Free The Coldest Mile by Tom Piccirilli Page B

hell knew what that was really all about.
    On his way to the limo, Moe Irvine stopped him. “You're late. Miss Sherry is waiting.”
    “Sorry about that.”
    “You're not wearing the hat and gloves. I've been giving you some leeway because you're new here, but your attitude hasn't improved any.”
    “I saw what happened to your last chauffeur. Let's say I'm not feeling all that comfortable here yet.”
    That slow- burning anger leaking around Moe's eyes wasn't so slow today. Moe had problems on his hands. He knew the business was skittering out of his grasp. The number two man was going to have to hand over too much to Lenny's kids and Lenny still wouldn't drop off the cliff.
    “I was informed about some trouble last night in the servants’ quarters,” Moe said.
    Actually calling them that, the servants’ quarters.
    Chase said, “I didn't hear anything.”
    “And you weren't involved?”
    “I do what I can to steer clear of trouble.”
    “It doesn't appear that way to me.”
    “But you're just getting to know me, Moe.”
    Moe stared at the stickpin he'd given Chase, like he wanted it back, didn't want it to go to waste in the landfill. “Miss Sherry is waiting.”
    “Yeah, you said that.”
    Chase got the limo backed out and turned around in the driveway, then smoothly sailed up to Sherry,who was waiting out front in the Jacqueline O's. A few strongarms paced around, acting tougher than usual, sort of squabbling with each other. They were trying to get a little more territorial now—show their stuff and hopefully get picked to go to Chicago.
    Chase opened the back door for Sherry, and when she took his hand she held on to it for an extra second, full of intent.
    The painkillers were starting to override the bennies. He felt a flat, heavy mellowness work through him. The heat at the back of his head began to cool. He thought he should take another upper to get back some of his step, but for the first time in weeks he was relaxed. Maybe it wasn't so bad. Maybe he should go with it for a couple hours.
    Traffic was heavier than normal but he used the limo's intimidation factor to carve access into loaded lanes. He slid the stretch toward the Holland Tunnel again, waiting for her to say something. She didn't. She appeared as calm as ever, but he kept picking up some extra vibe. He didn't know what it was. It drew his eyes to the rearview time and again, but he couldn't see anything different.
    Except maybe the vein in her throat. It throbbed. She was in a state, but didn't show it in her expression.
    So much for the mellow. He popped another bennie dry. The serene veil that had draped over him immediately shredded and fell away. His heart bucked in his chest.
    Jonah said, She's going to kill you.
    * * *
    Sherry made herself a drink and sipped it, crossed her legs and balanced the glass on her knee. Her skirt hiked back a little farther than it should, showing off the elegant and elaborate network of muscles leading to her thigh.
    “Why are you here?” she said.
    Maybe the truth—some of the truth—would be best. “I got a call that the Langan family needed a driver. A wheelman. Turns out that's not who you needed at all.”
    “Why didn't you just quit when you found that out?”
    “It was too late by then.”
    She clicked her nails against the glass. It wasn't much of a tell, but he could see she needed to do something while she worked through her thoughts. The Jacqueline O's stymied him. He wasn't going to get much more from her measured gaze, but even that was better than plastic.
    “Take off your shades,” he said.
    She turned her head to stare out the tinted window for a moment, considering. Then she took them off.
    “Maybe we can use you in some other capacity,” she said.
    “You've got too big a crew as it is.”
    “What makes you say that?” she asked.
    “Wiseguys playing golf on the job, for starters. Everyone knows the Chicago setup will be smaller.Most of the strongarms will be skipping out