AT Once by John W. Mefford

Author:John W. Mefford [Mefford, John W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: crime thriller female, female sleuth, crime fiction female, crime fiction fbi, Women Sleuths, women sleuths thriller series, thriller books psychological suspense series, thriller and mysteries best sellers, mystery thriller series
Publisher: Sugar Hill Press
Published: 2016-04-28T22:00:00+00:00

9

Circling the block for the fifth time, I finally spotted the blue Malibu with streaks of gray mud down the side. Jerry’s car. It was parked just outside of Finnegan’s Tavern in the heart of Southie, one of the roughest sections in Boston. Where Jerry had suffered and survived a dangerous childhood and finally grew up to become the man he was today—a high-ranking official with the FBI.

Just saying FBI and Southie in the same sentence would usually draw a second look at the office. The unlikely pairing of the Bureau and the blue-collar town that had produced more than enough wise guys, goes back decades to when a little-known local thug named Whitey Bulger used the FBI like his bitch. With the FBI frothing at the mouth to harness the runaway Italian organized crime outfit, they took on Bulger as an informant, but the only thing he gave the Bureau in return was hot air. Bulger initially manipulated a couple of agents, but over time, he used influence and intimidation to secure his place as the most dangerous criminal to ever walk the streets of Boston. And this went on for years.

With his Southie upbringing, for Jerry to ascend through the ranks into his current position showed his resilience—even though I was certain no one said anything outwardly. Boston might be strong, and all that implied, but inside the bowels of the city I knew as much as anyone that Boston had its own set of warts. Some might even call it a bad case of herpes.

I chuckled at my description of my adopted hometown as I searched for the turn signal on my silver Ford Focus.

“There it is,” I said, flipping the lever upward, and the car’s right blinkers flashed red.

Trading in my Impala earlier in the day was one of several steps I’d taken to push forward the internal investigation into Jerry. But it wasn’t the boldest, by far.

I heard loud voices pulling up behind me. I turned to look over my shoulder and found three guys strutting down the sidewalk. Just then, one in a fatigue shirt and baggie sweatpants saw me looking at him, and out of nowhere, he brought a chain out from behind his back and thrashed it against the side of the Focus.

“You son of a...” I threw the gearshift into park and jumped out of the car.

“Whatcha gonna do, bitch?” The man splayed his arms wide, then pointed a finger at me as he towered over the car.

I had one hand on the grip of my gun at my waist and the other on my badge. The two other guys flipped their caps around and produced more chains.

“The chain gang, I get it,” I said, my head on a swivel to ensure no one was sneaking up behind me.

“What is this bitch saying?” Baggy Sweats looked like his eyes might bulge out.

“I’m saying it’s appropriate that each one of you is carrying chains because of the long-held belief that prisoners are sometimes called the chain gang.

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