Chapter Thirteen
Frank: 1988
“No way in hell that this is done.” Three months they’d been sleeping together on the sly. Three months and the heat, smell, taste of Beatrice Ann Belfour was burned right into Frank’s nerve endings.
They sat on the bench where they’d perched a lifetime and six months ago. This time it was late morning rather than two a.m. And it was frickin’ January-butt-clench cold. But everything else was much the same.
The Brooklyn Bridge soared above them, the restaurant and its lousy fake security cameras was doing a lively business despite the frigid winter morning. The East River Ferry slid into DUMBO dock. He kept meaning to look up why they called it that, but never had. A glance over his shoulder and he could see by the giant clock atop the Watchtower building th
