Read Killing The Rat (An Organized Crime Thriller) for Free Online Page B

less than two years, she would be Vawter’s boss.
    Second, Vawter was a fool. She looked at him. Short and wide with a bad crewcut, and a deeply creased face. The man had never heard of anything remotely resembling fashion. His hair was gray, his skin dry and old-looking. His clothes were Sears specials, at least ten years old. To be receiving a promotion from this man wasn’t worth the effort it took to stand next to the flimsy podium and endure the smell of his drug store cologne.
    Amanda thought about what a contrast they presented.  She imagined how her tall, slender physique combined with her pale skin and fiery red hair would look in the paper. Next to a guy who looked like he had just finished slopping the pigs. Definitely new guard versus old.
    Vawter stepped up next to her and together, they posed for the photographer from the Free Press. Amanda watched the guy. He had two cameras, thick glasses and a pony tail. What’s with the pony tail, Rierdon thought? Is it a prerequisite to be a photographer? Don’t they know the creepy stereotype? This one looked like he’d have no problem telling young girls he was a talent scout for Hollywood. And why did the Free Press send a guy who was obviously the third or fourth string? Didn’t she rate a better photographer? She made a note to look into the editor’s record. You never knew when payback could come in handy.
    She flashed her smile, one of her best features. She had spent considerable time perfecting it, correctly assessing that it was more than just an expression. It was a tool. She had gotten to the point where her smile could make confident men feel naked, hardened criminals confess, and send tremors of fear down other women’s spines.
    The photographer snapped his pictures, then a reporter, a frumpy-looking woman with a bad skirt and a visible moustache asked a question. The sight of the reporter pissed off Amanda as well. Where was the A-team of reporters? These two looked like they should be covering the bake sale at one of the elementary schools.
    “Agent Rierdon, what are your priorities going to be as SAC?” The woman’s voice was nasally with little inflection. She had read the question from a notepad, most likely supplied by her supervisor.
    Amanda stepped up to the microphone and spoke clearly. Despite her boredom with the event, she could always feel herself warm to the spotlight. “FOC Vawter has charged me with many responsibilities,” she said. “For now, I’ll be wrapping up some work I’ve done with the organized crime unit before moving to my new post.”
    Amanda went on to say a few more things about the state of organized crime in Detroit and then there were a few more background questions before the reporter and photographer were all set. As they packed up, Rierdon and Vawter answered several questions from the Bureau’s internal P.R. department. The interview would appear in an inter-office newsletter which no one would read. When they were done, they rode the elevator back up to their offices on the fifth floor of the Federal Building.
    When the elevator doors closed, Vawter turned to her.
    “Glad that’s over with,” he said.
    Rierdon kept her face impassive.
    “Thank God they haven’t heard about Tommy Abrocci,” Vawter said. His face was like a slab of granite. Hard and unyielding. “More importantly,” he said. “Have you heard anything?”
    Rierdon heard the joyful sarcasm in his voice and wanted to claw him, just rake her nails right down his cheeks, give him lines to match the ones across his forehead.
    “No, sir,” she said. Her voice smooth and controlled. “But I expect to have something by the end of the day.”
    They walked to the end of the hallway. Vawter’s office was to the right, Amanda’s to the left. “You’d better find him before he does something you regret,” Vawter said. “It would look especially bad now after your promotion.”
    “Yes, sir,” she answered.
    “I don’t want to have to