#slickerthanrick

but she wasn't like that. between her father's mob connections and habit of losing the men in her life, there was almost a desperate plea in her tone for me to come back. safe, at the very least. and if she was half right about Myers, she had just put me in a very dangerous situation.

--

she hands me an envelope over the desk. I open it. of course. I go through the folder, while she busies herself with lighting another cigarette. the air turns soft menthol.

it was all over the news. the daughter of a big time mobster and her new husband, killed in a cheap motel somewhere at the back of Vegas. it was extremely violent, even for what was suspected gang related violence.

she saved me the discomfort of asking difficult questions by starting, "I don't trust the cops to look into mob hits. but I have an idea of who might have called it, but I need you to be sure."

her hand was shaking, and her cigarette faltered as she exhaled. I held up the folder while looking through the police report. I don't know how she managed pictures like these of her own sister.

"what does your father think?" I close the folder and set it down on the desk. she avoids my eyes and continues to stare at it. "I don't know. we haven't spoken in years- ever since I got married. and besides, I hear from the servants that it's broken him. there's no point in asking him." "okay."