![]() ![]() They sat, Jack letting the tension dissipate. ![]() “Whatever.” He popped the door, the street noise suddenly louder. “Will,” Jack said, “go stand on the corner, scope for cops, would you?” “Yeah,” Will said, “poor famous millionaire, neck-deep in pussy makes the skanks you date look like schnauzers.” He’s just here to work, right? Film a movie. Saw an article in the Red Eye on his favorite restaurants. All week I been hearing where he was spotted. “Funny,” Bobby said, “it’s like the pope is visiting. Jack let them talk, taking steady breaths, waiting for the rush to hit. “He look short to you?” Bobby not needing to say the name. River North, clubland, lah-dee-fucking-dah. They sat in silence, listening to the ticking of the engine, the sound of revelry through the windows. “I said enough.” Jack pulled up the sleeve of his suit, glanced at his watch. Bobby twisted the key to kill the engine, but cranked it the wrong way at first, the engine grinding. They fell in behind a taxi to the end of the block, turned right, then left, and pulled into an unattended pay lot they’d scoped earlier. “Go ahead,” Jack said, and Bobby put the stolen Ford into drive, sliding past the line of boys in shiny shirts and girls with spray-tan shoulders. After a moment, the man went inside, the door swinging shut to muffle thumping beats. Jack stared back, just another Chicago yokel awed by American Royalty. The bodyguard went last, stopping at the top of the steps to scan the street. ![]() His friends followed, one of them pausing long enough to pluck a stunning brunette from the line, the girl grinning over her shoulder at her squealing friends. The Star nodded, threw one last smile-and-wave, then stepped through the doors. “Victory smoke.”Īcross the street, one of his entourage patted the Star on the shoulder, hooked a thumb in a let’s go gesture. Will tucked the cigarette behind his ear. “Enough.” Jack stared in the rearview mirror. “What’s the matter,” he said, drawing Carltons from his suit jacket and tapping the soft pack to pop a cigarette loose. Easy work two grand for a morning spent repeating We scrub so you don’t have to. He’d once said he’d done some voice-over work back when he was in L.A., that he’d been the voice of a dancing soap bubble in a commercial for toilet cleanser. “That’s the bodyguard,” Will Tuttle said from the back, his tone smooth as a jazz radio announcer. He carried a black briefcase in his left hand and kept his right open against his stomach, fingers just inside the jacket. “What about that one?” The man he gestured to was taller than the Star and his entourage, built thick through the shoulders and neck. It’ll just make everybody else step quicker. Anybody gives shit, crack them with the gun, and don’t hold back. Get your pistol right in their face, yell at them. “That’s right,” he said, keeping his voice casual. Jack squinted at that, wondered again if involving his younger brother had been a good idea. If anything goes wrong, we split, meet up later.” His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. We go back out the way we came, head for the Chrysler. “One more time.”īobby said, “ Marshall lets us in. Nines might be the gun du jour, but you couldn’t beat a.45 for stopping power. Jack gazed through the windshield, forefinger tapping absently against his shoulder-slung.45. One minute the guy was just a guy – good-looking and well dressed, sure, but just a guy, and even a little on the short side – then that spotlight smile hit, raw wattage that announced you were in the presence of a Star. After a while it was natural to think of the smile as separate from the man, and watching him stop on the club steps to throw it at a gawking chick with a camera phone only reinforced the idea. They shone in the huddle of supermarket checkout lines, gleamed on the cover of a hundred magazines. Jack Witkowski wasn’t particularly a fan, but he’d seen those teeth plenty of times. Men who won’t stop until they get revenge, no matter where they find it.įor g.g., who has the best laugh on the planet He was a criminal who double-crossed some of the most dangerous men in Chicago. Because their tenant wasn’t a hermit who squirreled away his pennies. A fairy-tale ending.īut Tom and Anna soon realize that fairy tales never come cheap. More than fate: a chance for everything they’ve dreamed of for so long. So when their downstairs tenant – a recluse whose promptly delivered cashier’s checks were barely keeping them afloat – dies in his sleep, the $400,000 they find stashed in his kitchen seems like fate. ![]() The emotional and financial costs are straining their marriage and endangering their dreams. But years of infertility treatments, including four failed attempts at in-vitro fertilization, have left them with neither. Genre: thriller, Good People Marcus SakeyĪ family, and the security to enjoy it: that’s all Tom and Anna Reed ever wanted. ![]()
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