“Thanks,” he said. He wouldn't open it for a while. He'd deal with it later. He didn't want to think about it right now. He took the package back to the bedroom and tossed it into the back of a closet shelf to gather dust along with the crazy, homemade shotgun and a cowboy hat he had paid too much for and never wore.
Much later Jimmie Lee's last note would be found, in with the stolen money. For now that was temporarily forgotten. Eichord's big concern at the moment was the baby boy. He'd been jacked around half the day by the bureaucratic jumble of the adoption process. He told Donna about it over dinner promising her, “I'm gonna hang in there. I'll find out tomorrow if the Major Crimes Task Force has any serious clout with the Department of Family Services.” He laughed with her about fat Dana, who had said to him with his usual tact and diplomacy, “What makes you think they'd let YOU adopt a kid?” And he had to smile every time he contemplated the idea that he might find himself becoming the father of a baby son.
Later that night. Donna did the dishes and Jack went outside for some fresh air. He stood looking up at the dark sky, and he said to himself silently, “What the fuck am I going to do with a baby?'
