The Bigot List: (A J.J. McCall Novel) Read Free Page A

her lips and folded her arms across her chest, gave him “The Hand” with her hardened stare. “If Cartwright hadn’t asked me to come, trust me I wouldn’t have bothered. Now, can we please dispense with the idle pleasantries? Tell me whatever it is that you need to say so I can get the hell out of here. Confinement depresses me.”
    Jack’s shame-filled gaze fell onto the table. He nodded and laced his fingers together. “The thing is...”
    Then nothing. For seconds that seemed like hours, nothing.
    Her patience had dwindled to non-existence, especially given that he’d done nothing but show her his ass over the years. She couldn’t wait to show him hers.
    Karma’s a bitch.
    J.J. had already decided to swiftly vacate the premises if she experienced even the slightest hint of an itch, any minor discomfort. He could spout his lies to someone stupid enough to believe him, find someone else with whom to share his sob story. She had a source to save and neither the time nor patience for his antics.
    “You had every reason not to come here today. And now you have every reason to leave, but I’m asking you to please hear me out.” He rubbed his hands together in a rapid, nervous motion. “Nothing is what it seems.”
    What’s this? she thought. Jack’s shoulders slumped and red veins peppered his eyes. He appeared sleepless and pathetic—not a good look.
    “I know I’ve been a prick.”
    “Uhhh. . . correction,” she interrupted, wagging her index finger. “A racist prick.” Her hand began to tremble so she clasped both together under the table. She attributed the shaking to her welling anger toward Jack.
    He nodded and hung his head in shame. “All right. I’ll accept that. I’m a lot of things, not all of them good. But God as my witness I’m not a spy.”
    Please, Lord, bring on the itch .
    Anything.
    She hoped, wished, and prayed. Just one little sign that he was lying. She’d dash out of the interrogation room so fast there’d be nothing left but skid marks and vapors.
    She waited and waited. And waited and waited.
    Nothing.
    Son of a bitch!
    He lifted his head and locked his eyes squarely onto hers, didn’t falter, didn’t back down, didn’t cower in the face of her evident doubt. “Somebody framed me, J.J. and I think it may be someone close to us.”
    She shot him a skeptical glare and turned her head toward Tony,   certain he was standing behind the one-way glass listening to every word. He’d never believe Sabinski. J.J.’s only consolation was that Tony would stand behind her decision, whatever that may be. That was the nature of their relationship, something she could always depend on. “What about the poly? You failed miserably. Twice I might add.”
    “I don’t know what to say. They hooked me up and my heart wouldn’t stop racing. Never happened to me before. I have no idea what could’ve caused me to experience such a reaction.”
    J.J. wanted so desperately to tell him that being a mean bastard who pops Snickers bars like popcorn might have something to do with his condition, but she resisted the temptation. After all, her snide remarks would serve no useful purpose and certainly wouldn’t repair the damage he’d done to her career or her sources.
    “Did you take any drugs, alcohol, or anything that might’ve caused a negative physiological reaction?” she asked.
    “No, nothing that I didn’t report.”
    Still no reaction, she thought. Damn! He’d probably never been this honest in his life and, just as J.J.’s luck would have it, he batted a thousand at that moment.
    “What about the money? I’m told your prints were all over the bag.”
    He exhaled, cupped his reddened face in his hands. “I don’t know what to tell you except that I buy trash bags for the house. Maybe the person who framed me got a hold of one I touched and used it to hide the money. Trust me, if I had all that cash, I wouldn’t be living in that piece of shit house or driving my piece of