The SJ.Com 2006 Summer Novel

[Chi City 81]

I've been busy at work ... and at home, for that matter. I'll get to it at some point, I promise.

 

[The Big Ragu]

This thing is just a disaster.

It's not that bad. Just needs more people involved.

 

[21]

Pat Cornwell's taxi was finally, mercifully, almost at 81st and Park, where police had cordoned off the office of Mitch Mendel, Doctor to the Stars, when her cell rang again. But this time, she recognized the number: Spack.

He was already bellowing at her as she hit the green button. ‘CHANGE OF PLANS! ANOTHER DOCTOR STORY, GET OVER TO PARK AND 62ND! GUY TRIED TO BLOW THE PLACE UP, OR SOMEONE MADE IT LOOK THAT WAY! IS IT LINKED? ANY CONNECTION TO THE NO HEADED DOC? GET ON IT!'

She could hear sirens nearby…she was already at Madison and 72nd…shirt. She threw the cabbie $40 bucks and jumped out.

A CNN truck rolled past…a local TV truck followed. People were scrambling and yelling. shirt.

Pat Cornwell took off her low-heeled pumps, and started running toward Park and 62nd. Doctor Mendel's head would have to wait.

*****​

Only one person had the number to the cellphone Bob Corey kept locked in his desk, and when it rang, Corey answered it on the third ring. He didn't say a word…just listened.

‘It's done,' said the voice. ‘The office, the lab, the stuff. All gone. Burned up.'

‘And the doctor?” whispered Corey.

There was a brief silence. ‘Survived. One of our guys saw Larry King having breakfast and got distracted. We'll handle it.'

Corey closed his eyes…the pencil he was holding in his clenched fist snapped in half. No one ever did anything right. He snapped the phone shut.

This was not a good day.

 

[Seabasket]

"Goddamnit," Pat thought as she ran through the city streets in her bare feet, dodging cabs, buses and an occasional mound of dogshirt. "I'm supposed to be on vacation."
She slowed to a power walk, thinking of how much it would anger Spack to see her. She smiled to herself.
In the distance, she noticed a throng of people standing around and looking on into the New York night. It had to be a barricade. Maybe there was a gas line involved, or maybe it was terrorism related. Most likely, it was a tried-and-true ploy for press. Yep, as she got closer, she could see that it was indeed a barricade. She fished into her Kate Spade and pulled out her press pass. The patrolman standing by the wooden horses didn't look familiar.
"Hi, officer," she said, flashing her pass. "Pat Cornwell with the—"
"Yeah, I know who you are. I read your shirt from time to time. Can't let you past the barricade."
"What? Why not?"
"'Cause my boss said, 'you know that Pat Cornwell broad? Don't let her past the barricade.'"
"Christ. Well, can you tell that Pat Cornwell broad anything?"
"There was an explosion."
"No shirt. Any fatalities? Injuries? How'd it start?"
"Lady, I'm a rookie. They tell me to stand here and look like I give a fork. How am I doing?"
"You already look like a veteran. Well, can you find out when they'll be releasing information?"
He looked her over for a second too long, and walked over to another officer standing thirty feet away.

---------------------------


"Hey, thanks for the callback."
Pat wheeled around to see Evan standing there. Great, the one guy in a city of eight million people she was purposely avoiding, and he shows up in the exact spot of land she's standing in.
When she turned around, it was though Evan was seeing her for the first time. He rarely ran into her at the office, and he figured he hadn't seen her in at least two or three months.
"Holy shirt," he said. "You look different."
"No I don't."
"Yes, you do. What did you do to yourself?" He looked her up and down, a little too intently for her tastes. She figured she'd answer just to stop from being visually violated.
"Yeah, I lost 32 pounds."
"Wow. Good for you."
"Like you give a fork."
"I would gladly give a fork if that's what you wanted."
"Go to heck."
"fork you."
They stood in silence for a minute, Pat staring into the distance, waiting for her rookie to come back and give her some information, Evan pretending to survey the scene while giving all his attention to his colleague.
"Hey Pat." Evan waited until she turned and caught her eyes to speak again. "In all seriousness, you look really good."
Evan was a jock at heart. He didn't make serious comments, and what he said surprised her.
"Thanks."
"You look good."
"It was hard. I have to say, you sportswriters aren't good for much, but that website you showed me? I read that LiveStrong thread and picked up some good tips. And just in time for swimsuit season."
"You're definitely ready for it. How's your ass."
"You'll be seeing a lot of it if you're working this story. So I'm supposed to be leaving for Aruba tomorrow. This is bullshirt."
"Aruba? Spack the hack give you a raise?"
"Yeah, right. I've been saving up for a year."
"Who you going with?"
"That's none of your business." She didn't want to tell him she was going with a couple of girlfriends.
"Girls trip, huh?"
"Whatever."
"I don't care who you're going with. I just want to see some bikini shots when you get back."
She laughed. "Sorry I didn't call you back. What do you have to tell me?"
Just as Evan opened his mouth, the rookie cop returned.
"Hey, Pat Cornwell broad." Pat and Evan both looked at the cop, who was staring at Evan suspiciously.
"It's OK," Pat said. "He's with the press, too."
"Oh, OK. I guess I can tell you guys together. I have something interesting you might want to hear."
"What is it?"
"Let's move away from the crowd a little bit."
The three of them shuffled down the crowd barriers to find a quieter spot. Just then, a thunderbolt rumbled and the rain poured over them.
"This is some noir shirt," Evan said.
"Some what shirt?" the cop asked.
"Never mind," Pat said. "Just give us the news."

 

[The Big Ragu]

“OK,” the cop said. “But you can't attribute this to anyone other than ‘police sources.' ”

“Yeah yeah,” Pat said, “The way you're carrying on, you'd think you've solved Jimmy Hoffa's murder.”

“Who's Jimmy Hoffa?”

“Never mind. Does that holstered gun mean you're happy to see me, or did you pull us aside for a reason?” Pat asked.

The rookie cop's face turned serious. “They're in there gathering evidence.”

Evan and Pat could tell they were about to be given news that would have them working through the night.

“There are two bodies,” the cop continued. “They're burned so beyond recognition that it's going to take dental records for any chance at a positive ID. But one of the stiffs had his wallet on him, and amazingly his drivers license didn't char to a crisp like the rest of him. The name on the license was Darius Lucas.”

Pat's face was a blank.

“Drifteye?” Evan asked.

“The one and only,” the cop said. “And just when Isaiah was ready to make another championship run. There go our chances for a three-peat.”

“Damn,” said Evan before turning to Pat. “Let's go. We have some people to visit.”