Read Online Dark Sky (The Misadventures of Max Bowman Book 1) by Joel Canfield - Free Book Online
Authors: Joel Canfield
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ever came forward to say exactly what happened. There were no quotes from Dark Sky personnel in the newspapers about the incident, just an official statement from the company expressing their remorse. Their side, as always, was all buttoned up nice and tight.
The reporting was all perfectly believable – and because it was the General’s son, there was an air of respectful restraint. So everybody expressed their sadness for a few moments and the world went on. This wouldn’t be a Jessica Lynch or a Pat Tillman situation. No, this episode lacked any kind of family pushback or contradictory evidence – so it would be swallowed whole and digested without discomfort by all of America.
It made me realize why Davidson liked John Ford films. This was a movie director who was fond of ripping apart glorious national myth-making, even as he celebrated the preservation of the myths. In The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance , a character famously says, “When the legend becomes fact, print the legend,” and that was Davidson’s credo too. The General would never blow the whistle on his fellow soldiers – it was good for the country to perpetuate patriotic myths. No, he would only curse out the government privately because it wouldn’t provide the troops with a “pure” mission.
And that’s why he wanted to send me out to handle this situation quietly and under the radar. If his son was still alive, he wanted to understand the situation before he took any official action.
But if Robert Davidson was still alive – where was he and what was he doing? My thoughts were going around in circles. I still didn’t know enough to even try and figure out that angle. So, to kill time, I checked out a few online gambling sites, wondering if I could get away with using my brand new credit card to win a million or two at virtual poker.
I was just recalling how bad a poker player I was when my iPhone started vibrating.
I picked it up off the desk where it lay beside the Chromebook, recognized the Caller ID again, and answered.
“Let me guess. You want to know where my car is, so your kid can come slash the tires again.”
“I hope you’re amused inside your own head, because those are the only laughs you’re going to get.”
Angela, as usual, wasn’t in a joking mood.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Davidson?”
“Where are you? Are you still in town?”
“Not in your town. I’m up the road, near D.C.”
Pause.
“Can I come see you?”
I checked my nice new silver watch. 4:30.
“Well…I hate to eat alone.”
“Tell me where to meet you.”
Was I crazy for inviting Angela Davidson to dinner after she sent her kid out to sabotage my rental? No. I needed all the information I could get and I knew there were probably a few details only she could provide. After all, this was her younger brother – she would know what he was all about.
I was still a little shaky from the bender the night before when I pulled my rental up to the D.C. hotspot where I asked her to meet me. I didn’t want her anywhere near my hotel, because I didn’t want to become the victim of any more of her family’s mischief. I ended up getting to the place a couple of minutes late – and I don’t think she was too ecstatic about my tardiness. She was actually looking pretty hot in a small black skirt and close-fitting top as she leaned on her Mercedes and glared at the boarded-up graffiti-ridden windows that bore the address I had given her.
Whoops.
I parked across the street and walked over to her.
“This must be a very exclusive place,” she said, her eyes throwing a few poisoned daggers my way. “So exclusive it doesn’t have windows. Must be some pretty important people in there. They really don’t want to be seen.”
I looked the façade up and down and sighed.
“Pancho’s Tacos. The best bad Mexican food in town. What the hell.”
“The best bad Mexican food?” she said in disbelief as she threw her head in Pancho’s
The reporting was all perfectly believable – and because it was the General’s son, there was an air of respectful restraint. So everybody expressed their sadness for a few moments and the world went on. This wouldn’t be a Jessica Lynch or a Pat Tillman situation. No, this episode lacked any kind of family pushback or contradictory evidence – so it would be swallowed whole and digested without discomfort by all of America.
It made me realize why Davidson liked John Ford films. This was a movie director who was fond of ripping apart glorious national myth-making, even as he celebrated the preservation of the myths. In The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance , a character famously says, “When the legend becomes fact, print the legend,” and that was Davidson’s credo too. The General would never blow the whistle on his fellow soldiers – it was good for the country to perpetuate patriotic myths. No, he would only curse out the government privately because it wouldn’t provide the troops with a “pure” mission.
And that’s why he wanted to send me out to handle this situation quietly and under the radar. If his son was still alive, he wanted to understand the situation before he took any official action.
But if Robert Davidson was still alive – where was he and what was he doing? My thoughts were going around in circles. I still didn’t know enough to even try and figure out that angle. So, to kill time, I checked out a few online gambling sites, wondering if I could get away with using my brand new credit card to win a million or two at virtual poker.
I was just recalling how bad a poker player I was when my iPhone started vibrating.
I picked it up off the desk where it lay beside the Chromebook, recognized the Caller ID again, and answered.
“Let me guess. You want to know where my car is, so your kid can come slash the tires again.”
“I hope you’re amused inside your own head, because those are the only laughs you’re going to get.”
Angela, as usual, wasn’t in a joking mood.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Davidson?”
“Where are you? Are you still in town?”
“Not in your town. I’m up the road, near D.C.”
Pause.
“Can I come see you?”
I checked my nice new silver watch. 4:30.
“Well…I hate to eat alone.”
“Tell me where to meet you.”
Was I crazy for inviting Angela Davidson to dinner after she sent her kid out to sabotage my rental? No. I needed all the information I could get and I knew there were probably a few details only she could provide. After all, this was her younger brother – she would know what he was all about.
I was still a little shaky from the bender the night before when I pulled my rental up to the D.C. hotspot where I asked her to meet me. I didn’t want her anywhere near my hotel, because I didn’t want to become the victim of any more of her family’s mischief. I ended up getting to the place a couple of minutes late – and I don’t think she was too ecstatic about my tardiness. She was actually looking pretty hot in a small black skirt and close-fitting top as she leaned on her Mercedes and glared at the boarded-up graffiti-ridden windows that bore the address I had given her.
Whoops.
I parked across the street and walked over to her.
“This must be a very exclusive place,” she said, her eyes throwing a few poisoned daggers my way. “So exclusive it doesn’t have windows. Must be some pretty important people in there. They really don’t want to be seen.”
I looked the façade up and down and sighed.
“Pancho’s Tacos. The best bad Mexican food in town. What the hell.”
“The best bad Mexican food?” she said in disbelief as she threw her head in Pancho’s
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