How long were you sleeping with Helen Gaines while

you were with Mom?"

James sighed, leaned back, searched his memory. He

spoke as though this was a mere trifle to him, like I'd

asked what he had for lunch yesterday.

"Must have been about a year. Maybe a little more.

Who keeps track of these things?" he said. Who keeps

track of these things. Like it was a bowling score from

a few years ago.

Without warning, my father stood up, cracked his

back and went up the rickety stairs. Amanda and I sat

there unsure what to do. We heard some rummaging

around, and soon after, my father came back down. He

held something in his hand I couldn't see. Then he gave

it to me.

It was a photograph of a young woman. It was worn,

faded, kept somewhere it was not removed from often.

The woman in the photo had pale skin, curly brown hair

and luminous green eyes. She was sitting on a grassy

hill, a blouse covering her knees. Her mouth was open

in a smile, the shot taken in the middle of a laugh.

Despite her young age she had deep laugh lines. She

looked like the kind of woman it would be easy to fall

in love with.

"You kept this?" I said. "Why?"

"I'm not keen on throwing things out. Never know

when you might need them."

"Didn't you worry Mom would find it?"

"She hasn't yet."

I handed the photo back to him. He hesitated, then

took it, slipping it into his pocket.

The Fury

59

"You didn't care that you were married?" I asked.

His glare told me he didn't.

"When did you first learn about Stephen? That you

had a son?"

"When Helen was about four months along. She told

me she wouldn't have sex anymore. And that was the

reason. I thought she was going to get an abortion. That's

what we both wanted, I thought. Then her belly keeps

getting bigger and bigger and..." James looked down at

his hands. "Then one day he's there. This little kid."

"What then?"

"She wanted to know where we stood. Whether she

was going to raise the boy on her own. I told her I

already had a wife, and she wanted her own kids. And

that I didn't have the time or money for two families."

"And then?"

"And then she left. One day she's living a few streets

over, the next Helen's moved out, packed up her stuff,

sold her crappy house and disappeared forever."

"Forever," I said. "You were never curious to see

how your other son was doing?"

"Didn't much care how the son who lived with us

was doing, ungrateful as he was."

Point made.

"When was the last you heard from Helen?" I asked.

My father looked down. His eyes twitched for a

moment. I tried to look past them, tried to see just what

this man was holding on to.

Then he said, "The day before she disappeared.

That's all I know. That mother of his never took care of

Stephen. Maybe if she'd made some different choices

he'd still be alive."

60

Jason Pinter

"By different choices, do you mean never shacking

up with you?"

"Don't get smart," he said. "I guess that's one of

those whaddaya callems, rhetorical statements."

I bristled. "What do you mean, different choices?"

"She was always one of those wild women, doing

things to her mind and body. Tough to find a woman

who drinks more than you do. And that's all I know. I

don't wish the boy died. I'm not some monster. But he's

no more my son than I was his father. Blood's only as

thick as you make it."

"Don't I know it," I said. Then I stood up. Amanda

did as well.

"I'd like to say it's been a good visit,
Dad,
but there's

been enough lying in this family. The buck's gotta stop

somewhere. Say hi to Mom for me."

"I will," he said, and I actually believed him. As I left

to go, all of a sudden Amanda spoke.

"Are you sorry?" she asked. She was staring right

into his eyes, not letting him go. In that moment I knew

just how strong this woman was.

James sat there, silent, for what must have been

several minutes. He looked back at her. She wouldn't turn

away.

"No," he finally said. And oddly enough, I didn't

believe him.

I reached for the door. Took Amanda's arm. Nodded

toward my father.

And just as I was about to turn the knob, there came

a loud knock at the door.

At first I thought it was my mother, but she wouldn't

have bothered or needed to make that much noise.

The Fury

61

"James Parker?" came the male voice from outside.

My father stood up. Approached the door. He looked

through the peephole, then stepped back. A look of

concern and fear crossed his face.

"What is it?" I said. "Dad?"

"Sir, open up," the voice said.

My father unlocked the bottom latch and opened the

door.

Three police officers--two men and one woman--

were standing on the front porch. One of them held a

piece of paper. The others held their hands at their hips.

Specifically by their guns.

Clearly, they were worried they might need to use

them.

"James Parker?" the lead officer said.

"Yuh...yes?"

The officer stepped forward through the doorway.

He grabbed my father, spun him around until his chest

hit the wall with a thud. The other two cops swarmed in,

and within seconds my father was in handcuffs. I saw

his eyes go wide, this proud, arrogant man. And in those

eyes I saw emotion I'd never seen before in nearly thirty

years.

My father was afraid.

"What the hell is going on?" I shouted.

"James Parker," the cop said, "You're under arrest for

the murder of Stephen Gaines."

8

Amanda and I sat on a small wooden bench in the

lobby of the Bend police department. After they'd taken

my father away in handcuffs, pressing his head down

as he climbed into the backseat of the car like some

common thug you'd see on
COPS,
we followed practi

cally bumper to bumper in our rental car.

Upon arriving at the station, I didn't have a chance

to talk to my father before they led him into booking.

The City of Bend Police Department had two sections:

a two-level structure that sat next to a taller tower, both

with sloped, tiled roofs. The sign outside read City of

Bend Police and underneath that read Public Works.

I parked the car in a lot in back and we ran around

to the entrance. Inside we refused to leave, or sit down,

until we either spoke with my father or an officer who

could tell us just what the hell was going on. My

stomach was tied in knots. Though I'd long ago learned

to give up loving my father, I knew this man wasn't,

couldn't be a killer. Not to mention I couldn't even

imagine what kind of evidence they had that would

enable a warrant to be issued so quickly.

The Fury

63

From everything Makhoulian and Binks told me, it

seemed as if Gaines was murdered. Not an impulse

killing, but exterminated. How could the cops be so

blind? How could they
possibly
connect my father to

this when he was in Bend the whole time?

For perhaps the first time in my life, I found myself

feeling sorry for the man. He was alone, scared,

accused of a crime beyond comprehension. It was all

bogus, though. No doubt there was some mistake and

he'd be released.

I tried to call my mother, but she didn't have a cell

phone. I left a message at home, hoped she would find

it.

Finally after an hour of waiting, a cop approached

us where we stood. He was about forty, lean, with

salt-and-pepper hair, a square jaw and dark, tan skin.

His badge read Whalin. We stood up, desperate to

hear why they'd taken my father in for such a horren

dous crime.

"You must be Henry," the cop said. He offered his

hand. I looked at him, then shook it grudgingly. "I'm

Captain Ted Whalin of the BPD. I'm in charge of the

criminal investigations division."

"Where's my father?" I demanded.

"Your father is in a holding cell. Tomorrow he'll

have to go before a judge to be properly processed.

There is an outstanding warrant for his arrest in New

York City for the murder of Stephen Gaines."