Brooklyn's Song by Sydney Arrison Page A

tugged on the scarf. “Be careful; I’ll take it back. See you later,” she said, rushing out the door.
    “Bye Lonette,” Brooklyn said, in a mocking tone.

Chapter 34
    Song and Mattice were at a construction site awaiting the arrival of real estate mogul George Sokołowski. At the morning briefing they learned the investigation into the shooting was going in different directions. The FBI agent in charge, Mike Waters, a lanky man in his late 40’s, was as vague as possible when relaying information and answering questions.
    “Agent Waters, has the NCIC found any matches with the hair that was found inside the cap?” Song asked.
    Agent Waters shook his head no. “As of now we haven’t found any matches.”
    “Agent Waters, is it possible that the assailant worked for the hotel, which would explain why it was so easy for him to get in?” Another detective asked.
    Agent Waters let out an audible sigh. “Look, we are pursuing all leads and we aren’t leaving one stone left unturned. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
    “Dude acts like he’s doing us a favor by tossing us some bullshit breadcrumbs. Let’s roll,” Mattice whispered to Song.
    Song and Mattice left the station and headed to the Bronx. There were at least 80 people of interest who attended both Franchetti’s and the governor’s fundraisers. George Sokołowski was one of them. Mattice and Song stood on a concrete platform and watched as Sokołowski pulled up in a stretch Hummer limo.
    “A Hummer…Really? To hell with the environment, I want people to know I’ve got stacks to burn?” Mattice said.
    The Hummer came to a stop and a beefy bodyguard stepped out followed by a man dressed in white from head to toe.
    “Detectives, I’m George Sokołowski, “He said, extending his hand.
    “I‘m Detective Kia and this is Detective Blake,” Song said, reaching to shake Sokołowski’s hand.
    “Stay by the car,” Sokołowski shouted at the bodyguard.
    He waved his hand at Song and Mattice. “Walk with me.”
    Song and Mattice walked along side Sokołowski up a little hill to a fenced in area. Sokołowski pulled out a cigar, lit it, and blew a plume of smoke in the in the air. He stared through the wire fence at the city below.
    “Today we’re holding a groundbreaking ceremony for a strip mall named after my youngest daughter Ashland.” He chuckled. “To think over 70 years ago my father busted his ass working at a newsstand selling papers for a nickel, and my mother cleaned bedpans at a hospital. Now I’m about to build my 60th strip mall.” Sokołowski grinned. “You didn’t come here to hear my life story; so what’s going on?”
    “We’re here regarding the attempted assassination of Governor Peirce,” Mattice said.
    Sokołowski turned and faced them. “I hope you don’t think I had something to do with that? Sage and I have known each other for years. I contributed to his campaign and his daughters attended the same boarding school as my two girls.”
    “‘We’re just following leads,” Song said.
    “I donated to a number of candidates; I like to see them duke it out. Yes, Sage is a friend, but…” He hesitated. “To be perfectly frank, I didn’t like what going on behind the scenes with his campaign.”
    “You care to elaborate?” Mattice asked.
    Sokołowski picked at the lint on his sleeve. “I think Sage is a hardworking, honest guy. I wanted to fully support the first African American governor of the state, but when I saw some of the people he aligned himself with, I discontinued my support. There have always been whispers about Sage offering high official positions for huge campaign donations; you know, the old ‘pay to play’ game.
    “Was there anyone in particular that you were concerned about?” Song asked.
    “Detective, I’m not going to name names, I’m just telling you what I’ve heard. I don’t know if any of this is true.”
    Sokolowski’s cell phone chirped. He pulled it from his