He nodded. “License and ring and the whole works. Last night at the Greek’s.”
Frank lowered his legs off the side of the bed. He leaned forward stiffly, his skinny torso slanted like something activated by a lever. His voice was dull and metallic as he said, “Who is she?”
“You don’t know her.”
“Maybe I do,” Frank said. “What’s her name?”
“Loretta.”
“The blonde?”
Kerrigan flinched. He had an odd feeling, as though he were bolted to the chair.
“The blonde with green eyes?” Frank asked. “The tasty dish from uptown?”
He sat there and stared at Frank.
“Sure,” Frank said. “I know her.”