Dead Drop by Jack Patterson (reading cloud ebooks txt) 📕

“I suppose you have a watch to sell me as well,” Cal shot back as he gathered his papers and prepared to head toward Buckman’s office.

“The watch is the cloaking device,” Moore deadpanned. “Once you put it on your wrist, Buckman will never be able to locate you again. Of course, you’ll be covering high school lacrosse games for the rest of your time here, but you won’t be noticed by Buckman.”

“There are certain assignments that just aren’t worth it, no matter what,” Cal said. “I can’t think of anything worse than lacrosse parents.”

Moore furrowed his brow. “Really? I suppose you’ve never dealt with Little League baseball parents then, have you?”

Cal shook his head. “I prefer not to ever find out firsthand, but I hear they are a vengeful bunch.”

“We had an intern here a few years ago named Sheldon who misspelled three kids’ names on one team. Buckman sent him out to cover the state tournament, and the parents from that team ate him alive. I never even saw him again. So, I’m guessing when people said he was eaten alive, they meant it in the literal sense. It’s not hard to imagine those parents gnawing on Sheldon’s carcass.”

Cal threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, enough. I get the picture.” He paused. “If I don’t come out of Buckman’s office, please come in after me.”

Moore flashed a wry grin and pointed at Cal. “You got it.”

Nodding in appreciation, Cal turned toward Buckman’s office and slowly moved toward it. He knew exactly how Buckman would attack this particular subject.

“Sit down,” Buckman barked as soon as Cal’s shadow fell across the doorway entrance. “We need to talk.”

“Sure thing,” Cal said. “What is it?”

“There are days I wonder why I ever hired you,” Buckman said.

“Perhaps it was all my writing awards?”

Buckman chuckled to himself and gazed into the distance over Cal’s shoulder. “If terms of employment here depended upon writing awards, I’d have been fired long ago. This is about something far more important.”

“And what is that?” Cal said as he leaned forward.

Buckman leaned in as well and spoke more softly. “It’s about your obsession with the Sid Westin case.”

“Obsession? Is that what you call it?” Cal asked before taking a deep breath and preparing to stand up. “Do you have any other reason for calling me in here, other than to mock me?”

“Spoken like a reporter consumed with his story.”

“I’m not consumed with anything but figuring out the truth behind what happened that day in the bank.”

“What happened is fairly simple and straight forward, which is why it’s so mind-boggling why you haven’t been writing these stories for The Times.”

“C’mon, Buckman, you know there’s more to it than what’s already out there. Just tell me with a straight face that you know it was little more than a bank robbery gone bad.”

Buckman took a deep breath and appeared to look past Cal, refusing to say a word.

“If there’s any doubt, I have to press on.”

Buckman shook his head. “If we have a chance to break that story, I know you’ll be all over it. Quite frankly, I’m not interested in transforming our sports section into a foreign tabloid. But in the meantime, I need you to write some local stories that our readers will care about.”

“I don’t know. This story requires some evidence before I write it and—”

“You don’t have the time to get it,” Buckman roared as he rose out of his seat. After he sat back down, he calmly continued, “Now, what I want you to do is to dig into this rumor that Seattle might get an NBA team again since Oklahoma City refuses to build a new arena for the Thunder.”

“So Seattle is willing to build one?”

“Anything to get our Sonics back.”

Before Cal could respond, his phone buzzed with a call. He glanced down at the caller ID and decided he couldn’t wait another moment to answer his phone. Cal held up his index finger and eyed Buckman. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to take this.”

“Stay here, and put it on speaker,” Buckman said. “I want to hear how you conduct your business.”

“So, you’re micromanaging me now?”

“Get over yourself, Cal. Put it on speaker now.”

Seething, Cal answered the the phone and pressed the speakerphone button. “This is Cal.”

“Hey, Cal. This is Jarrett Anderson.”

“Thanks for the call. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, I know. Been to Mexico lately?”

Cal forced a laugh. He’d spent plenty of time trying to forget the nightmare of working with the FBI several years ago when Seahawks quarterback Noah Larson’s son Jake was kidnapped and taken to Mexico until the ransom was paid. He only hoped Anderson’s phone call wasn’t an omen of another harrowing adventure.

“I do my best to avoid all Spanish-speaking countries these days,” Cal said. “They’re nothing but trouble.”

Anderson chuckled. “I understand. Well, anyway, I wanted to let you know about a potential story that’s brewing here.”

“And you need my help?”

A moment of silence. “Okay, guilty as charged, Cal. If we could do this without you, we would. But our chief here thought you might be able to help us flush a suspect out. We don’t have enough on him yet, but all we need to do is get him to make a desperate move to nail him.”

“So, you’re feeding me a story for the express purpose of getting him to panic?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, I’m not sure my editor will go for that,” Cal said. Across the desk from Cal, Buckman was wildly waving his arms and shooting evil looks at his star reporter. “I’ll need to talk with him first.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Buckman whispered. “Of course we want the story.”

Cal sneered at him. “Don’t you want me to cover the annual rumor that Seattle is getting an NBA team again?” he said in a hushed tone. “Besides, you don’t even know what it is you’re agreeing to.”

“I don’t care,” Buckman said. “Tell him you can do it.”

“Cal? Are