Killing The Rat (An Organized Crime Thriller) by Dani Amore Read Free Book Online Page A

where no one is taller than 5’ 5”. Looking at your team of this caliber makes you want to bench them all and just play the game yourself.
    But she was part of administration now. She would be partially judged on how well she did as a “team.”
    It was a new concept for Amanda.
    She was used to doing it all by herself.
    It was a strategy that had served her well.
    Amanda knew how she appeared to the team before her. She’d overheard some of them talking once, comparing her to Brigitte Nielsen in Red Sonja. That was fine with her. A big warrior woman with whom it was not a good idea to trifle. A spear and a good reason was all she needed to julienne an organ or two.
    “I’m trying very hard to control my temper,” she said.
    She turned to Arnold Macaleer, a chubby young man of twenty-nine years. He had a librarian’s body with a head of thick, black curly hair. His clear blue eyes looked out at her from beneath thick glasses. He had an almost patrician face with fine features. Rierdon didn’t think he had much of a future as a field agent. He would do better in the reference center organizing the Bureau’s periodicals.
    “Well?”
    Rierdon thought the look on his face was pathetic. If his face got any hotter it would be classified as Sizzlean. She noted that he kept his eyes on the point of her chin, too chickenshit to make eye contact.
    “Uh...” he said “No word as of yet.”
    Amanda watched as Macaleer snapped his jaws shut and tried to recover, like a hiker who’d been attacked by a grizzly and was now curled up in a fetal position, waiting for the big bear to get tired of batting him around.
    Amanda looked around the room at the other agents. Daniels, with his linebacker body and crewcut, carefully studying the tops of his shoes. Rupert, a slim man with a bald head looked out the window. Rupert liked the idea of being an FBI agent, but didn’t like the work. In fact, Amanda thought he didn’t like work at all. The only part he enjoyed was telling people he was an FBI agent.
    The room fell back into an uneasy silence.
    “We’ve got flags on his credit cards, the cars, his cell phone, everything,” Daniels said. He was dumb, but the most ambitious of the three. He would probably go the farthest.
    “I have one request that I’m sure the three of you are going to accomplish with some breathtakingly original answers that are based on sound logic and textbook police work.”
    She folded her arms across her chest, pictured Vawter smirking at her. Stripping her of her promotion. Demoting her and sending her to some godforsaken place like North Dakota.
    She tried to think of what her anger management course had taught her. But her anger was too great, her mind locked up in a blistering wave of murderous fury.
    Amanda took a deep breath.
    And then the words flew from her mouth in a torrential roar.
    “Find that fat-assed dogshit-eating whore-bastard Tommy Abrocci!”

12.
     
    On the 52” high-definition television in his soundproofed media room, Vincenzo watched the poorly produced, poorly conceived and barely watched local news program, “Your Detroit.” Today’s program featured approximately four human interest stories including a woman whose garden vegetables were a booming mail order business, a man who trained his dog to mow the lawn, and a daring exposé on unsanitary habits in the Kroger meat department.
    The final story, however, was the one Romano was waiting for. He’d been phoned by several associates regarding the final piece and now watched with amused tolerance as Amanda Rierdon beamed with pride as her supervisor announced the added responsibilities being given to this doyenne of Detroit’s organized crime.
    “Organized crime in Detroit is a big problem,” she said to the camera. Romano watched, partly fascinated, partly disgusted, as this green-eyed red-haired giant sequoia of a woman slandered what he did for a living.
    “Too many people believe the image of the Mafia that