Read Online Blown Coverage by Jason Elam - Free Book Online

And there are over five hundred photographers and journalists outside this
     building right now. We’ve called in the police and made contact with the FAA, but this is getting out of control quickly.”
    “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir,” Riley responded, feeling a bit like he was in the Air Force again getting chewed out for something
     he hadn’t done. “What would you like me to do, Mr. Salley?”
    “I want you to go home for the day. You had someone come with you today, didn’t you?”
    “Yes, sir. Skeeter Dawkins. He was one of—”
    “Good,” Mr. Salley continued, not interested in Riley’s story. “Have him pull your car around to the loading dock for the team
     store. We’ll send you out that way.”
    This was one of the first pieces of good news that Riley had heard today, especially knowing that he was going to miss those
     extra sprint series. “Yes, sir. And what about tomorrow?”
    Exasperated and obviously done with the conversation, Mr. Salley answered, “I have no idea. You’re going to be a distraction
     any way we cut it. We need to figure out how we’re going to deal with all of this. We’ll call you when we get a plan. Until
     then, you work out at home.” That said, Mr. Salley turned and was gone.
    Riley stood there for a moment trying to process what had just happened. Part of him wanted to laugh, while another part wanted
     to haul off and punch somebody. Where does Salley get off coming down here and tearing me a new one for something I have absolutely no control over? At least he got one thing right: I am definitely out of here!
    A guy whose name Riley couldn’t remember from the Mustangs video department rounded a corner and came toward him. “Hey,” Riley
     called out to him.
    “Hey, Riley. Great to see you back!”
    “Yeah, good to be back. Listen, can you do me a favor? You know my friend—the one who came with me this morning?”
    “You mean . . . ?” The guy lifted his hand way up in the air.
    “That’s him. Could you find him and ask him to bring the truck around to the loading dock behind the Mustangs store in five
     minutes?”
    The video man seemed eager to help. “You got it, Riley,” he said before sprinting out to the practice fields.
    Riley walked back to his locker, decided there was nothing he wanted out of it, and headed to the hallway. Right outside the
     front locker room doors was a line of mail cubbies. Most of the little nooks had at least a few letters in them. A number
     of them were pretty packed. Riley’s was stuffed full, and there was a white U.S. Postal Service tub sitting on the ground
     and a sticky note attached with his name on it. He stopped, looked at it, and then walked on.
    Stopping by the equipment room, Riley picked up a Mustangs cap. Pulling it low on his head and putting his sunglasses on,
     he walked through the back room of the team store and out into the May sunshine. Immediately, he heard a mass of loud shouting.
     The only discernable word was Riley .
    Thankfully, Skeeter had the Yukon right there with the rear passenger door open. Riley saw a huge wave of reporters and cameramen
     racing toward him as he dove into the back of the vehicle. His hand scraped against something hard on the leather seat. Looking
     down, he saw it was Skeeter’s Heckler & Koch MK23.
    “Left a little something for you, just in case,” Skeeter said as he slowly pulled out into the growing mass of people.
    Riley quickly sat up and tucked the gun under his right thigh. The last thing he needed was a picture published of him defending
     himself against the media by holding a handgun in the back of his SUV.
    Suddenly cameras, microphones, and faces were pressed against his side windows. Riley instinctively pulled the cap a little
     lower on his head. Hands began grasping at the handles and banging on the doors. The truck dropped in the back, and Riley
     turned to see three men standing on his rear bumper shooting their cameras through the tinted glass