Read Online October's Ghost by Ryne Douglas Pearson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ryne Douglas Pearson
Tags: Suspense & Thrillers
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partner was finishing up. “How long?”
“Just...a...there!” Tomás held up the tape. “You should go for the head like me next time.”
“Like I should have known,” Jorge protested. One of his shots had not only found its mark in the man’s chest, it had also clipped the cassette he was carrying in his shirt pocket, destroying the transfer rollers but sparing the tape itself. That had necessitated a hurried search for the required materials and tools. A cassette of the same type had been purchased, along with the tiny screwdrivers, and was simply dismantled and the undamaged spools of tape inserted. It had taken some time, as Tomás was careful to remove all fragments of the shattered plastic. Thankfully, the tape had been pulled from Portero’s pocket quickly enough, saving it from a drenching in the man’s blood. Liquids, especially thick ones like human blood, were devastating to the thin magnetic tape that depended on stability in its environment for longevity. Anyone who had ever left one exposed on the dash of an automobile on a hot day would understand the fragility completely.
A thump from outside the door made Jorge turn his head. It had to be the complimentary USA Today , one of the reasons he had chosen this motel. The one extra he wanted, actually needed. It would save him a trip to the liquor store across the street. “Let’s hear it.”
Tomás reached for the portable cassette player and inserted the tape, pressing Play next. A few seconds went by before there was speaking to be heard. Thank God it...
“What is this?” Jorge asked. It was not what they had been told to expect.
“Who is that?” Tomás added another question. “This isn’t the fucking tape! What the fuck is going on!”
“Shut up!” Jorge said, looking at the walls and hoping they were thick enough to contain his partner’s outburst. He listened for a few minutes to the conversation’s end. “Damn.”
“Jorge, that is not what we were supposed to find.” Tomás stood from the bed and began to pace.
“That had to be Portero speaking,” Jorge said. “But the other one?”
Tomás stopped his stalking, looking directly to his partner. “Jorge, we fucking killed an FBI agent today to get that tape, and it ISN’T EVEN IT!” The news on both radio and TV had spread the word quickly, along with vague descriptions of the pair that, thankfully, weren’t very accurate.
“But it is something.”
Tomás, the younger of the two, snorted. “Yeah. A lot of good that’ll do us. Fuck!”
His partner was right, Jorge knew. They were supposed to get the tape and verify that it was the tape. What they had been briefed to be on the lookout for was definitely not what they had just heard. “You still have that reporter’s name, the one he was supposed to meet with?”
“Sure do. You think he might have given it to him ahead of time?”
“It’s possible,” Jorge figured, even though he didn’t see how it could have happened. “But we’re going to make damn sure about it. First we’ve got to report this.”
“But we’re not supposed to...” His partner’s look convinced him that arguing was not a good idea at the moment. “They’re going to love this.” Tomás watched Jorge go to the door and open it gingerly, peering through the crack into the early-morning darkness before retrieving the paper from just outside.
“Dial it,” Jorge instructed his partner while he pulled the slip of paper out of his wallet. On it was the number of a phone booth he had selected a few days before. He had selected others and would use each only once. Next he opened the paper to the sports section. It was baseball season, so he found the first story nearest the upper left of the page concerning America’s favorite pastime, ‘ Angels Still Alive ’, the heading read. Hard to believe, he thought. But his interest was in the body of the story. Just when the team from the land of Disney ... He had his key.
“Just...a...there!” Tomás held up the tape. “You should go for the head like me next time.”
“Like I should have known,” Jorge protested. One of his shots had not only found its mark in the man’s chest, it had also clipped the cassette he was carrying in his shirt pocket, destroying the transfer rollers but sparing the tape itself. That had necessitated a hurried search for the required materials and tools. A cassette of the same type had been purchased, along with the tiny screwdrivers, and was simply dismantled and the undamaged spools of tape inserted. It had taken some time, as Tomás was careful to remove all fragments of the shattered plastic. Thankfully, the tape had been pulled from Portero’s pocket quickly enough, saving it from a drenching in the man’s blood. Liquids, especially thick ones like human blood, were devastating to the thin magnetic tape that depended on stability in its environment for longevity. Anyone who had ever left one exposed on the dash of an automobile on a hot day would understand the fragility completely.
A thump from outside the door made Jorge turn his head. It had to be the complimentary USA Today , one of the reasons he had chosen this motel. The one extra he wanted, actually needed. It would save him a trip to the liquor store across the street. “Let’s hear it.”
Tomás reached for the portable cassette player and inserted the tape, pressing Play next. A few seconds went by before there was speaking to be heard. Thank God it...
“What is this?” Jorge asked. It was not what they had been told to expect.
“Who is that?” Tomás added another question. “This isn’t the fucking tape! What the fuck is going on!”
“Shut up!” Jorge said, looking at the walls and hoping they were thick enough to contain his partner’s outburst. He listened for a few minutes to the conversation’s end. “Damn.”
“Jorge, that is not what we were supposed to find.” Tomás stood from the bed and began to pace.
“That had to be Portero speaking,” Jorge said. “But the other one?”
Tomás stopped his stalking, looking directly to his partner. “Jorge, we fucking killed an FBI agent today to get that tape, and it ISN’T EVEN IT!” The news on both radio and TV had spread the word quickly, along with vague descriptions of the pair that, thankfully, weren’t very accurate.
“But it is something.”
Tomás, the younger of the two, snorted. “Yeah. A lot of good that’ll do us. Fuck!”
His partner was right, Jorge knew. They were supposed to get the tape and verify that it was the tape. What they had been briefed to be on the lookout for was definitely not what they had just heard. “You still have that reporter’s name, the one he was supposed to meet with?”
“Sure do. You think he might have given it to him ahead of time?”
“It’s possible,” Jorge figured, even though he didn’t see how it could have happened. “But we’re going to make damn sure about it. First we’ve got to report this.”
“But we’re not supposed to...” His partner’s look convinced him that arguing was not a good idea at the moment. “They’re going to love this.” Tomás watched Jorge go to the door and open it gingerly, peering through the crack into the early-morning darkness before retrieving the paper from just outside.
“Dial it,” Jorge instructed his partner while he pulled the slip of paper out of his wallet. On it was the number of a phone booth he had selected a few days before. He had selected others and would use each only once. Next he opened the paper to the sports section. It was baseball season, so he found the first story nearest the upper left of the page concerning America’s favorite pastime, ‘ Angels Still Alive ’, the heading read. Hard to believe, he thought. But his interest was in the body of the story. Just when the team from the land of Disney ... He had his key.
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