Chapter 6Jimmy wished he could avoid moments like this. Phone calls were good, emails were better. Just press send, let cyberspace do it’s thing, voilà, the case was over. Wait for the check to arrive, deposit it, move on. But one client just wouldn’t let it go, and so that’s how he found himself face-to-face with her, sitting at the Moonstruck diner at 9th Avenue and 23rd Street at two in the afternoon on Thursday and witnessing the pain on her face, the devastation in her heart. Half-eaten burgers remained sat between them, as did a plate of fries that so far had only been picked at. Ketchup served as a bloody reminder of destruction.
“Mrs. Hickney….”
“Please, call me Sissy.”
He had a hard time with that one, considering he’d outed her husband.
“Fine, Sissy. So, how’s your week gone?
