CHAPTER 48
RUNNING SCAREDTip hung up from Gino and hurried out the door, forsaking coffee. He’d been thinking of calling old George, a retired cop who knew everything that went on in the old days. When George was young he might have been in on most of it, but as he neared retirement he cleaned up and played it straight.
A quick phone call would tell Tip if it was worth the effort to go see him. He looked up George’s number and dialed, letting it ring seven or eight times before someone answered.
“What the hell does somebody want?”
Recognition came instantly even after all these years. “George, is that you, you mean crotchety old bastard?”
“Who’s this?”
“Tip Denton. Remember, I—”
“I remember you. The last time I saw you, you were nothing but a little fuckhead trying to push your way
