The Fury hp-4

by Jason Pinter

  "The Kitten Club," I said breathlessly.

  The driver nodded, and off we went.

  The Kitten Club held a lot of memories for me. As well as being the hottest nightspot in the city, it was where blond diva Athena Paradis was murdered.

  Strangely, once the investigation had ended and the club had reopened, its cachet as the most exclusive club in the city skyrocketed. Not only was it the place to be, it was basically a city landmark now. Lines that once stretched around the block looped each other. Darcy's husband was an old fraternity brother of Shawn Kensbrook, the Kitten Club's promoter, so they were able to hop the line. All that for the privilege of spending five hundred bucks on a bottle of Smirnoff.

  The lights of the Kitten Club pulsated as the cab drew near. I lowered the window. The smell of cologne, perfume, cigarettes and sweat permeated the air. Natu rally there was a line snaking all the way out the door and down the block, and that it was three people deep led me to believe it would be a two-hour wait just to get in.

  But I wasn't planning to wait in line.

  As the cab pulled up in front of the club, I threw him a twenty and hopped out, dragging my heavy luggage behind me. A few people waiting in line noticed my odd appearance-jeans, a short-sleeved shirt, sneakers and a massive Samsonite-and pointed me out to their friends. A few laughed. The rest looked slightly worried, as though they expected me to be lugging a bomb or a body in the suitcase.

  I had to shove my way through the line to get to the front. A massive bouncer with biceps veins thicker than his waist blocked the way. He looked at me and rolled his eyes.

  "Line starts over there," he said. He jerked his thumb in the opposite direction of where I thought the line started. Based on a rough calculation, the people at the end of the line would be allowed in right around the

  Rapture.

  "I need to see Shawn Kensbrook," I said.

  "I need a blow job," the bouncer said.

  "One of those is going to be much easier to achieve than the others," I replied. "Listen, tell him this is about

  Darcy Lapore and her husband, Devin. He'll know who you're talking about."

  The bouncer looked me over, trying to see if I was for real. Then he picked up a walkie-talkie, pressed a button and spoke into it.

  "Yo, Byron, some kid out here with a damn suitcase says he needs to talk to Shawn. Says it's about some chick named Darcy."

  "And Devin," I added.

  "And Devin." He clicked off the walkie-talkie and waited for a response. Then he said, "You be messing with me, I'm a make you give me that blow job."

  "I don't think either of us would enjoy that very much."

  Then a crackling sound came over the talkie, and a voice said, "Hold tight, he'll be right there." The bouncer nodded, clicked it off. "Guess you won't need that mouthwash after all."

  A minute later, a man came through the door and walked right up to me. He was wearing an Armani suit and sunglasses, and looked like a white, slightly less bulky version of the bouncer. His cuff links were sterling silver, and I could see his belt buckle was engraved with the letters SK.

  Shawn Kensbrook walked up to me and said,

  "You've gotta be him."

  "It's me," I said. "Henry Parker. You must be Shawn.

  I left you a few messages last year while I was covering the Athena Paradis story."

  "I didn't talk to any reporters after that happened."

  "I can understand. I know you two were close."

  "Cut the crap. What do you want to do with Devin?"

  "Long story short. My girlfriend, Amanda, is with

  Devin and Darcy right now. She's in trouble. I mean, big, bad, lives-on-the-line trouble. I don't have the time to wait on line, I just need to see her. You let me in, I grab the girl, and we're gone. Simple as that."

  "How do I know you're not messing with me?"

  Shawn said.

  I didn't know what to say. Then I thrust out the suitcase and said, "A deposit. I'm not back in ten minutes, you keep this. Some nice stuff in here. I know because I bought it for my girl's birthday. Plus, Captain

  Shower Rape here can have his way with me."

  Shawn looked at the bouncer, confused. The guy shook his head like he didn't know what I was talking about. Shawn turned back to me, the light from the neon signs reflecting in the shine of his suit.

  "Even if you're on the level," Shawn said, "you're dressed like a homeless person and you have a freaking suitcase. I let you in, I might as well go around Central

  Park inviting all the assholes sleeping on benches in."

  "I didn't want to mention this," I said truthfully, "but

  I know Tony Valentine."

  "Valentine," Kensbrook said, trying to remember why he knew the name. "You mean the gossip hound, right?"

