you to have your life back.”
“We will,” Amanda said, gently placing her hand on my arm. She was trying to comfort me, but unease soiled her voice. She knew how perilous the situation was, that at any moment I could be cuffed and thrown in prison. Or worse.
We stepped into a phone booth a few blocks down. An elderly man sat on a stoop sucking on a pipe, watching me. He took in a lungful and exhaled a plume of white smoke. His eyes refused to let go of mine.
I took the bundle of papers from my pocket and dialed the number I knew by heart. This is what it came down to. This one phone call.
It could reaffirm everything I believed in, or dash my hopes in one fell swoop. If he was true to his word, if he really did believe in me that day, this was when he’d show it. He had to. Or everything I’d ever believed in was dead.
The line picked up after just one ring. The familiar greeting sent a chill down my spine.
“ New York Gazette, how may I direct your call?” Amanda looked at me, her grip on my arm tightening.
I took a deep breath.
“Jack O’Donnell, please.”
“May I tell him who’s calling?”
“His husband.”
“His…what?”
“Just connect me.”
O’Donnell picked up the phone before the first ring had ended.
The last time I heard that voice, it was giving me a chance to prove myself. But I’d thrown it away, burned it and pissed on its ashes. I only hoped he was really on the level.
“This is O’Donnell.”
“Jack?”
“Speaking.”
“Jack,” I said, my voice trembling, my throat choking up. “It’s Henry Parker.”
A few seconds passed.
“No, I’m sorry. Henry Parker doesn’t work here anymore.”
My stomach lurched and suddenly I felt queasy. Jack had confirmed my fears. The Gazette had officially fired me.
It was all gone. My career was over. Even if I made it through this alive, I had nowhere to go.
“No, Jack. This is Henry Parker.”
There was silence on the other end.
Right when I thought he’d hung up, O’Donnell said, “So let me guess, Mr. Parker. You’re calling to confess your sins, right? And you’d also like a front-page column, a nice book deal and the chance to direct the movie based on your life. The whole Unabomber deal, right?”
“No, Jack, I…”
“Save it. You’re the fourth Henry Parker to call today. You guys really don’t have an original thought in your head, do you?”
My brain raced at warp speed. I had to convince him. Suddenly everything came pouring out in a geyser.
“You gave me the assignment to interview Luis Guzman. Wallace had me writing obituaries, but you took it upon yourself to give me a chance. I pass by your desk every day. I sit next to Paulina. Wallace has a miniature American flag on his desk, next to a photo of his wife. The office smells like roasted peanuts during the day and like deodorant at night. I know that you’re always the first one in and last one to leave and your chair has a pink bubblegum stain on the right arm.”
My pulse drummed louder. I heard a tiny gasp on the other end, like someone about to take a breath then deciding better of it.
“If this is really Henry Parker…”
“It is, Jack.” I gave him my social security number and my dorm room number from my freshman year in college. “You can look those up if you want to. But you don’t need to.”
“Parker, Jesus. What…where are you?”
“That doesn’t matter right now. What I need, Jack, please, is information.”
“Information? Are you kidding me? Christ, Parker, I shouldn’t even be talking to you. I could lose my job.”
“That’s not true and you know it.”
“Regardless, Henry, you’ve got some goddamn nerve asking me for a favor. You don’t know what it’s been like around here. Wallace practically had to hire a PR army to take care of the absolutely inordinate number of calls about you. Not to mention that half the staff thinks you’re guilty as sin.”
“What do you think?”
I heard a sigh on the other end.
“Honestly, I don’t know. I’d prefer to reserve judgment.” He paused. “Are you guilty, Henry?”
“No, I’m not.”
“If that’s true, it’ll be proven in a court of law.” Why was he saying this? Could Jack have known all along?
“We both know I won’t make it that far. At least one person wants me dead, and that’s not counting the cops.”
I heard the interest in his voice pick up.
“Who wants you dead, Henry?”
“I’m hoping you can help me figure that out.”
Another sigh.
“You know Paulina just agreed to write a book about you, tie it into the larger picture about the lack of ethics in journalism,” he said. “Pretty good money, from what I hear. She asked Wallace for a sabbatical.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“They want to have it in stores by the fall.”
“I didn’t think I was important enough for anything like that.”
“A week ago, you weren’t. Now, things have changed. Those columns she wrote got a lot of attention, syndicated everywhere. And ever since that husband who killed his wife’s blond bimbo mistress wrote a huge bestseller, they’re hungry for the next big scandal for America to sink its claws into. And you’ve been chosen, my friend. Apparently it’s going to have something to do with the dichotomy between good and evil and how the media portrays their heroes and villains. Some bullshit like that.”
“Trust me when I say this story I’m working on could blow Paulina’s out of the water. There’s more to it than just Luis Guzman and John Fredrickson.”
“All right, Henry, you have my attention. What have you learned?”
I pulled out the list of names from Larkin’s office.
“I need you to run background checks on ten people for me.”
There was a pause. “Who are these people? Where did you find their names?”
“I can’t say,” I said. I didn’t want to give him any leads. Just in case. “You have a pen and paper, Jack?”
“You have a death wish, Henry?”
“Not until this week. Here you go.” I read off the ten names, spelling out each one, along with the bank account numbers the checks were cut from. But there was one name I didn’t tell. I needed to keep that one for later.
“Now what exactly am I looking for?”
“Anything. Everything.”
“And what if I decide to go to the cops right now? I’m sure they could trace this call and have you pinned down in minutes.”
I was expecting that.
“If you do, I’ll see that the Gazette is the very last newspaper to get the full story. I’ll make sure the Times, and maybe the Dispatch depending on the mood I’m in, get the full, uncensored exclusive. They’ll sell out their stock while the Gazette covers a hot dog vendor strike,” I said. “But if you do this for me, you’ll get first crack. No
