A Night at the Met
Frankie came out of the shower to a ringing phone. Instinctively, he picked it up, but glanced at the caller ID when he did. It was Lou.
“Donovan.”
“When the hell are you comin’ back to work? Ain’t you been milkin’ this long enough?”
“I’ll be back when you finish grammar school. And from the sound of it, you’ve got a long way to go.”
“Screw you, you potato-picking prick.”
Frankie laughed. “Mazzetti, I thought you’d be retired by now. Or dead. What’s up?”
“They won’t let me retire, so I’m workin’ on the dead part. Climbed four flights of stairs yesterday and started gettin’ pains in my chest. If I didn’t have Miller’s ass to stare at, I would have died.” Lou paused. “Come to think of it, staring at her ass might have been what caused the pains in the chest. Got too
