Dream of a Falling Eagle by George C. Chesbro

Author:George C. Chesbro
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Police Procedural, Mystery & Detective, Hard-Boiled, General, Science Fiction, Suspense, Women Sleuths, Thrillers, Fiction, Espionage
ISBN: 9781930253148
Publisher: Apache Beach Publications
Published: 2011-07-24T23:49:14+00:00

Chapter 9

At the precinct station house a paramedic patched me up while we waited for the FBI to arrive. Somebody found me a clean uniform shirt belonging to some female officer to wear, and I discarded my torn, bloody, and dust-covered T-shirt and jacket in a plastic garbage bag. In the meantime, an APB was issued to pick up one Dr. Guy Fournier and three gray-suited associates who, I assured the dispatcher, would be instantly recognizable. Fournier and his trio of drug-lobotomized killers had almost certainly gone to ground by now, but the APB was part of the drill— and it assured that cops would be on the lookout for Fournier if he surfaced and tried to go to his home or apartment, wherever it might be. Finally three FBI agents, all of whom I had come to know, showed up, along with the chief, Captain Felix MacWhorter, who had been called at home and who had insisted on coming in to hear firsthand what the "crazy neighborhood dwarf" was up to lately.

I told my story—most of it—and then told it again. I didn't mention the computer diskette I was carrying inside my jeans; I thought the excuse that I might be a tad forgetful, considering what I had been through, would be acceptable. If I gave up the diskette to the FBI, it was unlikely I would ever see it again, and I wanted the first run on whatever might be on it. They were going to be pissed, even more resentful than they already were of Garth and me and the Presidential Commission, and what they considered continued and unwarranted intrusion on their turf, but I couldn't have cared less. I also neglected to mention my source for the information about the voodoo altar and Fournier's picture, or Fournier's affectionate mention of William P. Kranes, or the link between Kranes and the mutilated corpse in Central Park that had been Moby Dickens. I assumed both the NYPD and FBI could already have discovered the link themselves, if they'd worked hard enough at it, and I still wanted first crack at the Speaker of the House myself, before he'd been worked— or glossed—over by anybody else. I figured I had earned that prerogative.

Garth walked in around 8:45, just as, for the third time, I was getting to the part about the zombie dust. I started all over again, for my brother's benefit, and when I was finished I was told I could go. The FBI agents might have suspected I was holding more than a few things back, because they did not look at all happy; but they hadn't been happy with me for a long time. The Fredericksons and the FBI had history. The FBI was a crack outfit that did their job surpassingly well, when they felt like it and when it didn't conflict with their various agendas, and they weren't a bunch of criminals, but my affection for J. Edgar Hoover's clones was only slightly greater

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.