Read Online A Straight Line to My Heart by Bill Condon - Free Book Online Page B

how kids are – he wanted to hear the siren. I was only going to take him around the block.’
    Bull puts on his stern-copper face. ‘Yeah, well, it’s not real good, is it? A man in your position should know better.’
    â€˜I know. I’m sorry.’
    â€˜You can’t just use community property to take your grandkid on a joyride.’
    â€˜It won’t happen again, officer. I promise.’
    Bull folds his arms. Sighs. Glares. And then finally . . . 
    â€˜All right. I’m going to let it go this once.’
    â€˜Aw, thanks, mate – officer. That’s really decent of you.’
    â€˜But if I hear any reports about you doin’ this again–’
    â€˜You won’t. I swear.’
    â€˜Go on. Get back to work then – and leave the kid with someone else next time.’
    The poor firey is still muttering ‘thank you’ as we drive away. I can only manage to wait ten seconds before I laugh.
    â€˜Bull, you are such a hypocrite.’
    â€˜Yeah,’ he says, ‘but it was fun.’
    Because of the fire-engine detour I don’t make it to the Eagle till quarter past nine. Bull offers to go in with me and say it’s his fault I’m late. I know it’s a nice gesture, but I have to pass. Can’t take the risk of him saying something dumb or tripping over the furniture or accidentally shooting the editor.
    â€˜You’re not embarrassed about me, are you?’ he asks.
    â€˜Of course not.’
    Just drive away real fast so they don’t see I’ve turned up in a cop car.

‘Sorry i’m late.’
    The editor’s name is Andrew Matthews. He’s a big unit, same scale as Bull, except that he’s got a belly you could sit a vase of flowers on. And he’s maybe ten years older, and bald, and his glasses are way big and behind them are small green eyes that are staring at me.
    â€˜Late on your first day? That’s not a very promising start.’
    His feet are up on the desk and his hands are behind his head as he slowly rocks back and forth. I wasn’t going to mention the fire-engine because it didn’t quite work out the way I’d hoped, but he looks at me as though he’d be disappointed if he didn’t get an excuse.
    â€˜There was a fire-engine, Mr Matthews. That’s why I’m a fraction late.’
    â€˜Oh, I see. And why would that make you late?’
    â€˜Well, it went past us and the siren was going, so I decided to follow it in case there was a major fire. When we talked on the phone you said to show some initiative.’
    â€˜Ah. And was there a fire?’
    â€˜Um, I don’t think so, no, not quite.’
    â€˜Oh well. Never mind – tomorrow’s another day.’
    I’m not quite sure what he means by that but I have a feeling sarcasm might be involved. Pressing on, I hand him a folder.
    â€˜There’s a few references there.’ One’s from Bull – don’t know if that’s allowed or not seeing as he’s hardly impartial. ‘And a copy of my Year 12 results.’
    He drops the folder on the desk without looking at it.
    â€˜Good.’ He lifts his feet off the desk and stands up. ‘Now we better get you organised. You would have met Nancy when you came in?’
    â€˜Yep.’
    â€˜Anything you want to know, Nancy’s the one.’ He opens the door and ushers me out. ‘I’ll be around today but after that you won’t see much of me. Head office has me booked in at an editors’ seminar most of the week. But you’ll be working with a very experienced journalist. One of the best.’
    He calls out to the only person in sight.
    â€˜Shark.’
    A lanky, silver-haired guy glances up from his computer. I’m betting he slept in his clothes. Needs a shave and a haircut and a good soak in the fountain of youth. Looks like an unloved antique.
    â€˜That’d be me. What can I