Read Online The Disappearance by J. F. Freedman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J. F. Freedman
Tags: Suspense
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commuting down the coast to Malibu. Now, a Cohiba double corona in hand, the balls-to-the-walls twelve-speaker stereo blasting UB40, he’s feeling awesome.
The dinner was a celebratory event. A month ago, his agent negotiated a contract for Joe to be the 5 P.M. anchor at KNBC, the network’s station in Los Angeles. This evening’s six o’clock newscast was his valedictory performance at KNSB.
Doug Lancaster joined Joe and Nicole for dinner. He was sorry to see his star anchorman leave, but Joe’s ascension had been inevitable from the day he started work at the station. Joe was going places, and Doug was happy to have been a part of it.
Joe’s yearly fee is going to start in the medium six figures, with a $125,000 signing bonus. And they promised him a good crack, down the line a year or so, at some of the network’s most prestigious showcases—the Weekend News , subbing on the Today Show , doing live remotes on the Evening News . Tom Brokaw called Joe personally during the negotiations to congratulate him on this upward career move, even joshing that he’d better start looking over his shoulder. Joe and Nicole aren’t spending the night together, as they usually do. That’s the only downside to his new job—she isn’t coming with him. She has a life here, and she isn’t ready to give it up. And he isn’t ready for that kind of commitment either. The career’s got to come first; the personal life will go on hold.
He doesn’t know how long the revolving red lights have been flashing in his rearview mirror. He hasn’t had that much to drink, but he isn’t confident he can go under .08 percent on a blood-alcohol test. You don’t need much booze in your system to test positive—he’s done many a news story on this issue.
“I’ll need to see your driver’s license and registration, sir,” the cop tells him, shining his flashlight into the window. The cop takes a closer look. “You’re Joe Allison, right? From Channel 8.”
Joe smiles at the officer. This might be a small pond, but he’s a big fish in it. “That’s me,” he says brightly. Tone it down, man, he thinks to himself, you’re giving it away. “I wasn’t speeding, was I?” he asks as conversationally as he can. “I’m usually good at staying at the limit.” Pulling his wallet from his hip pocket and handing over the driver’s license, he fumbles around in his crowded glove compartment for the registration. The light isn’t very good. “How fast was I going?” he asks again.
“You weren’t speeding, but you were weaving over the double yellow line. I’m going to ask you to step out of your car onto the sidewalk, sir, so I can Field test you for sobriety. After you find the registration.” A beat. “This is your car, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s mine.” He digs more frantically in the dark compartment. This is pathetic; he needs to throw three-quarters of this shit out. His head buried halfway under the console now, he continues his line of patter, speaking slowly, carefully enunciating each word. “I’ll tell you right now, officer, I have had a few drinks.” Cop to the small indiscretion now and avoid the larger consequence, that’s the smart strategy. His name in the paper or on a police report is what he wants to avoid. Not the best way to impress your new bosses down in Los Angeles.
“After the test, sir.” The officer’s right hand is resting lightly on his hip, above the gun. He’s beginning to get impatient. “Do you need some help?” He starts to shine his flashlight into the car.
“Got it.” Damn! He was panicked for a minute there. Bad enough he wasn’t driving a straight line. Not producing his paperwork would do him in for sure. Although in truth he feels his driving was fine, but maybe he swerved—once. He wasn’t paying attention.
He hands the slip to the cop, who looks it over.
“Okay. Now step out, Mr. Allison.”
Slowly, carefully, Joe gets out of the car. As he opens the door,
The dinner was a celebratory event. A month ago, his agent negotiated a contract for Joe to be the 5 P.M. anchor at KNBC, the network’s station in Los Angeles. This evening’s six o’clock newscast was his valedictory performance at KNSB.
Doug Lancaster joined Joe and Nicole for dinner. He was sorry to see his star anchorman leave, but Joe’s ascension had been inevitable from the day he started work at the station. Joe was going places, and Doug was happy to have been a part of it.
Joe’s yearly fee is going to start in the medium six figures, with a $125,000 signing bonus. And they promised him a good crack, down the line a year or so, at some of the network’s most prestigious showcases—the Weekend News , subbing on the Today Show , doing live remotes on the Evening News . Tom Brokaw called Joe personally during the negotiations to congratulate him on this upward career move, even joshing that he’d better start looking over his shoulder. Joe and Nicole aren’t spending the night together, as they usually do. That’s the only downside to his new job—she isn’t coming with him. She has a life here, and she isn’t ready to give it up. And he isn’t ready for that kind of commitment either. The career’s got to come first; the personal life will go on hold.
He doesn’t know how long the revolving red lights have been flashing in his rearview mirror. He hasn’t had that much to drink, but he isn’t confident he can go under .08 percent on a blood-alcohol test. You don’t need much booze in your system to test positive—he’s done many a news story on this issue.
“I’ll need to see your driver’s license and registration, sir,” the cop tells him, shining his flashlight into the window. The cop takes a closer look. “You’re Joe Allison, right? From Channel 8.”
Joe smiles at the officer. This might be a small pond, but he’s a big fish in it. “That’s me,” he says brightly. Tone it down, man, he thinks to himself, you’re giving it away. “I wasn’t speeding, was I?” he asks as conversationally as he can. “I’m usually good at staying at the limit.” Pulling his wallet from his hip pocket and handing over the driver’s license, he fumbles around in his crowded glove compartment for the registration. The light isn’t very good. “How fast was I going?” he asks again.
“You weren’t speeding, but you were weaving over the double yellow line. I’m going to ask you to step out of your car onto the sidewalk, sir, so I can Field test you for sobriety. After you find the registration.” A beat. “This is your car, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s mine.” He digs more frantically in the dark compartment. This is pathetic; he needs to throw three-quarters of this shit out. His head buried halfway under the console now, he continues his line of patter, speaking slowly, carefully enunciating each word. “I’ll tell you right now, officer, I have had a few drinks.” Cop to the small indiscretion now and avoid the larger consequence, that’s the smart strategy. His name in the paper or on a police report is what he wants to avoid. Not the best way to impress your new bosses down in Los Angeles.
“After the test, sir.” The officer’s right hand is resting lightly on his hip, above the gun. He’s beginning to get impatient. “Do you need some help?” He starts to shine his flashlight into the car.
“Got it.” Damn! He was panicked for a minute there. Bad enough he wasn’t driving a straight line. Not producing his paperwork would do him in for sure. Although in truth he feels his driving was fine, but maybe he swerved—once. He wasn’t paying attention.
He hands the slip to the cop, who looks it over.
“Okay. Now step out, Mr. Allison.”
Slowly, carefully, Joe gets out of the car. As he opens the door,
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