The Jinx: Sample Page 6
Christy scowled. “People think they can walk all over me because I’m so small. I’m tough because I have to be tough. I bite and I don’t let go until I’ve got my story. That’s what rankles people.”
“Maybe a pit bull would have been a better analogy.”
“You pick the analogy. I just want the assignment.”
Thompson looked at his watch. Six-fifteen. The Assassin had requested—no, commanded—a meeting tonight, but had yet to set the time and place. The mob outside showed no signs of breaking up. He needed a drink. “You’re not going to let go of me until I give in or fire you, are you?” Thompson asked.
She grinned. “You’d never fire me. I’ve heard the stories. You were a pit bull once, too.”
Her smile was infectious. And her words rang true. They had called him a bulldog back then, but, like Christy Kirk, he had learned politics the hard way. He viewed her as his special project.
“What have you got so far?” he asked.
“I’m ready to rock ’n roll as soon as you say the word,” she said. “I’ve got contacts with most of the white and black groups. The Klan, the Skinheads, the Dark Nation, the NOMAADs—”
“I haven’t heard of the NOMAADs,” he said. “And I think the politically correct term is African-Americans these days.”
“You’re hearing the NOMAADs chanting right now,” she said. “The National Organization for Mutual African-American Defense. They organized the rally outside.”
“Mmm-hmmm.” Thompson was distracted by a beep from the computer on his desk, alerting him that a new e-mail message awaited. Christy continued talking while he attended to the computer, tapping a key on the keyboard. The new message popped up on screen:
Nine o’clock. Your apartment. Alone. No tricks.
The message was signed once again with the horrifying cyber-name: “The Assassin.”