Lethal Journey
Women’s Law
Association meets every other Tuesday and my days are pretty full
with this case.”
    “What about
your evenings?”
    “I’ve dated at
least a dozen men and you know it.” She gave him a tight smile and
snapped her bread twist. “Let’s drop it, Dad.”
    Lauren glanced
across the table at the Picasso hanging on the wall. Eric had
always hated that painting, said it looked like mashed up peas and
carrots, and insisted on sitting with his back to it.
    She never
thought he’d turn his back on her as well. A flash of anger surged
through her. Lauren grabbed another bread twist.
    The knot in her
stomach added to her frustration...a reminder of how lonely she
really was.

Chapter
Three
     
     
    Detective Eric
Brennan sat at his usual table and sipped the night’s beverage of
choice—a cola. In Chunkers Bar and Grill loud pointless chatter
overpowered the ‘80s rock and roll band on stage.
    The last week
was a blur. Every waking hour he pounded the streets in search of
his father’s killer.
    Eric knew every
detail of the shooters face, but not the kid’s name. He’d heard
from one of his informant’s, the kid was a young tough-guy looking
to be made—a “cugine” ready to make his mark into New York’s most
influential crime network, the Valdina family. As part of his
induction into the mob family, the asshole had already killed a
low-life rival family member and Eric and his father were working
the homicide case when they got a tip.
    That steamy
June evening had started like any typical bust. Within minutes
after Eric and his father arrived at the warehouse, dozens of DEA
agents secured the perimeter. Eric entered the warehouse first, his
father followed. Amid the stench of mildew and dust, the first pop
of an automatic echoed within the barren walls.
    They were
ambushed.
    His father, a
veteran with twenty-three years on the force never saw the shots
coming. Eric threw his body against his father in hopes of
shielding him. It was too late. Instead Eric witnessed his father’s
face, the sickening whitish blue tint that came with death...
    While Pete
checked in with the precinct, Eric shifted in the chair. His left
knee still burned where the bullet had grazed his leg. He rubbed
the scar, a permanent reminder of a drug bust gone bad. Very
bad.
    “Hey, Brennan.”
Pete threw a twenty-dollar bill on the table and downed the last
swallow of his beer. “Come on. I think we got a lead.”
    Outside on West
35th Street, a full moon peeked through the clouds. Jagged streaks
of lightning ignited the sky as rain sprinkled against Eric’s
leather jacket. He lit a cigarette and leaned against his white
pick-up truck parked in front of Chunkers.
    Pete smirked.
“Man, I thought you quit.”
    “I did.” Eric
took a drag and stared at Pete through a haze of smoke.
    “Yeah, looks
like it.”
    “I’ll quit as
soon as you shave off that red mop you call a moustache.”
    Pete smoothed
his moustache. “What’s wrong with it?”
    “Looks like a
broom.”
    His partner
rolled his eyes.
    The drizzle
intensified and a draft brushed across Eric’s chest. “Are you going
to tell me? Or are we going to continue to discuss the hair above
your lip in the pissing rain?”
    “There’s a
large cocaine shipment coming into Brooklyn Self Storage around
midnight. Word is Valdina’s crew will be there.”
    Eric checked
his watch. Eleven-thirty. “Let’s move. I don’t want to be late for
the show.” He flicked his cigarette to the pavement and jumped into
the truck.
    Adrenaline
pumped through Eric’s veins. His fingers tapped against the
steering wheel as if they had a life of their own. Maybe this time
he’d catch his father’s killer.
    While Pete
flipped on a map light and scanned the details of the bust, Eric
turned the corner onto Pearl Street.
    Two police cars
blocked the street across from the storage business. Sirens wailed,
dome lights flashed. A swarm of DEA agents and local cops huddled
in the wide

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