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Authors: Derek Ciccone
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death over the next few days.
“I should move out. Everyone except Seal Team Six is after me. What if Robbie was here?”
“The people after you are trained killers. They’re targeting you, and will attempt to lessen any collateral damage. The more bodies, the more complicated their mission becomes.”
So that’s where I learned that. “Very comforting.”
“And besides, Robbie will be staying with his father through Christmas break.”
Herm and Alyson met in the military. Herm was still active, just returning from another tour in Afghanistan. I’ve always got the feeling that their divorce was about logistics, rather than lack of love. But it wasn’t something she ever discussed with me.
She took a long look at me, making me uncomfortable. “What?”
“Can you please either put a shirt on, or lose that gut. You really need to get yourself in better shape if you’re going to fight off these guys.”
That sounded like a good New Year’s resolution, when hopefully all this would be over. And preferably I’d be alive, and not back in jail.
“And what’s that sticking out of your pants?” she asked.
“I guess I’m just happy to see you,” I replied with a smile.
“You should be—I don’t sacrifice my cute nose for just anyone. I meant the folder.” The bleeding had stopped, but her face was still a big red and purple mess.
I followed her point to the Morzetti file that I’d stuck in the waistband of my suit pants. “Oh, Libby said you wanted to get a jump on it for an upcoming meeting.”
I handed it over to her. “If you need any assistance from your favorite paralegal, just give me a shout.”
“You need to concentrate on getting some rest, Collins. You’ve had a long day, and we have an even longer one tomorrow.”
She was right. But before I could take her advice, my phone rang. I knew who it was, and Alyson’s disapproving look told me that she did too.
“Just give me a few minutes to change, and I’ll meet you there in an hour,” I told the caller.
Chapter 12
I met Candi outside of the club Vida’s in the Meatpacking District. Once upon a time it was known for being the area of the city where meat was butchered and packaged. Now it was a different type of meat market, filled with Manhattan’s trendiest clubs.
I kept my dress minimalist with a checkered gingham shirt and khakis, along with a pair of Chukka boots. On most occasions this getup wouldn’t get me past the velvet rope, but I brought a shiny accessory with me—Candi Kane.
She used her celebrity to avoid the wait with the other schleps out in the snow. She wasn’t the same level of star she was when her stage-mother from hell hired me to get her out of the first of what turned out to be many brushes with the law, but she was still a rock star when it came to things like the club scene and making tabloid headlines.
Once inside, I shouted over Snoop Dogg’s “Everyday is Like Christmas to Me” that was playing so loud it was rattling my fillings, “I guess we have a different idea of what discreet means.”
A proud look came over her face. “It’s from my new clothing line!” She then provided a detailed description of the stretch-leather Santa mini-dress with zipper front that might be considered too risqué for Temple of Duma’s. A thick black belt was hooked around her midsection, as if Santa’s gifts—and by Santa, I mean her plastic surgeon—needed to be elevated any more than they already were. Her heeled leather boots, the type my fellow prisoners had another name for, came up to her lower thigh.
She pulled down the satin-lined hood and her blonde hair extensions fell down past her shoulders. She then removed her necklace and held it over my head. The last word I heard before she kissed me was “mistletoe.”
I did what I should have done the first time this happened, and pulled away.
She looked mystified. “I was just playing, Kris—what happened to your Christmas
“I should move out. Everyone except Seal Team Six is after me. What if Robbie was here?”
“The people after you are trained killers. They’re targeting you, and will attempt to lessen any collateral damage. The more bodies, the more complicated their mission becomes.”
So that’s where I learned that. “Very comforting.”
“And besides, Robbie will be staying with his father through Christmas break.”
Herm and Alyson met in the military. Herm was still active, just returning from another tour in Afghanistan. I’ve always got the feeling that their divorce was about logistics, rather than lack of love. But it wasn’t something she ever discussed with me.
She took a long look at me, making me uncomfortable. “What?”
“Can you please either put a shirt on, or lose that gut. You really need to get yourself in better shape if you’re going to fight off these guys.”
That sounded like a good New Year’s resolution, when hopefully all this would be over. And preferably I’d be alive, and not back in jail.
“And what’s that sticking out of your pants?” she asked.
“I guess I’m just happy to see you,” I replied with a smile.
“You should be—I don’t sacrifice my cute nose for just anyone. I meant the folder.” The bleeding had stopped, but her face was still a big red and purple mess.
I followed her point to the Morzetti file that I’d stuck in the waistband of my suit pants. “Oh, Libby said you wanted to get a jump on it for an upcoming meeting.”
I handed it over to her. “If you need any assistance from your favorite paralegal, just give me a shout.”
“You need to concentrate on getting some rest, Collins. You’ve had a long day, and we have an even longer one tomorrow.”
She was right. But before I could take her advice, my phone rang. I knew who it was, and Alyson’s disapproving look told me that she did too.
“Just give me a few minutes to change, and I’ll meet you there in an hour,” I told the caller.
Chapter 12
I met Candi outside of the club Vida’s in the Meatpacking District. Once upon a time it was known for being the area of the city where meat was butchered and packaged. Now it was a different type of meat market, filled with Manhattan’s trendiest clubs.
I kept my dress minimalist with a checkered gingham shirt and khakis, along with a pair of Chukka boots. On most occasions this getup wouldn’t get me past the velvet rope, but I brought a shiny accessory with me—Candi Kane.
She used her celebrity to avoid the wait with the other schleps out in the snow. She wasn’t the same level of star she was when her stage-mother from hell hired me to get her out of the first of what turned out to be many brushes with the law, but she was still a rock star when it came to things like the club scene and making tabloid headlines.
Once inside, I shouted over Snoop Dogg’s “Everyday is Like Christmas to Me” that was playing so loud it was rattling my fillings, “I guess we have a different idea of what discreet means.”
A proud look came over her face. “It’s from my new clothing line!” She then provided a detailed description of the stretch-leather Santa mini-dress with zipper front that might be considered too risqué for Temple of Duma’s. A thick black belt was hooked around her midsection, as if Santa’s gifts—and by Santa, I mean her plastic surgeon—needed to be elevated any more than they already were. Her heeled leather boots, the type my fellow prisoners had another name for, came up to her lower thigh.
She pulled down the satin-lined hood and her blonde hair extensions fell down past her shoulders. She then removed her necklace and held it over my head. The last word I heard before she kissed me was “mistletoe.”
I did what I should have done the first time this happened, and pulled away.
She looked mystified. “I was just playing, Kris—what happened to your Christmas
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