Read Online Supernatural 10 - Rite of Passage by John Passarella - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John Passarella
Ads: Link
aghast.
“Old school,” Dean commented, clearly amused at Sam’s reaction.
“Part of retirement,” Roy said. “Don’t mind waiting until six o’clock to get my news. Worst case, there’s a police scanner in the basement somewhere. Haven’t used that since …” His voice choked with emotion. “Not for a long time.”
Sam spun the laptop around.
“What’s wrong?” Dean asked.
“There’s a modem jack on the motherboard,” Sam said, “but I don’t have an RJ12 connector.”
“Sure I have a spare in a drawer with my login information,” Roy said.
As he walked over to a small hutch and shuffled through the contents of the top drawer, Sam glanced at Dean and gave a small head shake.
“What?” Dean said. “Like a foreclosed house or a shack in the woods would have Wi-Fi.” He tilted his bottle and frowned, climbing out of his seat. “I need another beer. You?”
“I’m good,” Sam said, without bothering to check his bottle or look up at his brother.
As soon as Dean had abandoned his seat, Lucifer dropped into it. He looked around at the dark wooden walls of the sparsely furnished house and nodded appreciatively. “Hey, buddy,” he said. “Cozy little tinderbox you found here. What say we light this hidey-hole up for all the comforts of home?”
Sam tried to ignore him.
“I’m the one who sees your potential, Sam,” Lucifer continued. “C’mon! Let’s add firebug to the Looney Tunes resume.”
“Found one!” Roy declared, holding up a tangled gray cable.
Lucifer grinned. “A good house fire really warms the cockles.”
Under the table, Sam pressed his thumbnail hard into the scar on his left hand.
“You okay?” Roy asked. He stood beside Sam, hand extended with the cable.
“Fine,” Sam said. “I’m fine.” A quick glance across the table revealed Lucifer’s absence. “Phone jack?”
“One over in that corner, by the baseboard,” Roy said, pointing. “But let me call the police chief first.”
Of course, Sam thought. With dial-up, you could make a call or go online, but not both at the same time. He considered offering the retired hunter his burner cell, but worried he might take it as an insult. Besides, with caller ID, it was probably better the call to the police chief came from the landline.
Six
“An interstate burglary ring?” Chief Donato asked as he and Bobby walked down the hall of the Laurel Hill Police Headquarters from the administrative wing to the patrol section. The place was large enough that it had an abandoned quality with so few personnel sitting at desks in offices or bullpen areas or rushing down the hall. “What’s your level of confidence, Agent Willis?”
“Early stages,” Bobby said while attempting to project the assured demeanor of a special agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The suit and tie certainly kept him on point—dress for the role. “Seeing patterns similar to what I found during an investigation in Montana.” Bobby hoped a northeastern United States chief of police would have little to no interest in crimes affecting Big Sky Country.
“What sort of patterns?”
The chief had a military bearing and the buzz-cut to match, but his hair had considerably more salt than pepper, and his midsection had expanded enough that Donato’s doctor would mention diet and exercise at his next annual physical. Bobby guessed the man’s role was strictly administrative, riding a desk, not a police cruiser.
Bobby considered the possibility that the police chief was a Leviathan in disguise, then dismissed the idea. The Big Mouths could be responsible for Laurel Hill’s run of rotten luck, but he doubted they would have any interest in a midsized town in southern New Jersey. Still, these days, caution could never be overrated.
“Accident clusters,” Bobby said. “First blush, appear unrelated. But they escalate. More damage, more casualties. Require more police and emergency personnel.”
Chief Donato nodded, the
“Old school,” Dean commented, clearly amused at Sam’s reaction.
“Part of retirement,” Roy said. “Don’t mind waiting until six o’clock to get my news. Worst case, there’s a police scanner in the basement somewhere. Haven’t used that since …” His voice choked with emotion. “Not for a long time.”
Sam spun the laptop around.
“What’s wrong?” Dean asked.
“There’s a modem jack on the motherboard,” Sam said, “but I don’t have an RJ12 connector.”
“Sure I have a spare in a drawer with my login information,” Roy said.
As he walked over to a small hutch and shuffled through the contents of the top drawer, Sam glanced at Dean and gave a small head shake.
“What?” Dean said. “Like a foreclosed house or a shack in the woods would have Wi-Fi.” He tilted his bottle and frowned, climbing out of his seat. “I need another beer. You?”
“I’m good,” Sam said, without bothering to check his bottle or look up at his brother.
As soon as Dean had abandoned his seat, Lucifer dropped into it. He looked around at the dark wooden walls of the sparsely furnished house and nodded appreciatively. “Hey, buddy,” he said. “Cozy little tinderbox you found here. What say we light this hidey-hole up for all the comforts of home?”
Sam tried to ignore him.
“I’m the one who sees your potential, Sam,” Lucifer continued. “C’mon! Let’s add firebug to the Looney Tunes resume.”
“Found one!” Roy declared, holding up a tangled gray cable.
Lucifer grinned. “A good house fire really warms the cockles.”
Under the table, Sam pressed his thumbnail hard into the scar on his left hand.
“You okay?” Roy asked. He stood beside Sam, hand extended with the cable.
“Fine,” Sam said. “I’m fine.” A quick glance across the table revealed Lucifer’s absence. “Phone jack?”
“One over in that corner, by the baseboard,” Roy said, pointing. “But let me call the police chief first.”
Of course, Sam thought. With dial-up, you could make a call or go online, but not both at the same time. He considered offering the retired hunter his burner cell, but worried he might take it as an insult. Besides, with caller ID, it was probably better the call to the police chief came from the landline.
Six
“An interstate burglary ring?” Chief Donato asked as he and Bobby walked down the hall of the Laurel Hill Police Headquarters from the administrative wing to the patrol section. The place was large enough that it had an abandoned quality with so few personnel sitting at desks in offices or bullpen areas or rushing down the hall. “What’s your level of confidence, Agent Willis?”
“Early stages,” Bobby said while attempting to project the assured demeanor of a special agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The suit and tie certainly kept him on point—dress for the role. “Seeing patterns similar to what I found during an investigation in Montana.” Bobby hoped a northeastern United States chief of police would have little to no interest in crimes affecting Big Sky Country.
“What sort of patterns?”
The chief had a military bearing and the buzz-cut to match, but his hair had considerably more salt than pepper, and his midsection had expanded enough that Donato’s doctor would mention diet and exercise at his next annual physical. Bobby guessed the man’s role was strictly administrative, riding a desk, not a police cruiser.
Bobby considered the possibility that the police chief was a Leviathan in disguise, then dismissed the idea. The Big Mouths could be responsible for Laurel Hill’s run of rotten luck, but he doubted they would have any interest in a midsized town in southern New Jersey. Still, these days, caution could never be overrated.
“Accident clusters,” Bobby said. “First blush, appear unrelated. But they escalate. More damage, more casualties. Require more police and emergency personnel.”
Chief Donato nodded, the
Similar Books
