The President's Killers Read Free

tomorrow?”
    Denny was still sore over the way the Short Hills Inn interview had gone. “I’m tied up.”
    “We got a great proposition for you.”
    “I don’t have time to play games.”
    “We can change your life, Denny.”
    “Look, I’m… okay, okay. Fine, I’ll come.”
    “Good. Tomorrow morning at the Rodino Building.”
    “The Rodino Building?”
    “Downtown, on Broad Street. Some of our clients work for Uncle Sam. I’m on the run these days. Meet me in the lobby at ten. By the elevators.”

FOUR
    That night at O'Brien's one of the regulars was hitting on a young chick Denny hadn't seen before.
    She was attractive, blonde like Meesh. But she didn’t have Meesh’s dimples and cute nose. The place was almost empty, and Denny kept peeking at the two lovers as he wiped cocktail glasses and placed them on a tray.
    Their noses were almost touching. It made him wonder if Jason was hitting on Meesh at this very moment.
    He thought about her trips to California, her fancy office, the big paychecks she got as a manager. It dwarfed the pittance he earned. And Jason probably made twice as much as Meesh.
    Why hadn’t she told him she had a commitment she couldn’t break? He’d planned to use the dinner at Vittorio’s to bring up the subject of marriage again.
    Meesh kept assuring him she wanted to get married, but not just yet. She wasn’t ready to start a family. She was in line for a promotion at Korn-Ritter and wanted to give her career a little more time.
    He had no problem with that. Except he was beginning to wonder if they were ever going to get around to marriage.
     
    By the time they closed the bar and cleaned up the place, it was past one-thirty. He went straight home.
    When he opened the door of his apartment, his big gold cat emerged from the bedroom, stiff-legged and sleepy-looking.
    Denny stuck his finger out. “Bang-bang!”
    Doc sank to the floor and lay on his side. Denny bent down and rubbed behind his ears.
    He gave Doc some tuna flakes, poured himself a shot of tequila, and sank into the recliner in front of the TV. The cat hopped onto the chair and spread out on his lap.
    “We blew it, Doc. Once upon a time the Mets and White Sox were going to sign us. Look at us now.”
    When he got into bed, Doc hopped up and sprawled across his ankles. Lying there wide awake, Denny listened to the cat’s gentle snoring, the stillness interrupted every few minutes by the swish of a car on the street below or the muffled roar of an airliner thousands of feet above them.
    It was crazy. Meesh was the high flier now, a rising corporate star, zipping all over the country.
    A few years ago, he was the one with the brilliant future. Now he was probably an embarrassment to her, a bartender in a cheap neighborhood bar
    “That Kinney kid throws as hard as Doc Gooden did when he first came up,” the Mets scout had told his high school coach. “He could be another Gooden.”
    Nobody doubted he had a great future.
    Well, he had only himself to blame. He’d pinned all his hopes on his athleticism. He was going to be in somebody’s starting rotation, drawing big fat paychecks. Who needed a college degree?
    He shook his head. What an idiot! What would the old high school crowd think of him now? Hey, Denny get me a beer!
    “We’ve got a great proposition for you,” Lott, the bald headhunter had said. “An incredible opportunity.”
    Denny didn’t believe that for a minute.

FIVE
    Nothing went the way he expected.
    In the lobby of the Rodino Federal Building, three people were standing at counters talking with clerks. Several others were waiting at elevator banks.
    Jerry Lott was not among them. Denny stood next to the black marble wall beside the elevators and waited.
    When Lott finally stepped out of one of the elevators, he was chatting with a plump white-haired woman. He looked heavier and his bald head shinier than Denny remembered. The olive-drab suit pulled across his shoulders and hips.
    He saw Denny