Chapter 12
No matter how many times Pone set foot inside the Ritz building, the ceiling always
mesmerized him. Such workmanship, detailed artistic vision, captivating color … simply
beautiful. Pone’s serene moment was interrupted by an abrade poke between the shoulder
blades. He turned then looked down on the diminutive District Attorney, Thomas Maxwell.
Red’s mind boggling what do you see in him annoying boyfriend. If this was a comic book,
he’d be Steve Trevor and she’d be Wonder Woman saving his ass at every turn. The slight
endomorphic man had thin hair he crossed over to barely cover a bald spot; he had stubble as if
he was trying to grow a mustache, but puberty wouldn’t allow it. He was way out of Red’s
league. Pone thought the reason why she dated the guy was because she wanted to improve her family’s
image since they still dealt in criminal activities. What was with these short guys showing such
animosity toward him. Pone felt a little like Gulliver’s Travel; Lars Lambert aka the janitor,
Harvey Crowe, aka the deputy mayor, and Thomas Maxwell, aka the district attorney. He understood
why Lambert hated him, but the ungrateful little twerp should at least thank him preserving his life
since J. Paul wanted to rip him apart literally, but other … well because he guessed he was a former
killer-for-hire.
Pone still couldn’t get a handle on what a statuesque beauty like Red saw in a five-foot-nothing
like Thomas Maxwell. Again, sure he was the District Attorney, but besides being short and thinning
hair; his suits wore him, and she could carry him on her hip like a child. Pone knew Red could have
anybody she wanted, but she told him she liked Maxwell’s bravado. Pone also thought maybe she
dated the shrimp to protect him. Maxwell made it no secret he wanted Pone off the streets and
the reason he killed the headlights and put it in neutral was that he was an elf whom for now had
a goddess.
“What are you doing here?” asked Maxwell.
“Business. None of yours,” said Pone.
Maxwell pointed. “You do anything to hurt her … “
“It’s the other way around.”
Maxwell had a dubious look. “What we have is special,”
“You’re both lawyers, and you both do charity work.” Pone stared down at the little man. “She does
a lot of charity.”
Maxwell glared, and Pone smiled then made his way to the elevator.
Black two inch pumps propped up on a grand Mahogany desk; long legs in silky black hose, leading
up to a charcoal hemmed at the knee sleeveless dress displaying well-toned arms, smooth hands, and
manicured nails holding a Kindle. Red was enjoying a well-written novel about a serial killer and a
werewolf wreaking murderous havoc in a city. Romance novels were not her liking, but blood and
gore, oh yeah. Red was getting into it when Pone busted in.
“You are dressed for the occasion,” said Pone.
Red stood putting down the Kindle. “What are you talking about?”
“My funeral.”
“Look who’s talking. In fact remind me to take you shopping so that you won’t be mistaken for the
Grim Reaper.”
“Hey! Let me do the jokes.”
“What’s wrong, Pony?”
“You want me to do this job?”
“Did you run into Maxwell?”
“Actually I stepped on him and scraped him off my shoe. Your munchkin’s an itch I can scratch, but
damn this shit!”
Pone hunched over Red’s desk using both hands to support his weight. Red knew it was serious
when Pone cursed.
“What happened? She asked.
“No more meetings if the plan is for me to end up dead before or after I attend them.”
Red stood beside Pone placing her hand on his arm. Her touch always sent his heart racing, and he
believed she felt the same. A deep breath and a count to ten made things professional again.
“So, the man and woman I read about in the paper found dead in the alley . . .”
Pone exhaled and took off his hat placing it on the desk. “He was a blast from the past that
should have never taken up the criminal trade, and she looked like the walking dead.”
“You think there’s a rat in our circle?”
“This is not a coincidence,” stated Pone.
Red shrugged. “No one comes to mind.”
Pone chuckled. “So far it’s been amateur night and yeah, both hits after mid-night. Boys who
should’ve stayed in school, a guy who should’ve had a job asking if you want paper or plastic, and
a witch who should’ve never got off her broom.
“Oh Pony … I’ll pull the plug on this. I had no right to ask you in the first place.”
“No. I’m doing this for those kids. They were innocent, and somebody’s going to have to pay.”
Red stood behind Pone, giving him a hug. Pone moved away. The hug was not coming from
a friend; the hug didn’t come from a sister. He ended up face to face with an expensive painting.
“I know it’s not Maxwell.”
Red shook her head. “He’d rather see you in orange.” She took a seat behind her desk. Pone
turned staring at her, and they laughed. Red studied Pone. She knew him long enough to know
that he had come to a conclusion.
“Okay Pony, spill it.”
“I’m a gambler. I never put all my cards on the table.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“You’re my guardian angel.”
A smile creased her ruby lips. Red hated being called an angel since her family empire
was built on blood and evil. A part of her did feel good being Pone’s protector.
“Pony … “
Pone held up his hand. He walked over to the desk grabbing his bowler.
“We’ll meet on Sundays only still at Nadine. The meeting will be during the day and no
more at night.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Not yet, but I’m working on it. “He headed for the door. “The important thing is staying alive
to finish the job.”
Red grabbed her Kindle swinging her gams atop her desk.
“What are you reading?”
“A paranormal thriller.”
“What’s it about?
“A serial killer and a werewolf terrorize a city.”
“Sounds like a page turner.”
“You read, Pony?”
“Let me know how it turns out.”
