Share

Chapter Eight

Eros

The dockworkers' union boss sits across the table with his right-hand man and his lawyer, and they look like a couple of smug assholes. They traded in their Carhartt jackets and double-knee jeans for Polo shirts and khaki pants, and I'd bet my left ventricle that they're headed out to play golf when we're finished.

The whole blue-collar worker thing only means something when it comes time to convince the rank and file to fall in line.

"We've had a long and profitable friendship," I say and study the main boss, a guy named Owen Grady with a ruddy complexion and a squashed face like a gourd three weeks past Halloween. He looks out of place in the dining room of the Drake, but looks aren't everything. Grady's a player, and a good one. "I'm hoping we can continue that way."

"I agree, Eros," Grady says and sips his coffee and nibbles on his wheat toast. Fucker must have a bad heart or something. I catch him eyeing the bacon on his lawyer's plate like a dope fiend. "You've been good to
Locked Chapter
Continue to read this book on the APP

Related chapters

Latest chapter

DMCA.com Protection Status