When bullets got thrown around. People got shot. People died. And for what? One sorry-ass FBI agent who’d led me on with four years’ worth of lies. Lies that I was stupid enough to swallow hook, line, and sinker. I won’t lie. It wasn’t the first time I killed a man, but it was the first time I’d killed a man not pointing the gun at me. It was a step down the road of violence where businessmen held grudges and got even by taking out the people you cared about. The only reason I didn’t wind up with cinder blocks around my ankles was because Jeff Meyers took the blame for that killing shot. Otherwise Caruso wouldn’t have been so understanding and instead of a get-well card at my hospital bed, he would have set me up with a car bomb or something equally glorious. Don’t think for a minute Jeff covered because he was trying to protect me, he had to bury his identity. See, after Jeff Meyers fucked with my reputation, I let him disappear and made no attempt to stop the rumors of his demise.
