Read Online Mercury Rises by Robert Kroese - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert Kroese
Tags: Fiction, General, Humorous, Humorous fiction, Fantasy fiction, Fantasy, Contemporary, Journalists, Armageddon, Angels, Government investigators, End of the world, Women Journalists
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OK," grumbled Perp. "You can be part of the official escort. But asking him about the flood is out of the question. Under no circumstances are you to initiate a conversation with Michael."
"What if he starts a conversation with me?" Mercury asked.
"Why in hell would he do that?" Perp growled.
Mercury shrugged. "I have a friendly sort of face. People like talking to me."
"Whatever," said Perp. "Just don't start anything, and don't antagonize him. No talking about religion or politics."
"Works for me," said Mercury. "I'll stick to completely non-controversial topics. Like the weather, for instance."
NINE
After the meeting at the Beacon Building, Eddie spent two days holed up in his hotel room reading books one through six of the Charlie Nyx series and then watching the five movies that had been released on Blue-Ray, looking for clues as to the author's identity. He was surprised to find that the books weren't actually bad. The writing style was a bit tired; clearly the author had talent, but Eddie got the impression that he or she wasn't trying very hard. Underneath the unremarkable prose, however, lay a story with mythical potency. It reminded Eddie of some of the ancient epic poems, but updated and translated to tween-speak. The movies, on the other hand, were absolute dreck, combining an overly literal reading of the books with a ten-year-old's obsession with shit blowing up. By the end of the last movie, Eddie was actually sick to his stomach---although that might also have had something to do with the two cartons of Whoppers and three gallons of Mountain Dew he had ingested during his Charlie Nyx marathon.
Having learned almost nothing about the author of the books, Eddie drove the BMW across town to the posh neighborhood that had once been home to Katie Midford. The drive helped relieve the nausea induced by the intake of excessive sugar and computer-generated graphics, but he was still experiencing a funk that even the warm weather and comforting smog blanket of Los Angeles couldn't dispel. It was dawning on him that even if he found the manuscript, it would undoubtedly be unusable in its current form, as it had been written before the Anaheim Event. Eddie knew enough about human nature to realize that releasing a young adult fantasy adventure that made frequent references to a place where a hundred and forty thousand people had very recently died would be considered in very bad taste, no matter what Wanda Kwan and her beloved shareholders thought. Not only that, but it was probably only a matter of time before someone discovered that there really was a secret network of tunnels under Anaheim Stadium, a fact that would raise a lot of uncomfortable questions that would undoubtedly be directed at Eddie himself. Maybe the authorities had found the tunnels already and simply hadn't revealed the fact publicly. But if they had, he reflected, he most likely would have been approached in Cork by FBI agents rather than the lovely Wanda Kwan. So they hadn't found them yet. And maybe, with a little luck, they never would.
So, if he could avoid being arrested on the suspicion that he was the most dangerous terrorist in U.S. history, and if he could somehow locate the manuscript that had eluded the Finch Group's professional investigators, and if he could remove the horrifically offensive bits of the manuscript that were undoubtedly critical to the arc of the entire Charlie Nyx series without ruining the book, and if that book were then made into a blockbuster movie, and if he could then parlay the success of that movie into another movie deal, Eddie Pratt would be an actual honest-to-goodness Hollywood screenwriter---and wasn't that worth the risk? Of course it was. Eddie Pratt, the misplaced cherub of Cork, was going to be the biggest thing that ever came out of the M.O.C.
Eddie drove up Katie Midford's driveway and waved his hand at the gate sensor. The sensor, mistaking an electrical irregularity caused by the
"What if he starts a conversation with me?" Mercury asked.
"Why in hell would he do that?" Perp growled.
Mercury shrugged. "I have a friendly sort of face. People like talking to me."
"Whatever," said Perp. "Just don't start anything, and don't antagonize him. No talking about religion or politics."
"Works for me," said Mercury. "I'll stick to completely non-controversial topics. Like the weather, for instance."
NINE
After the meeting at the Beacon Building, Eddie spent two days holed up in his hotel room reading books one through six of the Charlie Nyx series and then watching the five movies that had been released on Blue-Ray, looking for clues as to the author's identity. He was surprised to find that the books weren't actually bad. The writing style was a bit tired; clearly the author had talent, but Eddie got the impression that he or she wasn't trying very hard. Underneath the unremarkable prose, however, lay a story with mythical potency. It reminded Eddie of some of the ancient epic poems, but updated and translated to tween-speak. The movies, on the other hand, were absolute dreck, combining an overly literal reading of the books with a ten-year-old's obsession with shit blowing up. By the end of the last movie, Eddie was actually sick to his stomach---although that might also have had something to do with the two cartons of Whoppers and three gallons of Mountain Dew he had ingested during his Charlie Nyx marathon.
Having learned almost nothing about the author of the books, Eddie drove the BMW across town to the posh neighborhood that had once been home to Katie Midford. The drive helped relieve the nausea induced by the intake of excessive sugar and computer-generated graphics, but he was still experiencing a funk that even the warm weather and comforting smog blanket of Los Angeles couldn't dispel. It was dawning on him that even if he found the manuscript, it would undoubtedly be unusable in its current form, as it had been written before the Anaheim Event. Eddie knew enough about human nature to realize that releasing a young adult fantasy adventure that made frequent references to a place where a hundred and forty thousand people had very recently died would be considered in very bad taste, no matter what Wanda Kwan and her beloved shareholders thought. Not only that, but it was probably only a matter of time before someone discovered that there really was a secret network of tunnels under Anaheim Stadium, a fact that would raise a lot of uncomfortable questions that would undoubtedly be directed at Eddie himself. Maybe the authorities had found the tunnels already and simply hadn't revealed the fact publicly. But if they had, he reflected, he most likely would have been approached in Cork by FBI agents rather than the lovely Wanda Kwan. So they hadn't found them yet. And maybe, with a little luck, they never would.
So, if he could avoid being arrested on the suspicion that he was the most dangerous terrorist in U.S. history, and if he could somehow locate the manuscript that had eluded the Finch Group's professional investigators, and if he could remove the horrifically offensive bits of the manuscript that were undoubtedly critical to the arc of the entire Charlie Nyx series without ruining the book, and if that book were then made into a blockbuster movie, and if he could then parlay the success of that movie into another movie deal, Eddie Pratt would be an actual honest-to-goodness Hollywood screenwriter---and wasn't that worth the risk? Of course it was. Eddie Pratt, the misplaced cherub of Cork, was going to be the biggest thing that ever came out of the M.O.C.
Eddie drove up Katie Midford's driveway and waved his hand at the gate sensor. The sensor, mistaking an electrical irregularity caused by the
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