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THE COLDEST MILE
10/17/08
1:15 PM
Page 37
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So their well-being was now his responsibility. He wondered how much of all that internal-war shit was true, and if it was, how long it would take for someone to make a real move. Jackie bulldozing his sister, or she popping him? Or Moe Irvine taking out both of them, then going upstairs to whisper in Lenny Langan’s ear, “You treated me like shit for thirty years, you prick, now I’m in charge.” Then pulling the dying guy’s plug. Jackie eyed him up and down, noticed right off that Chase didn’t have the hat and gloves on. He said, “Hey, one second here . . .” Chase ignored him and opened the back door of the limo for Sherry Langan. It was a cloudy day but she wore big dark sunglasses. He offered his hand but she didn’t take it, climbing in on her own and swinging her legs clear of the door. She stretched them out, her toes pointed, muscles perfectly defined, the skin pale but exquisite. She wasn’t showing off for him. She hadn’t even looked at him and probably thought he was the dead chauffeur. It annoyed him and he didn’t know why. He continued holding the door open, his shadow thrown across her knees, until she slowly turned her chin and shifted in her seat, those shades finally focused on him. He could feel her innate strength and knew right then that the Deuce was right, she was sharp and primed to take over. He pretended to tip the hat that wasn’t there and said, “Hello, Miss Langan.” Then closed her in. Moe walked out of the house and started giving