Hugh Guthrie killed fellow newscaster Brian Gates, and now he was celebrating with joy. That made the grip on my glass tighter.
But worse than that, he gave the gun to the boy that shot up Claire’s school. Out of a need to be front and center in the news, he handed the gun to a mentally unstable teenager, pushing the boy to make the story. Guthrie had been following the teen, documenting his life, hoping for a story that would win him the Pulitzer Prize for journalism.
When the story didn’t materialize, Guthrie pushed the kid in the direction that the story desperately needed—a school shooting. Amongst the many people that the boy killed was my Claire, as she was desperately sheltering the young children in her class from the barrage of bullets.
The kid, Alexander Logan, died the day of the shooting, robbing me of any sense of justice.
The man who gave Alexander the gun had to be held responsible. Without Guthrie’s push, without Guthrie’s encouragement, the school shooting would never have happened. That was hard to prove, and even harder to get a conviction, but it was the truth.
And I thought Guthrie was going to pay. I thought the justice system was going to sentence him to life in prison for the murder of Brian Gates.
But the law let me down.
Guthrie looked up from his celebration and caught me staring at him.
I didn’t flinch, holding my stare.
The smile disappeared from his face, and for a few moments, he turned back to his friends, before excusing himself. I’d done work for Guthrie years before, and later, I convinced him to confess to the murder of Brian Gates. Most people are convinced to tell the truth after I slam my car into theirs and hold a gun to their head.
Guthrie didn’t confront me inside. I didn’t expect him to. Guthrie was in his fifties, weak, and sly. He looked at me, and stepped out the front doors of the restaurant. He didn’t want to cause a scene in front of his friends, I understood that, especially today, but it was risky for him to walk out onto the street with me.
I knocked back the rest of my bourbon, threw a few notes on the bar, and walked out the doors, following Guthrie onto the street.
“I’m packing.” He held open his jacket for me to see his holster and weapon as soon as I stepped outside. “I thought you would track me down; however, I didn’t think it would be this quickly. Not when I was celebrating.”
The sidewalk was quiet, as was the street, and no witnesses would’ve seen us.
I could’ve taken him out right there and then, and I would’ve enjoyed it, but then I would be arrested within the hour. I couldn’t afford that risk right now. Not when Millie’s life was still on the line.
Now wasn’t the time to get physical.
“You think your little revolver would stop me?” I stepped close, towering over him. “You wouldn’t be able to draw that thing quick enough to stop me.”
Guthrie stepped back, bumping into the brick wall behind him. “What do you want, Valentine? I beat the law. The courts said I was innocent. The—”
“The courts didn’t say you were innocent.” I snarled, bringing my nose close to his. “They said that they didn’t have enough evidence to convict you. That doesn’t mean you’re innocent. You’re a killer. A cold-blooded murderer. And I’m going to make sure that you get what’s coming.”
“You couldn’t,” he scoffed. “You can’t stop me.”
“I’m your karma, Hugh.” I pressed my finger into his chest. “Get a good look at my face, because I’m the person that will see that you go down. I don’t care which crime they get you for, but I will make sure that the memory of my wife will get justice.”
He tried to move back further, but he was squashed against the wall.
“You don’t want to make enemies with me, Valentine.” He tried to sound tough, but I could smell the fear rolling off him. “I know how to play the system. I know how to play the game. And if you threaten me, then I will strike first. Consider this a warning.”
“You’re going to threaten me?” I grabbed his collar and pressed my fist into his throat. “I will make sure that you pay for your involvement in the school shooting, Guthrie. Mark my words.”
“Everything ok here?”
We turned. It was two beat cops. They were walking their route, wondering if they should get involved. One cop had his hand on his weapon, the other was cautious but open.
“Everything is fine, officer.” I let go of Guthrie’s collar. “Isn’t it, Hugh?”
Hugh looked at me, and then to the cops. The fear in his eyes was clear, but he played the game. All he wanted to do was go back inside to his friends and celebrate the fact that he beat the system.
“Everything is fine.” Guthrie patted himself down, and straightened his collar. “We’re just some old friends talking.”
The cops watched as Guthrie stood next to me.
“It’s good to see you, Valentine.” He patted me on the arm. “But attack is always the best form of defense. And you’ve just made yourself a very powerful enemy.”
I watched Guthrie walk back into the restaurant, no doubt to laugh and drink and celebrate, and then I turned to the officers, who were still waiting for me to move.
I grunted, before walking down the street, away from the scene. I couldn’t afford trouble tonight.
But I was sure that
