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She turned her head slightly, holding up her left cheek. Washington gently kissed it.
“And your father?” Washington went on. “How is he?”
“Doing very well. I’m sure if he knew I was here, he would have sent his regards.”
“Please give him mine. It’s been a long time.”
“I will. This is a nice surprise. How is Martha? Please tell her I said hello.”
I’ll be damned! Matt thought. And she’s friendly with Martha Washington, too.
That’s as good as being family!
How the hell have I missed out on this goddess?
A goddess who’s not only obviously very bright and skilled-but one who knows about cops.
I won’t have to try to explain what it is that I do.
And, maybe more important, why it is that I do it.
Unbelievable…
Jason Washington was saying, “My beautiful bride is doing marvelously. She’ll be even more so when I tell her you said hello.”
The Black Buddha turned to Amy Payne and said warmly, “Nice to see you, too, Amy. How are you?”
“Doing pretty good, Jason. Thank you,” she replied pleasantly, then looked at Harris. “Hello, Tony.”
“Hi, Amy.” Harris waved. “Good to see you.”
“Tony,” Jason Washington said, gesturing toward Amanda, “this is Charley Law’s daughter, Amanda. Dr. Amanda Law.”
Harris stepped over and shook her hand.
“Good to meet you, Doctor. I never met your father, but I do know his reputation. He was one helluva detective.”
Amanda Law made a small smile. “That’s kind of you to say.”
“And,” Washington went on, “this is Jim Byrth.”
Byrth stood. Harris held out his hand.
“Tony Harris, Jim. Have heard a bit about you, too. Good to meet you.”
“And you,” Byrth said gripping the hand.
The waitress appeared.
“Impeccable timing!” Jason Washington said, and with his arms extended and his huge hands open, he made the exaggerated fanning motion of a minister telling his congregation to be seated in the pews. “Everyone sit so we can order.”
TWO
705 North Second Street, Philadelphia Wednesday, September 9, 6:30 P.M.
“When we got word from our informants that this El Gato had gone ballistic and was whacking drug runners who were in arrears to him,” Byrth was saying to his attentive audience at the table, “we scrambled. But unfortunately not before the psychopath lopped off the heads of two girls, one in Fort Worth’s Northside and one near downtown Houston, last week. Both heads were thrown into packed barrio bars where their family members were known to hang out. The bodies are still missing. Then I figured out that El Gato had fled to Philadelphia. And here I am.”
He drained his Jack Black on the rocks and sighed.
