Hypocrisy by Annechino D.M

Author:Annechino, D.M. [Annechino, D.M.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Create Space
Published: 2014-03-13T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The ride to Yonkers took less time than Dupree expected. She turned onto Webster Avenue and Dupree perused up and down the street but found only one tight parking spot barely big enough for a compact car. She pulled next to a blue Nissan Ultima and slowly cranked the wheels as she backed her way into the spot.

T.J. laughed. “You’re shitting me, right? You’d be lucky to squeeze a Smart Car into that spot, let alone this boat.”

“You just watch me.” Having lived in the city all her life, and with street parking at a premium, Dupree had had lots of practice squeezing into small spots. Without having to abort the mission or start over, she carefully parked the car two inches away from the curb without touching a bumper.

“I gotta tell you, Amaris. I’m impressed. I’d have bet a king’s ransom you couldn’t do it.”

“Never, ever bet against a determined woman.”

“How do you want to play this?” Dupree asked. “If our guy is home, I don’t think he’s coming with us without a fight.”

“You go around to the back and I’ll knock on the front door,” T.J. suggested.

They stepped out of the car and made their way toward the duplex. 2020 Webster Avenue stood on the left. Just as Dupree was about to move down the long driveway, T.J. stopped her. “No heroics, there, Annie Oakley.”

Dupree winked. “Got it covered.”

Dupree made her way toward the back of the duplex. To avoid being seen by Cassano, she hugged the structure as she moved, ducking under the windows.

Once near the back door, Dupree drew her weapon and stood with her back pressed against the building, just to the side of the entrance. Standing there, she listened for any sound coming from the front of the house—any sign that T.J. had engaged the perp. As she stood there, a little shaky, she noticed that the backyard looked as if it had been professionally manicured. The lawn—freshly cut—looked like carpeting. Vibrantly-colored flowers lined the perimeter, and perfectly trimmed hedges bordered the neighbor’s yard. Not what she expected. Then again, maybe Cassano rented the place and his landlord was fussy about the way his property looked.

“Amaris?” T.J.’s voice echoed from around the corner of the house and startled Dupree.

“I’m here.”

T.J. appeared just as he holstered his weapon. “Either he’s not home or he doesn’t like company. What now?”

“The Night Owl is a few blocks away and it used to be Cassano’s hangout. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find him there.”

“Or,” T.J. said, “maybe Jake Sullivan, the bartender, knows where we can find him.”

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