question, why is she still working here? I’ve been telling you to get rid of her for years.” Lana cut him a sideways glance. “Don’t tell me you’ve bought this competent act of hers. She’s not good. She’s lucky.”
“Lana, give me a break, will you? I’ve denied every promotion she’s ever been up for. I’ve made her working environment as hostile as I can without getting myself fired. I don’t get it, either,” Jack replied. “Something tells me she won’t leave until she finds what she’s looking for.”
“Looking for? What do you mean by that?”
“J.J.’s father was a Black Panther, one of those hoodlums who killed cops for sport. I’ve overheard her talking to Donato about COINTELPRO a few times. She’s probably biding her time until she can access the restricted files,” Jack said, referring to the FBI’s 1960’s covert program. J. Edgar Hoover created it to neutralize the Black Panthers and other black civil rights and dissident organizations. “And don’t even let me get started on Donato. His father’s a former Capo in the Bonanno crime family. He’s serving seven years on racketeering charges. Trust me when I tell ya, the rotten fruit don’t fall far from the tree.”
“So you’re suggesting the crimes of the parents apply to the children? If so, my father doesn’t have a clean past either. I mean, he didn’t before he died. So, what does your little theory make me?”
“Beautiful.” The glint in Jack’s eye suggested he’d finished with his conversation. He wanted to talk about a more appealing subject. “Now, are you coming to my place tonight so we can finish what we started? I don’t know about you but I need an entree with my appetizer.”
“Let me wrap up my report. I’ll see you later. Maybe I’ll even pour your favorite cocktail ,” she answered.
Chris, without realizing it, had held his breath as he waited for her. Concealed in the FBI garage’s darkness, he stood statue-still and fixed his eyes on the exit door. What’s taking her so long? he wondered as he stewed in his own disgust. He watched until she appeared in the doorway. His gaze stalked her until she entered her vehicle, the convertible Benz he bought with the spoils of his dirty work. He clenched his eyes tight, trying to shake the image of Lana and Jack from his mind.
Never again , he thought. Never again.
He had one trump left. One trump that could make the Jack problem disappear for good. And the time had come to play it.
Chapter 12
W hat the hell was I smoking? J.J. thought, wondering what possessed her to invite Tony to her cozy slice of sanctity. It was a foreclosure she got for a steal. Inside the elevator, she hit number ten on the panel and watched the numbers light up as she tried to dim her anxiety. The maid service had been rescheduled for the following day, so she hadn’t had a chance to do the ritual maid pre-arrival clean up.
Now she was afraid of what he would think of her.
When they finally entered her condo, a slow smile brightened his face. His lips parted slightly as his gaze roamed J.J.’s sparsely decorated apartment, from the sectional sofa and naked dining room table, to the Crate & Barrel wall shelf supporting her 51-inch flatscreen and Bose stereo system (she loved her toys). He halted abruptly before passing the photos of J.J. with her father and brother. Another photo of J.J. with her mother, aunt, and grandmother as a child.
Then her heart stopped. Tony’s expression told her he’d spotted the one she never meant for him to see.
“Nice place. Decorate much?” he said as he made a bee-line toward the shelf.
She tried to intercept him, but her reflexes were slow. She couldn’t position herself ahead of him.
“Well, well, well, what have we here?” He snickered at the photo of J.J. wrapped in the arms of her last relationship faux pas. He grabbed the frame and held it up facing her. “Who the hell is this douche bag ?”
Douche bag? He can
“Lana, give me a break, will you? I’ve denied every promotion she’s ever been up for. I’ve made her working environment as hostile as I can without getting myself fired. I don’t get it, either,” Jack replied. “Something tells me she won’t leave until she finds what she’s looking for.”
“Looking for? What do you mean by that?”
“J.J.’s father was a Black Panther, one of those hoodlums who killed cops for sport. I’ve overheard her talking to Donato about COINTELPRO a few times. She’s probably biding her time until she can access the restricted files,” Jack said, referring to the FBI’s 1960’s covert program. J. Edgar Hoover created it to neutralize the Black Panthers and other black civil rights and dissident organizations. “And don’t even let me get started on Donato. His father’s a former Capo in the Bonanno crime family. He’s serving seven years on racketeering charges. Trust me when I tell ya, the rotten fruit don’t fall far from the tree.”
“So you’re suggesting the crimes of the parents apply to the children? If so, my father doesn’t have a clean past either. I mean, he didn’t before he died. So, what does your little theory make me?”
“Beautiful.” The glint in Jack’s eye suggested he’d finished with his conversation. He wanted to talk about a more appealing subject. “Now, are you coming to my place tonight so we can finish what we started? I don’t know about you but I need an entree with my appetizer.”
“Let me wrap up my report. I’ll see you later. Maybe I’ll even pour your favorite cocktail ,” she answered.
Chris, without realizing it, had held his breath as he waited for her. Concealed in the FBI garage’s darkness, he stood statue-still and fixed his eyes on the exit door. What’s taking her so long? he wondered as he stewed in his own disgust. He watched until she appeared in the doorway. His gaze stalked her until she entered her vehicle, the convertible Benz he bought with the spoils of his dirty work. He clenched his eyes tight, trying to shake the image of Lana and Jack from his mind.
Never again , he thought. Never again.
He had one trump left. One trump that could make the Jack problem disappear for good. And the time had come to play it.
Chapter 12
W hat the hell was I smoking? J.J. thought, wondering what possessed her to invite Tony to her cozy slice of sanctity. It was a foreclosure she got for a steal. Inside the elevator, she hit number ten on the panel and watched the numbers light up as she tried to dim her anxiety. The maid service had been rescheduled for the following day, so she hadn’t had a chance to do the ritual maid pre-arrival clean up.
Now she was afraid of what he would think of her.
When they finally entered her condo, a slow smile brightened his face. His lips parted slightly as his gaze roamed J.J.’s sparsely decorated apartment, from the sectional sofa and naked dining room table, to the Crate & Barrel wall shelf supporting her 51-inch flatscreen and Bose stereo system (she loved her toys). He halted abruptly before passing the photos of J.J. with her father and brother. Another photo of J.J. with her mother, aunt, and grandmother as a child.
Then her heart stopped. Tony’s expression told her he’d spotted the one she never meant for him to see.
“Nice place. Decorate much?” he said as he made a bee-line toward the shelf.
She tried to intercept him, but her reflexes were slow. She couldn’t position herself ahead of him.
“Well, well, well, what have we here?” He snickered at the photo of J.J. wrapped in the arms of her last relationship faux pas. He grabbed the frame and held it up facing her. “Who the hell is this douche bag ?”
Douche bag? He can
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