Read Online Damage by Mark Feggeler - Free Book Online Page A

joked.
    "Very funny," she said. "I can buy you another forty-five minutes, but nothing more than that. What can you get me?"
    "I got pictures," he said. "If you go to my desk and pull up my email, I sent them all to myself about a half hour ago from the new camera. By the way, that thing is freaking awesome."
    "Photos are great, but what about copy?" she asked.
    "I can write a novel about it if you can get me more time," he said.
    "I don't need a novel," she said. "Once I lay in a couple decent photos and rearrange the front page to bump you to the top all I'll have room for is about nine inches. And now you have only forty minutes, so quit talking to me and get typing!"
    "Nine inches?!"  
    Ray couldn't believe it. The first time he had even the remotest chance of the Associated Press picking up one of his stories for national distribution and she was limiting him to a worthless nine inches. He peaked through the curtains again to see the television reporter talking face to face with Sheriff Redmond. The camera hung down at Daryl's side.  
    "Garry Vincent got his ass out of bed and actually managed to find our county on the map in order to cover this for the midday news. Half the state is going to want to know about this and all you're giving me is nine inches?"
    "Don't push it Ray, you know what time it is," Becky warned. "I don't need this kind of shit on a Monday morning when I've already missed deadline because of you."
    "I've been a little preoccupied here, in case you didn't just hear me tell you about finding a dead guy," he said. "Besides, you run late for Walter once a week and I never hear you bitching about him."
    "Because Walter keeps me informed when he's going to miss deadline, and usually it's worth the wait. Look, you can write your novel for the online edition, but for right now all I need from you is nine inches. And now you're down to thirty-five minutes, so shut up and type!"  
    She hung up. Momentarily forgetting his surroundings, Ray buried the phone in his pocket and stomped out onto the porch mumbling to himself comments like "waste of an excellent story," "pain in my ass," and "I'll give you nine inches." He put the camera on the railing and reached for the notepad in his back pocket.
    "Who are you?"  
    Ray didn't respond at first. He was too feeling sorry for himself to realize the question was directed at him. The second time Sheriff Redmond called out the question, Ray looked at the man and pointed to himself questioningly.  
    "Yes, you. Come here."
    Ray made his way down the steps and along the gravel path leading to the driveway. Redmond watched him in silence, as did Garry Vincent. A slight breeze had picked up, carrying the damp chill of morning with it and reminding any who might have forgotten that proper winter weather was still a real possibility despite the recent warm temperatures.
    "I know you," Redmond growled when Ray was twenty feet away from them. He turned back to the television reporter. There was no urgency in his voice. There didn't need to be. The expression on Redmond's face, the wickedly cold look in his eyes, imparted all the urgency necessary. "You better go, now."
    "Can you at least tell me which family member placed the call for help?" Vincent whined. "At the very least let me get you on camera for a 'no comment' so I got something I can use."
    Redmond raised a craggy hand and pointed a finger to the canopy of trees over the driveway. "Go," he said, and turned to walk toward the house.
    Ray stayed where he was, confused and uncertain what to do. He wished he had his own car with him so he could leave, too. Daryl packed away the equipment while his reporter lit a cigarette and fumed.
    "Nice job, Garry," Ray told him once Redmond was out of earshot. "That's an Emmy winner you've got there, no doubt."  
    "Frickin' waste of time talking to that fat, old son of a bitch," Vincent grumbled, unbuttoning the blazer and hiking up his drooping pajama pants. He pointed his