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But I can't do that.
Because for the first time, I care about someone more than I care about myself.
I have to worry about Penny.
I have to worry how this shit is going to affect her.
So I can't just beat the shit out of the people who are hissing at me on the street. I can't just ignore what people say, and do more of it to piss them off even more. I have to figure out a way through this.
"Morning," I tell Joyce as I get to my office. "Just how bad is the shit storm that's going on?" I ask.
Joyce looks at me and she purses her lips.
Fuck.
I can already tell it's going to be pretty fucking terrible.
"You're going to need to make some decisions quick," she says after a pause.
"What kind of decisions?" I ask.
"Whether you want to retain me as counsel in the event you get indicted on felony charges," Joyce replies back to me without even batting an eye.
Holy fucking shit.
"What are you fucking talking about, Joyce?" I ask her and sit down. I don't know how much more I can take of this.
Joyce throws a newspaper on my desk.
It's a picture of Penny and I. We're walking down Fifth Avenue. She's looking into a window and I'm holding her from the back.
We look very much in love, which we fucking are.
The headline above it reads, "Just How Much Did The Father Pay To Have Sex With His Daughter?"
Jesus fucking Christ.
This shit ends here.
Don't worry. You don't gotta shake your head at me like I'm a pussy. It's time to man up and fight back. It's obvious just turning the other cheek and letting the newspapers gorge for a few days before moving on isn't going to work. Not this time. They're not going to stop until I'm dead or they're broken.
And I sure as fuck am not dying anytime soon.
But I gotta do this smart.
"The article goes on to insinuate you pimped Penny as well as used her for sex yourself," Joyce says and I roll my eyes. "If nothing else, the District Attorney could make trouble for you just for the hell of it."
No. The DA isn't going to do shit to me.
Because I'm going to put a stop to it.
I stand up. "This fucking ends now," I tell Joyce. She looks at me for a long second. I think she sees the resolve in my eyes or something because all she does is nod.
"Okay, boss, sure thing," she says with a bit of smile. Is it one of relief? Reassurance? "What do we do then?"
I pause for a second. That's a pretty fucking good question.
"Call a press conference," I tell Joyce. "Make sure the New York Daily Journal has as many seats for as many reporters as they want. I want them front and fucking center."
