Chapter 18I watched Rocco sitting by himself at a window table as I strolled across the street of The Watering Hole on Mott Street. It served as a hangout for old geezers at the paper mill who spent their Friday afternoon paychecks on booze and liquor and baskets of fish and chips.
Idling at the corner under a stark streetlight, adjacent to a set of railroad tracks and an auto body mechanic shop, my heart pounding hard, I watched Rocco through the dirt-smeared plate glass window as he sipped a soda and stared down at his iPhone.
My back pocket vibrated. I reached behind me for my cell, and stared at the incoming text from Rocco. Where are you? You coming?
I smiled as I typed a quick response, my fingers flying across the keypad. Be right there. I hit Send and glanced up at him for a rea
