“She took the stairs two at a time and I followed close behind, across the landings to the third floor. She had her key out and we were through her rear door into the kitchen in less than a minute. Once over the threshold, she stopped and I plowed into her. My first impressions of her kitchen were empty beer cans, fast-food bags, a half-full bottle of vodka, dirty dishes, and a half-dozen scraggly houseplants on the window ledge. But Sandy wasn't looking at any of that. She was looking at the im...posing figure of Gino Parini sitting in one of her kitchen chairs. He had a Chicago Sun Times in front of him open to the sports page and his chrome .45-caliber automatic laying next to it. “Close the door,” Parini said as he motioned us to come in the rest of the way. He threw a quick glance around the kitchen and said, “Some housekeeper, your woman,” “I'm not his woman,” she shot back. He ignored her. “You really are one persistent pain in the ass, Ace. I've been sitting here since last night.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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