Chapter 155

INT. - McGINTY'S PINT - AFTERNOON

Their next destination took them only a few blocks from Freddy's, though McGinty's Pint wasn't much more to look at. Gerri again let Foster lead, but when he didn't wait for her this time, she hurried to catch up, stopping at the bar while the big FBI agent leaned over a stool and rested his elbows on the wood, grinning at the young man nursing a half-empty beer.

"Hello, Connell," Foster said. "What brings you to the West coast?"

The glass hesitated partway to the man's lips, before rising. He took a long drink as the denizens of the bar rustled and adjusted their positioning, a few rising from their seats to come closer. Good, honest, hardworking Irish mafia boys, the lot of them, glowering with their guns hidden inside their jackets and their attitudes on their ugly faces.

Why did she feel more threatened by them than a hard-core biker gang?