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operations.
    “I’m
busy
.” Groaning, and trying not to lose focus at this crucial moment, Kareem licked a nipple as it bounced past his mouth.
    “You’ll want to see this.”
    His vision growing dim with pleasure, his eyes half closed, Kareem couldn’t see much of anything at the moment. “This better be good.”
    Grabbing the remote, he punched a couple of buttons and waited while the wall-mounted TV switched over from
Scarface
—Al Pacino was a genius—and then …
    The anchors yakking while in the window they showed one of those grainy security tapes, which was an overhead shot of a woman clocking a man with a briefcase and being attacked and choked.
    The crawl said BRIEFCASE BRAWL: PROMINENT WASHINGTON DEFENSE ATTORNEY GETS SENATOR KINNEY’S SON OFF ON DRUG CHARGES, FIGHTS CRIME IN SPARE TIME.
    Big deal.
    “Why am I watching this?” he said into the phone.
    “See anyone you know?”
    Kareem kept watching, and that was when God smiled on him again. Because there, with long, curly hair and the beginnings of a beard that, all in all, made a lame-ass disguise, was none other than Special Agent Jackson Parker.
    No. No fucking way. He couldn’t get this lucky.
    But it was and he could. Same build. Same eyes. There he was, talking to the briefcase woman, copping a feel, his face as familiar as Marcella’s tits.
    All business now, Kareem pushed her off him. “Where is this?
Where?”
    “Washington State,” said Yogi.
    Kareem did a few quick mental calculations, afraid to get too worked up. “Our friend is still on the coast, right?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Good. I want this taken care of. Tonight.”
    “Tonight? But—”
    “Tonight,”
Kareem said. “Get it done. You got me? Offer a bonus or some shit.”
    “Yeah, but I don’t know exactly where—”
    “Isn’t that an apron dude’s wearing? Motherfucker’s working as a busboy or something. Find the restaurant. And if that doesn’t work, find the woman. Follow the tail trail and he’ll be sniffing on down it. You feel me?”
    “Yeah.”
    Clicking the phone off, Kareem stared up at the TV and watched as they showed the security video twomore times, and then finished the segment and went to commercial. When Jackson Parker’s face disappeared for the last time, he stood there for a moment, stunned, and then laughed and sank back onto the sofa.
    Marcella climbed back onto him, picking up where they’d left off.
    Frenzied with triumph now, not bothering to be gentle, he flipped her onto her back so he could fuck her good. She got louder and louder as she moved against him, and he couldn’t tell whether she was crying with pain or pleasure, not that it mattered to him either way. All that mattered was that he was the man and each sharp thrust of his hips felt like another nail in Jackson Parker’s coffin.
    J-Mart wiped down the last strip of counter and watched the stragglers file out the door and disappear into the darkness. There’d been several new customers here tonight, mostly young, female and hot—not counting a couple of obvious fruity-toots.
    He’d seen two redheads, a blonde, a pretty young thing with the brightest baby blues he’d ever seen and an ugly gray GIVE PEACE A CHANCE sweatshirt that couldn’t hide a pair of world-class tits, and two fine black women he wouldn’t have minded being sandwiched between.
    None of the beauties—male or female—had come for the food.
    They’d all come to see Jack, the local hero who’d been plastered all over the news today, and pretty face after pretty face fell with disappointment when he told them Jack was off tonight.
    The press had been here earlier, too, but, knowinghow Jack liked his privacy, J-Mart had shooed them out and refused to give either Jack’s last name or his address, both of which were none of their business.
    They’d be back tomorrow, though, and so would Jack. Maybe he should call the kid tonight and warn him about his new fans. Give him a heads-up so he’d know what was