Page 76 of Sticky Fingers
“Do you expect me to believe that the most notorious criminal mastermind in New York City has a close-knit relationship with one of the most incorruptible detectives in the city? I didn’t know you took me for such a fool.”
Christ, what else am I supposed to say?
I could tell her all about the strain in my relationship with Strong, how he’s always been on my case from the very start, and how he always did his best to make sure I didn’t make poor choices in life.
But would she even believe me? Would she believe me that, after every fucked-up choice I ever made in my life, Strong always promised to help me find a way out?
Or that Strong was such an incorruptible cop that, despite the way he’s almost raised me, he’s threatened to put me away in jail if he ever catches me doing anything wrong?
That he’s always honed in on me? When others would have given up on a crime, he’s always gone the extra mile to see if it was me?
“You’re going all legitimate, huh? So why do I have the feeling that your biggest money-making machine, the strip clubs, are off-limits?” she continues, her tone now angry instead of sad.
I say nothing. This time, she’s right. Even though I was more than willing to let go of most of my operations, I never considered the fucking strip clubs.
“What this seems to me, Malcolm, is that Strong is your way out of this whole situation. He’s strong-arming you into screwing me over, and you’re happy to dance to his little tune. You find the painting, sell me out, and you’re off the hook.”
Fuck.
“Sonia…” I try, once more reaching for her hands.
She doesn’t allow me to. Instead, she pushes her chair back and jumps to her feet.
“If your plan was to make me fall in love with you,” she whispers, the hint of a tear dancing on her bright eyes, “then you should be a very happy man right now, Malcolm Push.” She pauses for a moment, just to look into my eyes, then bites the corner of her lips to stop herself from bursting into tears. “Because it worked.”
Without giving me the chance to stop her, she turns on her heels and bolts out of the restaurant, the sound of her heels clicking across the polished floor like a fucking funeral song.
How the fuck did things turn out like this?
