"So if you were a hundred-and-thirty-year-old gun whose reputation was more notorious than Andy Dick on a bender, where would you be?"
"Do you really expect me to answer that?" Amanda said.
"It'd be helpful if you could," I replied. "But I won't be too disappointed if you don't."
Thankfully I had the deep resources of the Gazette archives at my disposal. Speed was key. With a thread this important, it was only a matter of time before other news outlets picked up on it. Once a story began percolating, you had to spill it before it grew cold. I had to find out if the killer was using a
Winchester, and just what his motives were for killing three seemingly unconnected people.
"I'm gonna head back to the office, see what I can dig up,"
I said to Amanda. "Thanks for setting me up with Trimble, I knew there was a reason I keep you around." I gave her a playful nudge, then wrapped my arm around her. As she leaned in, I heard a beep come from my pocket. I always kept my cell phone on silent mode when talking to a source.
Someone had called and left a message.
I checked my call log. One missed call. I recognized the number. I immediately shoved it back into my pocket.
Amanda didn't need to see the number. She only had to look at my expression to know.
"It was her again, wasn't it?"
I nodded.
"You know I'm not a jealous girlfriend," Amanda said. "I don't need the password to your e-mail, I have a life outside of you, I don't sit around at night wondering when you'll be home, and I sure as hell don't care if you subscribe to Maxim.
But raging jealousy and curiosity as to why your ex seems to think it's all right to call you every freaking day are two different things entirely."
"She's not calling me every day," I said, and immediately regretted it. That wasn't the point. Amanda was right. If the tables were turned and some old boyfriend was calling her at freaky hours, I'd be bugging the phone lines and setting up a tent outside the guy's house waiting for him to come home.
The fact that she'd let Mya's intrusions go on for this long said a lot about her character and patience. And maybe mine, too.
"Listen, Mya's had it rough the past few years. You remember what I told you about us, that night? When she was attacked?"
Amanda sighed, nodded. She knew about the attack. It was one of the first things I'd told her when we decided to be together. I thought it was important, to approach our relationship with all the cards on the table. It was a painful one to show.
A year and a half ago, Mya had been attacked. She was living in New York, while I was finishing my senior year. We were fighting constantly, and late one night she called me. Still boiling over an insult from before, I hung up on her. It turned out she had pressed Redial in the middle of being attacked and nearly raped by a man who jumped her outside of a bar. She managed to fight him off, but he broke her jaw. I didn't know this until the next morning. It was as much consolation as knowing the surgery didn't leave much of a scar.
"I don't know why she keeps calling," I said. Amanda glared at me with one of those don't you dare patronize me looks. I had to remind myself that Amanda was much smarter than I was. "Okay, I know why she's calling. But she doesn't want me back. She's just hurting and needs someone to help."
"I don't have a problem with that," she said. "I know you're a great friend. But ignoring her, telling her to leave you alone,
I feel like you're doing it for my sake rather than hers. If you want to do something, do it. But stop with the I don't know why she's calling crap."
"I don't want to do anything," I said. "I have you. That's where my attention deserves to be."
I wrapped my arms around Amanda, held her close, hoped she knew I was telling the truth.
"I turned my back on her once," I said. "I just don't want to be cruel. I know she's been having problems. I've heard she's been drinking too much, that she's alienated her friends.
Being the daughter of a political animal is a full-time job, and
Mya wanted to have her own life."
"Look," she said, "I'm not saying you should leave the girl to drown in a distillery, I'm just saying this isn't normal.
Forget any girlfriend neuroses, it's just not healthy for someone to do what she's doing. If you don't clear things up, it's only going to get worse."
"You think so?" I asked.
"Come on, she's not the only girl who's ever wanted a guy she couldn't get." I stared at Amanda, cocked my head. "Oh, give it a rest. You think you're the first guy I've ever liked?
Come off your high horse, Johnny. I had a life before we met."
"I know you had a life. I know there were probably other guys," I said. "I just don't want to know about them, hear about them, or think that they exist. I'd rather believe you wore a chastity belt your first twenty-five years, and the only guys you liked were flamingly gay men who wore big bushy mustaches and called you 'girlfriend' in an ironic manner."
She laughed. "Now who's kidding who? Just think, though, if you can react like that to me just insinuating I've liked other guys, imagine how I feel that a girl you actually had a relationship with is begging for your jock at 3:00 a.m."
"She's not… Okay, you have a point."
"I usually do."
"Okay, I promise to talk to Mya. Now I have to get to work, time's wasting. I need to find out where this gun came from.
First I need to talk to Jack."
I opened the phone, dialed O'Donnell's direct line. He picked up on the first ring.
"Hello?"
"Jack, it's Henry. You busy?"
"I was going to have my shoes shined, and hope a stray bullet didn't find my old ass."
"Listen, can you meet me at O'Grady's restaurant in twenty minutes?"
"You want me to leave the office to meet you somewhere, you'd better give me a reason, and it better not be that you're in the mood for an undercooked hamburger."
"No, but I might have a hell of a scoop on the Paradis murders, and I need some help."
"Are you stupid, kid? Half the Gazette goes to O'Grady's for lunch. Meet me at McPhee's pub in twenty, at least we can talk in private. Besides, it's the only bar in a ten-block radius that charges less than five bucks a beer. What's the occasion for this midday imbibing?"
"I need you to use the archives and run a search for me, then bring whatever you can find."
"A search for what?"
"Guns," I said. "I need to know what museums and collections carry authentic Winchester rifles, model 1873."
"The gun that won the West," Jack said, a sense of romance in his voice. "John Wayne would be proud. What does this have to do with the murders?"
"I'll tell you then," I said. "But I think this killer is more than just a fan of history-I think he's trying to re-create the bloodiest parts."