Bad Business Read Online Free PDF Page A

definitely liked her. And he hated her. Gibbons knew the feeling. Most guys end up with someone like that at one time or another in their lives.
    â€œHey, Gib, did you see who’s here?” Tozzi was looking toward the prosecution table. “Isn’t that your old buddy, Jimmy McCleery?”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œJimmy McCleery.”
    Gibbons followed Tozzi’s gaze to the prosecution table. He squinted to make out the face of the guy in the brown tweed sport jacket. It was him all right. Jimmy fucking McCleery, the shamrock Victor Mature. He was standing there with his arms crossed, serving up a crock of his bullshit to one of the bright-eyed young prosecutors. It was amazing that the kid was standing up straight listening to him. Usually McCleery had whiskey breath strong enough to knock a horse over. But some people thought his blarney was charming. The son of a bitch.
    â€œI hear McCleery quit the Bureau. He’s working for the U.S. Attorney’s office now, as a special investigator.”
    â€œMcCleery’s not fit to sweep the streets. How the hell that guy ever got to be an FBI agent is beyond me. Thank God he’s not one anymore.”
    Tozzi was shaking his head. “I could never figure out why you had it in for him.”
    â€œHe’s a worthless piece of shit. His mere existence offends me.”
    â€œI remember that time they put you two together while I was on vacation. When I got back, he was telling people that partnering with you was like spending two weeks in hell. You never did tell me what happened.”
    Gibbons ignored him, staring hard at McCleery.
    â€œHey, Gib, you still there? Talk to me.”
    Gibbons glanced at his watch. “What the hell’s holding things up? Trial should’ve started ten minutes ago.”
    â€œYou’re changing the subject, Gib.”
    Gibbons glared at him. “You’re right. I am.”
    â€œGentlemen?” The chief prosecutor in this case, Tom Augustine, was standing at the wooden railing, facing the kennel. “Gentlemen, can I have your attention?” The master’s shiny auburn-coated setter was addressing the mongrels.
    â€œGentlemen, we’re going to be delayed for a while. I don’t know how long. Now, I know you have other things to do,but please stick around until we know how long this is going to be. Thank you.” Augustine walked back to the prosecution table.
    The mongrels groaned and scratched.
    â€œShit,” Tozzi muttered. “Fucking lawyers.”
    â€œHey, c’mon, Toz. Augustine’s not a bad guy. He’s easier to work with than most of the other assholes in his office.”
    â€œA lawyer is a lawyer, and they’re all good for nothing. Augustine’s no exception. I mean, look at him. Mr. Ivy League with the square jaw, the perpetually ruddy cheeks, that floppy dirty-blond hair, a real all-American type. That was the type of guy Lesley Halloran always went after.”
    Gibbons smirked. “So it’s nothing personal how you feel about Augustine.”
    Tozzi threw him a dirty look.
    Gibbons had to laugh. Like a book, this guy.
    â€œAll rise , ” the bailiff suddenly shouted over the hubbub. “Court is in session. The Honorable Irwin E. Morgenroth presiding.”
    Judge Morgenroth whisked out of his chambers, the black robe swishing behind him. He hopped up the steps leading to the bench, pounced on his big leather chair, and glared out at his court. The judge was small and completely bald, with thick glasses and a slightly jaundiced pallor. He was the chihuahua here. And like many small dogs, he had a grating bark and a quick bite.
    The judge scanned the defense table, his head bobbing as he counted heads. “We have some absentees,” he snapped. “Where are Mr. Giordano and his counsel, Mr. Bloom?”
    â€œYour Honor?”
    Heads turned to the rear to see who had just burst into the courtroom.
    â€œYour Honor,