WHITE TOOK SOME PERSONAL belongings from his desk. He cleared out before anyone could say anything to him. He wasn’t in the mood for banter or questions.
He was hungry, angry, and bewildered and he needed to be alone to think.
He could fix the first two easily. He drove to a suburban restaurant that served Italian cuisine; he could use a lot of pasta.
The owner had known him when he was a wee boy. This was his old stomping ground. One that was far removed from where he was now. He grew up in council houses. If it were not for the military, he could have ended up in a cemetery or in jail with his gangmates. That was a cliché. Among his peers, there were many who shared the same story. Just change the names and places, and most everything would seem the same.
The restaurant hadn’t chang
