Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
I snort, shaking my head. “Unbelievable. You can’t help it, can you?”
“You’re a Crowley now, Keely, whether you like it or not. Give Nolan a break and take him back.”
I stare at Carson for another moment before I leave the bar. Sure enough, a black SUV’s waiting for me, with Roger behind the wheel.
“Heading home?” he asks, putting it into gear.
“To Jamila’s apartment. I assume you know where that is?”
He grins at me in the rearview and drives.
Chapter 40
Keely
A week passes. I start heading into the donut shop again and find Roger and the guys are still hard at work, finishing up the place. Each time I step through the door, it’s closer and closer to being finished, like my dream of owning an actual running donut place is coming to fruition, and it’s freaking me out. Now it’s a matter of days, not weeks, before I’m ready to start baking in earnest.
That weekend, Jamila wakes me early on Saturday as she bangs around the kitchen. “Sorry to bother you,” she says, looking sheepish. “It’s just that I’m headed home to visit my grandmother.”
“Really?” I rub my face, sitting up. “Which one?”
“My father’s mother.” She glances down at the floor. “You know, the criminal?”
I grin at her. “Come on, you know that I don’t care about that at this point. Can I come with you? Maybe it’ll be nice to see another family.”
“You mean another crime family?”
“I wasn’t going to put it that way.”
“No, you should come, it’ll be good.” She perks up. “How about we bake some donuts to bring with us? I know this kitchen isn’t ideal, but we can make it work.”
“Absolutely.” I get up, brush my teeth, get ready for the day, then spend the next couple hours making dough, icing, and frying. We manage to produce some decent product, vanilla dipped in chocolate, simple but effective. We sample one, cutting it in half.
“Okay, that’s actually really good.” Jamila sighs, shaking her head. “Maybe I should rethink my decision to leave the business.”
“You know my door’s open. You’ll always be my partner, silent or otherwise.”
She snorts. “I like that, silent partner.”
“Come on, let’s go see what your grandmother thinks of these.” I pack up the donuts and we head out together.
It’s a nice morning, so we decide to walk. Jamila tells me about her family, avoiding the topic of the war. She jokes about her aunts and uncles, about her grandmother and grandfather, about her cousins. “They’re crazy people,” she says, running her fingers down a wrought-iron fence. “Seriously, they’re insane. Hard drinking, very loud, always getting into trouble.”
“You’d think they’d be a little bit more low key, considering their business.”
“Eh, that’s how they are.” She waves a hand in the air. “Besides, they’re not on the street. They’ve got other people for that.”
“Another level to the madness, huh?”
“Exactly. My family’s smart.” He taps her head. “You wouldn’t catch my grandmother selling on a corner.”
“I’d love to see that though.”
“She’d be the toughest criminal in town.”
I look out across traffic. “They’re not so different from the Crowleys after all, you know. I mean, not the same level, but still.”
Her smile fades. “No, not really, except we don’t kill for control of other people’s turf.”
“Right. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
She touches my arm. “It’s fine. Just, don’t mention it today with my grandmother, okay? The wounds are still fresh for her. Nobody ever talks about those days.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“Good.” She links her arm with mine. “Come on then, let’s hurry before the old lady gets impatient.”
Jamila’s grandmother lives on a decent block in a row home surrounded by family. An uncle on the left, an aunt on the right, a cousin two doors down, more aunts and uncles across the street. It’s like they control the whole row. As soon as we’re on the block, people are sitting on stoops, leaning out windows, shouting at Jamila, greeting her. I’m introduced to half a dozen people in ten seconds, a dizzying amount, all of them shaking my hand, the women hugging me tight. “We heard so much about you,” Jamila’s aunt says, a tall woman with an intense grin. “Not all good, but mostly.”
“Uh,” I say as Jamila pulls me away.
“Don’t mind them,” she says, laughing as we head up a stoop and knock on a brown door. “They’re just messing with you.” Two men are sitting out front on lawn chairs and both of them looking dour. Jamila leans over to call out. “Hey, Uncle, where’s Grandmother?”
“She’s got a visitor already.” The old man scowls. “Been in there too long. Got half a mind to rush in and check to make sure she’s safe.”
“Visitor?” Jamila looks surprised. “Who’d show up at nine on a Saturday?”
“Big fancy man.” The uncle rolls his eyes. “He shouldn’t have shown his face here, but what can we do?”