Boots Littlewood standing in the doorway, a garment bag draped across his shoulder, a suitcase hanging from his left hand. Saying, ‘Frankie, I need a place to hang out.’ ‘Sure, Boots. Abso-fuckin’-lutely. Come right in.’ Frankie stepped back to let Boots pass. ‘But one thing you might wanna think about. If you have to ask how much it costs, you can’t afford it.’ Boots dropped his bag on the living-room floor. ‘You hear about what happened?’ ‘Yeah, Jenicka phoned my mom a couple of hours ago. I heard your partner saved your life.’ ‘Don’t go there, Frankie.’ Drago grinned as he retrieved Boots’s luggage and led him down the hall to a bedroom at the back of the house. He gave Boots a chance to settle down, then said, ‘My lawyer got the autopsy report on Angie. Just like you said, she died instantly. Now I’m thinkin’ I could beat the charge altogether.’ ‘Only if you have the balls to take it to trial.’ Boots sat on the edge of the bed. It was too soft.
