The Girl in White Pajamas Read Online Free PDF Page A

didn’t hire family members we wouldn’t have that problem, would we?” Bogie asked.
    “Are you two going to start arguing again?” Amanda asked.
    The women strolled to the curb with their arms interlocked, Bogie walked behind them carrying two suitcases. “What the hell do you have in here, rocks?”
    “My books and stuff.”
    Bogie wondered why a girl who aspired to maintain academic mediocrity throughout each school year decided to study when they came to Boston for a funeral.
    While Bogie and Amanda, wearing shorts, tee shirts and sneakers shivered in the cold, a black Escalade pulled up to the curb. The driver jumped out and helped Bogie toss the bags in while the women went into the SUV. “I’m Angel, I’m the FNG! You know, the Fuck’n New Guy!”
    Bogie nodded at the dark haired man as Angel stretched out his hand and grinned, showing off his perfect, white teeth. He had the same olive skin as Rose and, like her, was dressed in black with black army boots which still left him a head shorter than Bogie. The butt of a gun showed from the black shoulder holster under his opened black jacket. “Dude! Where’s your coat?”
    As Bogie took his seat riding shotgun, he nodded toward the back where Amanda and Rose were huddled together chattering. “We forgot the garment bag. They were in it.”
    “You could have remembered! I’m emotionally fragile right now!” Amanda chimed in defensively.
    Rose tapped Angel’s shoulder. “Swing by the shop, and we’ll grab a couple of jackets for them.”
    “I’m not wearing one of those!” Amanda complained pointing to Angel’s black nylon jacket with “R&B Investigations” emblazoned on the front in gold.
    “I’d give you one of my jackets; but, Sweet Pea, mine are tailored for me, and you’re bigger than I am. Our baby’s all grown up! You don’t want to freeze or catch a cold, do you?” Rose asked softly.
    Amanda shook her head then looked down as a tear spilled down her face. Rose held Amanada’s hand and let her cry softly.
    Bogie studied Angel then asked, “You sure you and Jesus are cousins? You could pass for brothers, even twins.”
    Angel pointed to his check. “That’s the only way some people can tell us apart. The bullet hole.”
    Hearing Angel’s Boston accent where R’s were dropped then reinserted in strange places, Bogie had to readjust his listening. Angel also had the Dorchester overlay where folks from that part of the city corrupted the language even further. The side of Bogie’s mouth half flickered in his version of a smile. “And he still has all his teeth?” he asked.
    Angel grinned. “Let me ax you someth’n. What do you think it is?”
    “Either a birthmark or something that got badly infected and left a scar.”
    “See, Rose said you were wicked smart! Actually, it was a cockroach bite that got infected.”
    Piercing a wall of gray drizzle, the Escalade inched its way through heavy traffic as eight lanes squeezed down to two in a haphazard game of chicken with the survivors entering the Callahan Tunnel. Driving past the North End filled with Italian eateries and open produce markets, they headed south, slowly moving through bumper to bumper traffic on the interwoven thread of roads and bridges known as the Surface Artery. As they approached Lincoln Street, Bogie looked around at the old buildings and empty storefronts on this cold, gray April day wondering why he felt it necessary to fly to Boston to eulogize a brother he couldn’t stand and listen to a half-crazy old lady. But the answer was always the same–Annie. His little sister was always there for him and was the only true McGruder who ever cared about him.
    Lincoln Street had not improved in four years. The small three, four and five story buildings were old and many had chain-link gates across the front indicating they were closed. Even the dilapidated parking garage down the street looked seedier than it had before. The Escalade pulled up in front of a