FUGITIVE SQUAD ROOM, FBI HEADQUARTERS, PHILADELPHIA

The phone on Murray’s desk rings loudly. Jarred, Murray picks up the receiver,

“Fugitives, Murray.”

On the other end, Marlene inhales a cigarette and is still holding the card. “Frank, just

what the hell’s going on!”

Frank pulls the receiver from his ear, looks at the phone. “What? What do you mean

what’s going on?”

Marlene begins to pace around the kitchen to calm her nerves and continues.

“I just got a basket of flowers delivered.”

Frank wonders if Marlene has truly finally lost her mind.

“Okay…?”

“They were meant for you.”

Annoyed, Murray says, “Me! What, I don’t get it. I don’t know anyone who would

send me flowers. It’s gotta be some mistake.”

Marlene loses it. “Frank, it’s a f****** funeral arrangement!”

Murray leans back, “A funeral arrangement? What? Who died?”

Slowly, Marlene responds, “According to the card, Frank, you did.”

SUPERVISOR’S OFFICE, FBI HEADQUARTERS, PHILADELPHIA

In a glass-paneled office with large file cabinets, a gruff supervisor, European-looking Hans Bauer, 55, thinning blond hair and suspenders, sits across from Murray.

“Delivery trail was cold,” Bauer reports. “They must have paid in cash. Is there anyone

you can think of who’d send you something like this? Frank innocently shrugs and Bauer

rephrases. “Scratch that, is there anyone you know who wouldn’t send you something like

this?”

Murray’s got a gut feeling.

“Gotta be Scarponi. I can just feel it. That ass**** should still be in jail.”

Bauer nods, does his best to follow procedure. “I’ll send some guys downtown with

PHPD – bust some balls – get some answers.”

Murray eager, “Well, I know one of their clubhouses is on Seventh Street.”

Bauer picks up a pen and waits for details. There’s an awkward moment, then Bauer

realizes what Frank really wants. “Oh no. Not a chance, Frank. I don’t want you personally

involved. And besides you’re not on organized crime anymore, remember.”

Frank takes the opportunity to reopen the discussion, “Actually, I kinda wanted to talk

to you about that.”

Bauer, anger rising, says, “Oh you did, did you. Okay, where do you want to start?”

Murray rolls his eyes as Bauer goes on a tear. Bauer launches in. “Oh, I know, why

don’t we talk about how the U.S. Attorney’s Office jumped on my ass every time you went

over to ‘talk some sense into them,’ as you would call it. Or maybe we could discuss the

endless parade of defense attorneys traipsing through my office screaming about excessive

use of force, huh? Is that what you wanted to talk about, Frank?”

Murray sighs, gets up and begins to leave. Bauer calls after him.

“Nice chatting with you, Frank.”

Read Excerpt #3

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