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“Everyoneknowsthat, jeez.” Following on his heels, I realize Vincent’s going to be pissed how someone, namely me, drew attention to his freakin’ warehouse.
Once Suds make a U-turn, we tail my dad, and arrive back at the scene of the shooting.
“All clear.” NYPD’s Emergency Response Team exits the building, and as the leader speaks with my father, a black Escalade with tinted windows pulls to the curb.
A five-foot fortyish man in a dark suit jumps out and flashes his FBI badge. “Special Agent Griner, here. The Bureau is taking charge, chief. We need everyone to go.”
My dad sputters, steps aside to make a call to his superiors and returns with his face now violet. “Clear out. Let the FBI have at it.”
“Hey, I’m a Fed,” I flash my old ID and the jerk laughs in my face.
“Nice try. Go back to finding husbands with their dicks stuck in the wrong hole. Our team of professionals are here to doreal work.”
My fists tighten, and as I swing, my Navy SEAL grabs my arm mid-air. “Let it go, Sugar Ray.”
“Fucking douchebag.” Behind my back, my fully attached middle finger shoots the arrogant asshole the bird.
Chapter 10
Suds
“Y’all want ourstatements, or can we go?” The situation in the parking lot is deteriorating faster than I can talk, which is saying a whole lot. Either Samantha settles down or she’s going to be arrested.
“And you are?” Special FBI Agent Griner steps into my personal space, but I’ve got several inches on him and twice his width in muscle mass.
If he’s trying to intimidate me, it’s not working. He better not say anything else derogatory to me or my wife because I know a hundred ways to hurt him, and it would be ruled accidental.
“Sebastian Sutcliff, at your service.” As I hold out my hand, the Fed’s nose wrinkles and he sniffs, reminding me of a weasel.
“Aren’t you the rambler?”
Too bad I can’t flutter my eyelashes. A skill like that would come in mighty handy right about now. “Dunno what you’re referrin’ to but we’re the victims here. If you’re not interested in what happened, I assume we’re free to go.”
Our pissing contest ends when a woman, dressed in a dark suit and sensible shoes steps between us.
Eyes on me, she points to my wife.“Not you, her.”
“Seems to me, you’d wantboth our eyewitness accounts.” Unwilling to give up on the possibility of topping my world record, I maneuver my wife behind me.
“I’m afraid your reputation precedes you.” Her uppity northeast accent and arrogant countenance grates on my nerves.
She’s also put the kibosh on my fun which leaves me a mite testy. “Can I see your badges? Y’all don’t seem like any FBI agents I ever met.”
After they trot out their credentials, I snap pics and send them to my friend at the Joint Terrorism Task Force, who texts me right back.
O’Brien: They’re legit.
Dammit.What the fuck did we step into?I send him a thumbs up, then cool my heels while my danger magnet relays her account of the incident.
Once she’s done, we’re told not to leave town, and I drive us back to our old neighborhood.
In front of Joey’s place, my partner sighs. “We probably should swing by Petey’s and explain what happened toil capo di tutti capi. I’ll run up and grab Mikey. We can get dinner while we’re there.”
My Italian isn’t great so before she hops out the car, I reach across and tap her arm. “Head of all hats?”
Opening the door, she shoots me a grin over her shoulder. “Sorry. Boss of all bosses, Uncle Vinny.”
“Youusin’ our kid to soften him up?”I’m not sure I’m okay with this.
