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An Old Enemy

Killian

“What the fuck can we do about this?” I spat, my car’s Bluetooth speaker filled with the shifting and murmuring of the two men now stuck on a call with me, and I was seething.

Archie Welshman, who used to be my lawyer before he became the district judge, spoke first. His voice filled the car as I sped toward the police station. “PPD has nothing on Tommaso Conti. This arrest was wholly unjustified.”

“These are your guys, Roger.” I growled Roger Edward’s name, the Chief of Police himself. “What the hell is going on?”

I paid both men well to look the other way, especially Roger. I should’ve reminded him that his daughter’s tuition to Yale and the new pool house he built this summer wouldn’t have happened if not for my generous contributions to his pocketbook. I hadn’t been able to get in touch with my current lawyer yet, so these two would have to do.

Roger cleared his throat, obviously on edge. “Whatever happened wasn’t run by me first, Ricci. I don’t know who ordered his releas
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