Dead Drop Jack Patterson (best chinese ebook reader TXT) 📖

go on for nearly a minute until he determined the right moment to strike. Conjuring up all the gumption he had, he leapt to his feet and charged the leader. Only his long strides click-clacking on the marble floor alerted the leader that something was wrong.

The man spun and saw Sid racing toward him.

The leader didn’t hesitate, firing once at Sid. The soccer star’s momentum carried him forward as he crumpled to the ground, stopping just short of the counter. The man stooped down and looked at Sid. Using his foot, the leader turned over Sid’s body and shook his head. Sid was clutching his side and gasping for air.

“I said, ‘no heroes,’ you idiot.” The leader fired another shot, hitting Sid in the head.

He turned and whistled at his crew. “Let’s go.”

On the way out, the leader turned toward the security guard crouched in the corner and fired a shot, hitting him in the head.

“Thank you for your time, ladies and gentlemen,” the leader said as they all stormed out the front door and into a waiting van.

Sid breathed shallowly as he felt the life slipping out of him.

“Just hang in there, Mr. Westin,” one of the tellers said. “We’re going to get you help.”

Sid didn’t move.

CHAPTER 2

CAL MURPHY CHECKED his rearview mirror and quickly changed lanes, squeezing between two cars as he kept pace with the late morning Seattle freeway traffic. He glanced at the clock and then at his wife, Kelly.

She put her hand on his knee. “Honey, we’re going to make it to the airport in plenty of time.”

Drawing a deep breath, he nodded. He caught a glimpse of Maddie in the backseat. She was clutching her MooMoo, the stuffed cow she wouldn’t go anywhere without. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Don’t let her forget MooMoo at your mom’s,” Cal said to Kelly.

Her look turned serious. “That’s why I bought an extra one the last time she lost it, remember? We’re never going to endure that kind of torture again.”

“You’re always so prepared—that’s why I’m so glad I married you.”

“Is that the only reason you’re glad you married me?”

Cal shook his head. “I don’t have time to list all the reasons before we reach the airport.”

She chuckled. “Nice save.” After glancing out the window for a moment, she turned and looked at him. “How are you going to make it the next two weeks without me?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll manage somehow.”

He turned on the radio just in time to catch the beginning of the sports news break on KJR 950 AM.

Enrique Gonzalez is due to be in court this afternoon for his arraignment. Gonzalez, the Mariners’ leading hitter last season, was arrested for his role in an illegal gambling ring yesterday. If convicted, he faces up to fifteen years in federal prison…

His face fell as he listened to the news.

Kelly turned the radio off. “Cal, don’t be so hard on yourself. You weren’t the only person to believe his claims of innocence.”

Cal pursed his lips and said nothing. His coverage of the Enrique Gonzalez gambling story wasn’t the brightest moment in his journalism career. After a tip from someone he knew inside the FBI office telling him that Gonzalez was an unfortunate bystander in all of this but wouldn’t be arrested, Cal interviewed Gonzalez about the allegations. His story painted a picture of Gonzalez being guilty only of picking friends of questionable character. And based on all the other facts and evidence Cal had pieced together regarding the case, it appeared that way to him as well. So, he wrote a story that all but said federal investigators had cleared Gonzalez of any wrongdoing and he was no longer part of the focus of their investigation.

Then Sabremetrics genius Mike Felton got involved. Felton, whose analysis of baseball statistics had helped him emerge from a hobby in his basement to a regular guest on ESPN, found some strange anomalies in Gonzalez’s statistics. He compiled a list of games where Gonzalez’s play appeared suspect and turned it over to the FBI. After leaning on a few suspects the FBI had taken into custody, the truth came out. Gonzalez was indeed working with the gamblers by tanking in several games. Cal was baffled by the allegations, especially since the star outfielder was making $18 million a year. It was a high risk with apparently not much reward. Gonzalez released a statement through his lawyer that he was innocent and the truth would come out. But Cal knew that if the FBI was going to charge him, the feds had a rock solid case that would withstand the challenge of top criminal defense attorneys and the skepticism of a jury. Then another one of his FBI sources told him they had a paper trail on Gonzalez that showed that his involvement in the gambling ring was minor compared to his ties to other organized crime bosses. Cal’s source described Gonzalez as “an enterprising criminal who had parlayed his fame and wealth into something far more sinister.” And Cal had bought Gonzalez’s 100-watt smile and family man image, looking past the evidence that he normally would have scrutinized.

Cal shook his head. “In my gut, I knew something wasn’t right. But I didn’t trust it—and I only have myself to blame.”

Once the news broke of Gonzalez’s arrest—just two days after Cal’s glowing article about him—The Times sports editor, Frank Buckman, yelled at Cal for fifteen minutes in Buckman’s office, ranting about his irresponsible handling of the story. Cal took issue with his editor’s accusations while agreeing with the conclusion: bad reporting jeopardizes the trust the newspaper has with its readers. While Cal concluded there wasn’t much more he could’ve done to verify all of Gonzalez’s story, short of talking with federal agents who couldn’t comment during an ongoing investigation, at least he didn’t have to write a story stating Gonzalez was exonerated of any wrongdoing.

“Well, don’t beat yourself up over it, Cal,” Kelly said as she