Bobby felt his jaw tighten, but he said nothing. What was the point? Beverly was there to meet him. She was accompanied by two burly security men, and even though she’d warned him that he was all over the newspapers, he was not prepared for the onslaught of press waiting to pounce when they stepped outside. They came at him like vultures claiming their last meal. Keeping a firm grip on his arm, Beverly instructed him not to say a word as they pushed and shoved their way to the car. He didn’t. He stared straight ahead, not even blinking as a flurry of flashbulbs blinded him while several snarky TV reporters shoved mics in his face. Jibes about his family were thrown at him. “Read that your gangster granddaddy just got his head blown off. Care to comment?” “How’s your mama doin’? Wasn’t Lucky accused of killing someone way back?” “Wassit like to be connected?” “You kill that girl, Bobby?” “Think you’re gonna walk on this one?” Beverly and security hustled him into the back of an SUV with blacked-out windows.
