Dead Shot by Jack Patterson (adventure books to read .TXT) 📕

Cal pressed talk and mumbled a hello.

“Good morning, Cal!” came the cheery voice on the other end. “I thought I would call you on the way to work and see if you’ve got everything planned for my visit next weekend.”

Cal moaned.

“Do you have any idea what time it is, Josh?” Cal asked, his morning voice croaked as he tried to shift to a more awake version of himself. “Have you forgotten how much I hate mornings, especially Mondays?”

Josh only smiled, hoping Cal couldn’t detect it over the phone.

“Oh, wow, look at the time. I didn’t realize it was so early. I would’ve never called if I thought about it.”

“Liar!”

“I’m just messin’ with you, Cal. But you need to get motivated to get out of that dump of a town where no real news ever happens so you can get up here to Seattle. You’re never going to escape East Bumble when your best clip is an article on the little league tournament champions just below a grip-and-grin photo. Cal – or should I say @CalMurphy24 – you’ve got seven followers on Twitter. So, get going, OK?”

Cal stared at his vintage poster of Ken Griffey Jr. in a Mariners uniform, a relic from his high school days. He had faithfully tacked it to a wall in every living quarters he had since leaving home. It was even in the dorm room he shared with Josh at the University of Washington their freshman year. When it came to vintage Mariners, Josh preferred Randy Johnson. Quiet, calculated, and never quite living up to others astronomical expectations vs. bold, brash, and making the best use of every ounce of talent he had. Griffey vs. Johnson. Or Cal vs. Josh. The two aspiring sports columnists shared traits with their Seattle heroes of yesteryear. Cal had heard this little pep talk from Josh before. He knew it was true, but he couldn’t change his immediate situation, which served as an annoying reminder as to whose career path was already on a better trajectory. It was such a long-standing exchange between the two of them that even though not fully awake, Cal was firing back a salvo to Josh’s slight air of superiority.

“Look. Just because you’re miserable stuck in big city traffic and heading to your second job as a barista doesn’t mean you have to rob me of the little joy I do have working in this virtual ghost town. Besides, maybe I like it here.”

“Well, I’m going to find out for myself this weekend. You better show me the finest time that can be had in that cow town. I’m holding you to it.”

“OK, OK. I’ll make sure you have plenty of things to do. I’ll never hear the end of it if you don’t rule Statenville by the end of the weekend.”

“All right. Looking forward to it. See you then, bro.”

Cal hung up and rolled over. He had dreamed of covering the Mariners baseball team for the Seattle Times, but a general assignment reporter for The Register in Statenville, Idaho was the only job he could land. What self-respecting person would actually believe that working in Statenville would be a step toward a better job? Cal had no choice.

Cal valued his friendship with Josh, but a twinge of jealousy remained after Josh won the lone internship job at The Times’ sports department straight out of college. More than three dozen college graduates hoping to become the next Mitch Albom applied—Josh somehow emerged victorious.

I hope he enjoys his day stuck in traffic and reformatting Formula One racing agate tonight. It wasn’t a sincere hope, but in a moment of personal reflection, Cal admitted that the sting of his best friend from college beating him out for that job still smarted more than he wished. And with this thought, he pulled the covers over his head and attempted to fall back asleep.

The phone buzzed again.

“What now?” Cal shouted from his cover cave.

Emerging again into the light he discovered his editor’s name dancing across his phone’s window. What does Guy want this early on a Monday?

“Morning, Guy.” Cal did his best to hide his irritation.

“Cal, get up and get dressed – and get down here right now! We’ve got a double murder in Statenville!”

“A double WHAT? Who?”

“Cody Murray and Riley Gold. I’ll fill you in once you get here.”

Guy hung up abruptly. Cal rubbed his eyes and began trying to imagine the circumstances for a double murder in Statenville.

Ha! Take that Josh! I’ll bet there won’t be any double murders for you to write about while stuck on the agate desk tonight!

Cal was wide awake now.

Chapter 3

In the five minutes it took Cal to shower and towel dry his moppy dishwater blond hair, he tried to imagine what could have happened to two of Statenville’s best football players. It didn’t take long before he dumped thinking about the cause of the murders and began fantasizing over receiving a Pulitzer for his award-winning coverage of the mysterious Statenville serial killer.

Known for his trademark tardiness and sloppy appearance, Cal wasn’t interested in propagating any false ideas that he was big time and the people of Statenville weren’t. If anything, Josh was right – Cal needed motivation. He really wanted to be big time, but he was too depressed at the disappointing direction journalism had taken him. Writing for a weekly was never in his plans, but that is what he had been doing for almost a year now, pounding out articles on garden club meetings and school board decisions. He wanted to be writing about pro athletes and NFL lockouts. This was like being a superstar on the worst team in the league – what’s the point?

Cal gave up on trying to impress anyone in Statenville. The townspeople held such a low image of The Register reporters that it didn’t matter what he wore. If it doesn’t matter, why not be comfortable. But wearing a tie on any day other