  "That's the one. I work with him."

  "No BS?"

  I pulled out my business card, showing Shawn that

  I, like Tony Valentine, worked at the New York Gazette.

  Shawn eyed the card, his head clearly filling with the possibility of getting a good plug in the gossip pages.

  Of course, I had as much intent of talking to Tony

  Valentine as I did to O.J. Simpson, but that's the beauty of an internal monologue.

  "You got ten minutes," he said. "And after that your ass is kicked and your clothes go to the incinerator."

  "I accept."

  "And I expect some ink from Valentine."

  I gave him the most noncommittal thumbs-up in my arsenal.

  Shawn nodded at the bouncer, who unhitched the velvet rope and allowed me passage. He took my suitcase and carried it to the coatroom, where a girl in a tight black top and capris unlocked a door so he could heave it behind the barrier. There were plenty of groans from the people waiting on line as they saw me enter. I hoped if they knew what was going on they'd under stand.

  But this was New York, so I doubted it.

  The Kitten Club was a massive place, with two dif ferent levels of action. This was about as far from my scene as I could get without being in the desert. I had no idea where to look first. My eyes were half-blinded by the strobe lights, and it took a healthy equilibrium not to get knocked over by the horde of drunken, dancing revelers. I could barely see five feet in front of me, let alone distinguish the VIP lounge.

  To clarify the mess, I approached the bar, waited to get the tender's attention. When he came by, he said,

  "What'll it be?"

  "Where's the VIP lounge?" I asked.

  He nodded and turned around. I had no idea what had happened, but then he turned back holding a glass of champagne with something sparkling at the bottom. He held it out to me.

  "The VIP champagne," he said. "That'll be a hundred fifty."

  "No," I shouted. "The VIP lounge. "

  The bartender, looking quite pissed off, said, "Tables are upstairs." As I turned to go, I saw him fish the gem from the bottom of the glass and drop it into a small pail.

  I pushed and shoved my way through a sea of fitted jeans, open-collared shirts revealing chests adorned with thick gold chains, and shimmering bosoms with even spray tans. At the back of the dance floor I found a short staircase that led to another level. Sliding through a couple making out on the railing, I managed to find the VIP area, a lounge of about a dozen round tables, each with between half a dozen and a dozen people circling them. Each table had several bottles of alcohol sitting in buckets of ice, with various mixers-cranberry juice, orange juice and tonic water-ready to go. According to Amanda, each bottle ran about a grand, and nobody bought just one bottle.

  Then I heard a laugh. A distinctive laugh.

  Amanda's laugh.

  I fast-walked past the tables until I finally found the one I was looking for. Sitting in a circle were Devin and

  Darcy Lapore, several suited men with gelled hair and manicures, and Amanda Davies.

  Amanda was laughing hysterically at something, then she looked up and noticed me. I did
n't believe that smile could spread any wider, but it did.

  "Henry!" she shrieked, jumping out of her seat, knocking over an empty glass and toppling one of the guys onto the floor. She threw her arms around me, squeezed tight, and I gave her one right back. Her breath smelled like vodka, her body like sweet perfume. Her hair dripped onto my shirt and I held her tight, for reasons vastly different than hers.

  "Hey, baby," I said, struggling to disentangle myself.

  Suddenly Amanda looked confused. "Wait," she said. "What're you doo ing here?"

  "I don't have time to explain right now," I said, taking her hand. "But you need to come with me."

  A sultry smile spread across her lips. I didn't see her drunk all that often, so part of me couldn't help but be slightly amused. "So," she said. "You're taking me home?"

  "Not exactly," I said, pulling her away. I apologized to Darcy and Devin, who seemed too preoccupied with how each other's lips tasted to notice.

  "If we're not going home," she slurred, "where are we going?"

  "A hotel," I said.

  "Ooh baby!" Amanda said, suddenly grabbing a chunk of my ass and squeezing. She likely meant to be flirtatious, but the girl had some serious nails and I was reasonably certain she broke the skin. Hopefully stitches wouldn't be required, because that'd be one awkward explanation for the doctor. "Have you been working out?"

  "Not recently, I haven't had time, but…that's not the point. We need to go."

  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. "

  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.

  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."

  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 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 slight
est 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

  Pinter, Jason – Henry Parker 04

  The Fury (2009) 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."

  "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.