She was laying there staring at the ceiling when the knocking on the door started. Before she could get up to respond, Diarmid was yanking the door open demanding to know what the visitor wanted. He was angry. She was angrier.
“Where’s Lita?” Ben’s brusque tone cut in.
“In here, Ben,” she called out.
He must have pushed past Diarmid because Diarmid gave a grunt and then a shout as a handful of men entered the house before he could stop them.
Ben stood staring at her smirking in the doorway, “nice job on the tire, Lolita. He was jacking his car to change it and it kept him busy.”
“I wondered why he didn’t come for his file.”
“Where’s the file?”
“In my hand,” one of Ben’s men answered his question over Diarmid’s protests to get away from his work.
“Sweep the house,” Ben waved at the
