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

the FBI pair, Gold’s men forced the two to take a hit of meth. It had all been well thought out by Gold; planting evidence on the two men would completely undermine any federal case against Cloverdale Industries. A drugged out janitor? A coach who others would testify gave drugs to students, including the ones who died? Who would find him credible, even if he was believed to be an FBI agent?

Gold returned to the confines of his home and had been there 30 minutes when his cell phone rang.

“Gold, here.”

“Mr. Gold, the threat has been eliminated,” came the voice on the other end, emotionless.

“Excellent. Keep me posted on how that other loose end is coming along.”

Gold hung up the phone and smiled. It had been a while since he had smiled. A long time ago, Gold learned that suppressing grief was never good—not even for a few days. But it had served him well during this process.

It was almost safe to cry.

***

The man climbed into his F-250 truck and roared away, leaving carnage in his wake.

Walker’s body now laid slumped over the steering wheel, still clutching his firearm. Dead. Two close-range bullet holes to the head. No law enforcement personnel would report that his body had been moved and his body repositioned.

Outside Mercer’s car was old man Willie Nelson, lying face down in the gravel next to the road. He had been groomed for such a moment as this: the perfect junkie on which to pin a murder. He held the murder weapon in his hand. One bullet to the head. One to the chest. A small plastic baggie of meth in his pocket.

Gold’s men had successfully recreated the scene that Gold had envisioned when he drew up this plan. One dead junkie. One dead basketball coach. A drug deal gone bad. Walker? An FBI agent? Nobody would believe that, except maybe the players on his basketball team who knew he had no idea how to coach the sport. He worked two jobs just to support his illicit lifestyle, not his mother who had actually died five years ago. Gold had enough details of Walker’s life that he could paint him however he wanted and no one would question him. Perception is always more powerful than reality when you control the information. A drug dealer was more like it—a dealer trying to sell meth to a known crazy person in Willie Nelson. The whole town knew he was nuts.

Framing people was an art form—and the people of Statenville had been painting Louvre-worthy canvases for snooping parties for 20 years. If anyone managed to make it out alive, the person’s reputation was sullied beyond repair, and their word was rendered meaningless.

Cal and Kelly were next.

Chapter 51

Like the wheels on the Vmax, Cal’s mind couldn’t stop spinning. He was creating scenarios in his head of what was really happening at Cloverdale Industries—some good, some bad. But he couldn’t logically believe he saw something he shouldn’t have. People were dead. Drugs were visible. His life was in danger. What other physical evidence could trump the empirical evidence he already had? What Cal had might not stand up in a court of law, but it already won a gavel-banging judgment in the court of his own opinion. The one thing that ate at him was Walker’s connection to the situation. What was he doing there? And why did he tie them up?

Cal allowed Kelly’s embrace from the rear seat on the motorcycle to interrupt his furious theory building. In the midst of running for their lives, Cal’s fondness for Kelly was pushed to the edge of his consciousness. This wasn’t some action movie. The two stars of this adventure didn’t have time to share a passionate kiss before he ran at the bad guys with guns blazing while she admired her man’s bravery. No, this wasn’t Hollywood. There was no dramatic music, no feeling that everything would eventually be fine. But, oh how Cal wished it was. Having Kelly nestled up to him was heaven enough considering the circumstances.

Buzzzzzz. Buzzzzz.

Cal’s phone jolted him back to reality. He slowed down the bike and pulled over. There were only two people he was interested in talking to: Guy and somebody from the FBI field office in Salt Lake City. The “restricted” name listed on his iPhone’s caller ID let him know it was the latter.

Cal walked away from the bike with Kelly. They took a few steps toward an open range with scattered cattle roaming about for an evening snack. He answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Cal?”

“Yes.”

“This is Eric from the FBI’s Salt Lake City field office.”

“Hi, Eric. Did you find out anything?”

“Well, this isn’t normal protocol, but this isn’t a normal situation. You need to do everything in your power to keep this substance from getting into the public’s hands.”

Cal said nothing.

“It appears that the chemical agent being manufactured is CPZ—and in high doses.”

“How dangerous is CPZ? What does it do?”

“In small quantities, not much. It’s used to treat psychosis patients. But in large quantities, it can do a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

“Like shut your liver down for one thing—and shut it down in a hurry, especially when it’s combined with other accelerants.”

“What accelerants?”

“Methamphetamine would cause it to start working quickly.”

Cal’s heart was pounding. All those questions that nagged him since he started investigating were now beginning to have plausible answers.

“And what kind of symptoms would manifest as a result of the liver shutting down?”

“There are plenty of things that happen. For one, the person would look jaundiced. But the most painful that would present, physically, is all the bile seeping into the blood stream.”

“What would that do?”

“It would create an intense itching sensation all throughout a person’s body, much like suffering from the autoimmune disease, Primary Sclerosing Cholangitis. Due to liver malfunction, PSC causes itching beneath the surface of the skin and renders scratching that area useless. You can scratch all you want, but the itching sensation never goes away. That bile is