CHAPTER ELEVEN
He’d been watching the video tapes. The ones with Frankie Alito and the handful that Hector recorded of her and handed to him before he left that morning. His mind was quick enough to have them memorized, not the dialogue, not even the action, but the look in Randi’s eyes and the inflections in her voice, the quivering, trembling nuances that spoke so forcefully.
His hand had been in his pants half the time and he’d smoked nearly a pack of cigarettes while he moved from scene to scene. He did that watching porn, jacked off and smoked. The two addictions seemed to go together, if you could call them addictions. He only fell into that muddled hole of perversion about once a year now, if that. Now the harsh feel of the smoke in his throat, and the stroke of his hand against
