Dead Wrong (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 7) Jack Patterson (good beach reads .txt) 📖

“Cal, I got all my cryin’ out yesterday. I don’t think there’s a teardrop left in me. I loved Kelvin like a brother, but I know he wouldn’t want me to go around moping all the time. That guy loved life so much—it’s something we shared.”

“He was a character,” Cal said.

“And a good father, too. I just went home and hugged my kids a little tighter tonight. You should do the same.”

Cal nodded. “I don’t think I could ever take those moments for granted.”

“I didn’t when I served in the war, that’s for sure.”

Cal had almost forgotten Goodwin’s stint as a U.S. Army Ranger. While Goodwin starred at North Carolina during college, he never quite caught up with the speed of the NBA’s game. He was drafted in the second round after his senior year but languished on several NBA team’s benches for six seasons before entering the military. He returned confident and focused—not on playing but on coaching. It was widely believed by executives around the NBA that Goodwin would earn a head coaching slot in the near future.

Goodwin checked his watch. “Gotta run, Cal. Keep it real.”

Cal reflected on Goodwin’s disposition for a moment before returning to mull the story he was tasked with writing. After a few phone calls to several sources, Cal began piecing together a more in-depth piece surrounding the story that the Wizards were interested in Kyle Hutton. He’d written two paragraphs before Marcus Hale called him.

“Cal Murphy.”

“Did you see Will Simon’s latest story?” Hale said.

“Yes,” Cal answered. “There’s not much to it at this point.”

“He beat you again.”

Cal sighed. “Look, this isn’t a competition between us. I’m trying to give our readers an accurate report, one without innuendos and secret sources. I want people on record saying the Wizards want Hutton. Is there anything wrong with that?”

“No, not as long as we get the story first,” Hale growled.

“I can promise you I’m trying—but I’m also trying to be accurate.”

“Just get the story. Got it?”

“Yeah, I got it,” Cal growled.

Cal ended the call and stared at his computer screen. This wasn’t how he liked to pursue a story. All the pressure from his editor—not to mention his own pride as a journalist—gnawed at him. He felt disadvantaged, almost as if Simon was paying someone for all his tips. His rival had a source on the inside and it was making his life complicated.

“Awww, little Cal Murphy got beat again,” came the snarky voice from the doorway to the media room.

Cal didn’t want to look up. He knew who it was. Yet, he caved within five seconds.

“Beat by what?” Cal asked. “A blogger writing about rumors? That’s hardly getting beat. Any moron with access to the web can post rumors.”

Simon sauntered over to the cubicle where Cal sat. “If you think that’s nothing more than a rumor, I dare you to write that. Otherwise, kiss the ring and bow before D.C.’s God of Breaking News.”

“I’d rather slit my throat,” Cal quipped.

“I can get you a knife,” Simon shot back.

Cal glanced at Simon and sneered. “I bet you can.”

Simon sighed. “Look, I know it’s tough getting beat on a story like this that’s supposedly your beat, but it’s okay. You’re getting beat by me.”

“You’ve yet to scoop a real piece of information,” Cal snarled.

“Don’t be so bitter, Cal. It’s so unbecoming of such a decorated journalist.” Simon threw up air quotes as he said the words “decorated journalist.”

Cal let out a long breath through his teeth and decided to ignore Simon’s meddling statements. It’s not that he didn’t want to correct the record—it’s that he didn’t know how.

Simon couldn’t help himself. “Don’t hate on the rumors either, Cal,” he said as he laughed. “I heard a rumor that says I’m going to take your job soon.”

Cal looked up again and glared at Simon. “You wish.”

“Oh, I know,” Simon said as he rubbed the back of his head. “There’s no wishing involved here. You’re going to be in the unemployment line faster than I can say, ‘Kyle Hutton.’ ”

“We’ll see about that.” Cal looked back down at his screen and continued typing.

***

AFTER AN UNEVENTFUL PRACTICE, Cal hammered out a story for The Times’ Wizards blog surrounding the swirling rumors of a Kyle Hutton trade. While the Orlando fans voiced their displeasure online at the possibility, the trade seemed imminent.

Cal’s story detailed how Hutton might make the difference in helping the Wizards finally get to the elusive Eastern Conference finals. He also mentioned how the deal seemed beneficial for both teams to achieve their immediate needs but was short sighted.

Not that anybody cares about the long term around here.

The NBA and its rabid fans only cared about what teams had done lately. They didn’t seem to care about building teams for championship runs—they simply wanted to hoist a championship trophy. If it was only a one-time event, so be it. And Cal wrote that it appeared the Wizards’ front office was indeed conducting business this way. Kyle Hutton wouldn’t play more than forty games in a Wizards’ uniform, but nobody cared as long as the league’s title trophy found a spot in the team’s headquarters after the playoffs.

He added a few more paragraphs about Jameson’s death and the suspicious nature of it, updating readers with the fact that no new details were available. It was innocuous, at least from Cal’s perspective. But it kept the story alive, a story he hoped would have a significant break soon enough.

He filed his story and headed home. He needed to get ready for his flight with the team, even if it was two days away. It promised to be an eventful one given the circumstances.

He called his wife, Kelly, to let her know he was on his way.

“Are you ready for our trip?” he asked as she answered.

“Ready as I’ll ever be. Anything I need to know?”

“Not really, but I hope we can get the jump on Will Simon on this trip. He’s really starting