Silver Justice Read Free Page B

from work, but he grew increasingly dismissive and cold as time went by, except when he wanted sex. Towards the end of the relationship, Silver came to believe that being around his family was a concession he’d made in order to appear to have a respectable home life, for display at the frequent business-related events he took them to – and later, when he was making the preparatory moves to enter the political arena.
    Perhaps that was the other part of what this was all about. Being a devoted father who was raising a daughter under his custody would be a surefire winner at the polls.
    She was still shaking from fury when she pulled into the lower East Side parking structure adjacent to her office at 26 Federal Plaza.
    If it was a fight Eric wanted, he had grossly underestimated her.
    There was no way he was getting Kennedy.
    No way in hell.
     
     

 
    Chapter 2
     
     
     
    “I want her dead.”
    The speaker was gaunt, with skin permanently jaundiced from nicotine and cirrhosis, a blue knit longshoreman’s cap pulled over his head. He kept his arms around his food tray, a reflexive posture learned quickly in prison which made it harder for other inmates to grab your food. Not that any would try with Rob Bollinger, who was standout dangerous, even in a facility that housed some of the most violent offenders in the state. “And her partner, too.”
    “Like I said, it’s already in play. Although snuffing her is going to be harder than getting him. We’ve had to contract out for the hit on her,” his lunch mate disclosed, his eyes roving around the room. Carl Lexington was Rob’s number two man inside and coordinated all the day-to-day operations – drug distribution, assaults and killings, and communications with the outside world when commissioning the occasional special request from Rob.
    “I’m never getting out of here – I’ll be rotting in the joint for the rest of my life, and it’s because of them.” Rob’s whisper increased in volume as he spoke, rage broiling below the surface. He’d been inside for six years, serving four consecutive life sentences for his role in the leadership of Seventh Sons, one of New York’s most violent motorcycle gangs.
    Once his appeals had been exhausted and he’d been incarcerated for good, Rob had shifted into operating a profitable prison drug-smuggling business, subsidized with a sideline of contract killings on other inmates. It had been rough at first, competing with the white supremacists, the Mexicans and the other gangs, but after he’d proved himself an absolutely vicious adversary, he’d been able to secure a foothold, and now ran twenty percent of the trafficking racket.
    But he would never see the free world again, and Rob harbored a grudge against the cops who had led the investigation that had resulted in his brother being shot to death outside of an industrial supply warehouse in upstate New York, leaving Rob severely wounded, having taken two slugs in the torso and one in the leg, which pained him every day – and always would.
    Shots fired by the agent who had somehow gotten one of his most loyal street soldiers to roll on him.
    “Silver Cassidy and Andy Teluride.” Rob pronounced their names with distaste. “I hear she’s in the city now. No longer upstate, although he still is.”
    “Security is tight at FBI headquarters, so we have to be careful and patient. But we’ll get her.” Carl spat a piece of gristle on to the floor. “He’s a done deal – dead man walking. Probably within the week.”
    Rob scowled impatiently. Decades of meth and heroin use had destroyed any elasticity in his skin; he resembled a hairless Shar Pei more than a human. Except for the eyes, which burned with a feverish intensity.
    “Who’s going to do it?”
    “Jeb’s gonna dust him,” Carl whispered. “He’s already been practicing – it’s been a while since Iraq, but he still reckons it will only take one shot. We’ve contracted with the Russians for