Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“I don’t get your deal, sir,” he said.
“You don’t have to call me sir,” I responded. “My name is West.”
“Aight… I don’t get your deal, West. Youse’re friends, but there’s a weird vibe. You know he’s with the Sons? But it’s a problem, innit? And you don’t know me. Why would you offer me a place to stay like that?”
All good questions.
I cleared my throat and shifted in my seat, and I felt like a complete idiot.
“Alfie and I are navigating a tentative friendship, I suppose you could say,” I answered slowly. I had to choose my words carefully. “We didn’t part ways on good terms, and now we’re trying to…improve our relationship as co-parents.” That sounded all right, didn’t it? “As for my not knowing you… You’re right. I don’t. And I’m also not happy about Alfie’s…affiliations, if you will. So consider that my reason for jumping in without knowing you properly. You’re so young, and if I can plant a seed or possibly guide you in another direction, I’d say that’s worth it.”
Colby flashed me a lopsided smirk, and it was the first time he looked more at ease. “I’m never gonna be the guy who goes to college and then spends his life working for the man.”
Hmpf. “You don’t know that yet. Nor do you have to work for the man,” I pointed out. “With a good degree, you could become anything you want. An entrepreneur with your own business—”
“But I already know what I need to know,” he laughed.
Oh boy.
“In that case, you have nothing to lose by staying here.” I shrugged and stole back my mug from Alfie’s side of the table. “Unless you’re afraid I might convince you, of course.”
He snorted, still amused. “I ain’t scared.”
“Then, there you go,” I said. “Consider my offer. If nothing else, it might be nice to be able to retreat to privacy when a six-year-old girl starts screaming at seven AM because her hair ties are crooked.”
It was known to happen.
Colby winced. “Sounds like my cousin’s place. His kid screams all the fuckin’ time.”
Seed: planted.
Perhaps I should have worked late on Friday rather than left early.
I’d gone in early, to make sure I was caught up on everything before the weekend, and I’d even brought breakfast for my morning meeting with my production team. But as the building had filled up with weekend staff for tomorrow’s and Sunday’s specials, I’d found myself reserving a tee time instead of getting an early start on next week’s projects.
We could expect some headlines after the weekend, which we were used to whenever we covered controversial topics. Weekend episodes were two hours long instead of one, and they’d been dubbed “Philly bombings” by some media outlets and many who followed the show regularly. Tomorrow, for instance, they were discussing the next election by hosting a debate with local politicians and pundits. On Sunday, they were dedicating the first hour to corruption within Pennsylvania.
There’d be no mention of the Sons of Munster, and after what Alfie had told me—that corruption was big—maybe there should be.
But I’d given him my word to be a vault, right?
So now, I was compromised. The next time my reporters wanted to get their hands dirty in mobster research, I’d have a knot in my stomach when I gave them the green light.
What if it ever came to light that Alfie, my ex-husband, might be affiliated? What would those rumors sound like? What would the subtle stares look like?
I believed Alfie—I had to—when he told me he’d lie low and remain on the fringes of the organization. I was desperate for that to be true. All while…he was still invited to barbecues at Finnegan O’Shea’s house, and Alfie had received an official welcome to the family. Rumors would circulate eventually.
They might even reach my father.
Those were the thoughts rushing through my head when I drove a ball straight into the pond between holes fourteen and fifteen.
I cursed and gave up on the spot. No mulligan, no attempt to catch up. I played like shit for the rest of the round until I got a random birdie on the last hole. But it was an easy one. If you hit the center edge of the green, the ball just rolled right into the cup.
After returning my clubs to my car—and making sure my parents weren’t here—I made my way into the clubhouse for a dose of AC and a late lunch. A very late lunch.
Alfie might call it an early-bird dinner as an age joke, but fuck him.
I welcomed the cool air, took off my cap, and walked past the table with all of today’s newspapers.
“How did it go today, Scott?”
“Ask my ball currently resting in the duck pond next to fourteen,” I grumbled.
Steve laughed merrily and disappeared into the cigar lounge.