Read Hopper House (The Jenkins Cycle Book 3) for Free Online

towels every day.”
    Alex handed back the ID and said, “Very sorry for the trouble, sir. Please feel free to stay as long as you like.”
    He turned stiffly away as if offended. Briefly, he paused to look at Spongebob bouncing around on the television. Then he left.
    Definitely a Squidward fan.
    After my showdown with the hotel muscle, there wasn’t any more trouble. At 7:25, when the elevator lobby was packed with conference attendees, I threw away my trash and stood outside the room where Rachael was speaking. Each attendee wore a little plastic name tag. I didn’t have a plastic name tag, but nobody seemed to notice or care when I shoved in with a crowd of chattering people.
    There were more than a hundred chairs lined up in rows, all facing a long table with a number of people around it talking together or reading through papers. Rachael was one of the talkers. She had on a different dress now—blue with black trim. Her face was animated when she talked, and she nodded a lot when listening.
    “Excuse me, sir,” a lady said from behind me.
    I thought I’d been discovered, but she just wanted to get past. Moving left, I found a seat in the back row and sat with my arms folded so no one could see I didn’t have a name tag.
    After everyone had taken their seats, a distinguished man with graying hair and a black beard approached a microphone.
    “Hello, everybody,” he said in an enthusiastic tone. “Thank you for joining us for tonight’s very special breakout session. Way more fun than going out on the town, I promise.”
    A wave of laughter carried around the room.
    “For those of you who don’t know me,” he said, shaking his head as if he couldn’t envision such an unlikely scenario, “I’m Sam Richardson, executive director of the American Bar Association. On behalf of the ABA Leadership Committee, I’d like to welcome each of you to the city of Savannah—but I’m rather busy right now, so…”
    He pantomimed walking away, bringing more laughter. The guy was some kind of comedian.
    “I hope you all got your packets of things to do while you’re here?”
    The crowd murmured, almost as one, that yes they’d gotten their packets of things to do. They seemed pretty happy about it. Now I wanted a packet.
    “Wonderful,” he said. “Now, without further ado, please let me introduce Rachael Anderson, Queens District Attorney, and thorn in the side of the Carpino Crime Syndicate.”
    Excited chatter bubbled up from the crowd.
    “ Alleged crime syndicate,” the comedian added.
    They laughed again—now clapping as he handed the microphone to Rachael, who stood smiling and beaming around the room.
    “Thank you, Sam,” Rachael said with practiced ease. She seemed confident in front of so many people, whereas I would have fallen to pieces right there from stage fright. “When Sam first asked me to come here and speak, I had to decline. My struggle against the alleged crime syndicates operating in my city—not just the Carpinos—along with all the other hassles you’d expect in a city of over eight million people, well … as I said, I had to decline. But when I heard about these spectacular ABA coffee mugs”—she reached behind her and held up a mug with gold writing on it, garnering another laugh—“the decision was all but made for me. I’m so happy to be here. Such an honor. Thank you so much.”
    What followed was one of the sexiest descriptions of organized crime law I’d ever seen. Because of RICO—the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act—law enforcement had made an enormous number of arrests in the last ten years, decimating the old world Mafia. Despite that, prostitution, gambling, and drugs were as prevalent as ever, and the problem had gotten worse: criminals were now harder to detect.
    “Today’s Mafia is structured much like a terrorist organization,” she said. “Need-to-know chains of command insulate the higher-ups. Some of the most active members may not