![Full Moonster [BUREAU 13 Book Three]](/res/aob/book1.jpg)
helpful.
Reclining contentedly in his swivel chair, Raul crossed his arms. “Okay, then shoot us the straight poop, boss man."
Furrowing my brow, I revved my brain to overload and thought like a sonovabitch. No ... no ... nyah, that wouldn't work either ... ah ... er ... um....
Silent during the rhetoric, Father Donaher sat hunched over, doing his rosary at record speed and starting to break into a sweat. Then he stopped, crossed himself and wet his lip.
"Yes,” Mike said in a strained voice, as he stared at the spinning ceiling fan overhead. “If only we knew of something that could help us. But say, if some priest had heard of such a ... thing in, oh, the confessional, for example, then he couldn't tell anybody about it."
"Even if he really, really wanted to,” finished the big priest with a pained expression.
Smiles abounded. We have a bingo.
"Hey, Mike,” I grinned. “How about we go stretch our legs in the parking lot outside and maybe have a friendly game of darts?"
Tongue between teeth, Raul was already digging about in his spell book and extricated a giant map of North America. We had done this before. Many times.
Pulling a brass-trimmed, red leather box from a voluminous pocket of his cassock, Donaher eased open the top. Nestled inside on a cushion of gleaming white satin lay three darts. The needle tips were engraved with Donaher's full name, the shaft made of African ironwood, edged with mahogany, and the fletching was of the neatly trimmed feathers of an American bald Eagle.
Daintily lift a dart into view, Donaher flipped it into the air and on the way down caught the point between thumb and forefinger. Mike flipped it again, and caught the dart underhand with a snapping wrist motion. Mindy couldn't have done better.
"Gosh, Ed,” the big Catholic priest said. “I'll be glad to play a game, but I'm really not as good at darts as I would like to be."
Ooh, watching a professional like him skirt around the Ninth Commandant was always a thrill.
* * * *
The two of us played darts across four states, before we ‘needed’ a fresh map to replace the old one. Pretty soon, Mike and I were working on a street map of Kansas City, Missouri. With amazing accuracy, he laid a feathered pattern in the suburbs around a small estate owned by an old friend of ours. That is, if you use some new and twisted meaning of the word ‘friend'. Try arch-enemy instead.
Gathering the crew, we paid for dinner and took a cab from Zanesville to Columbus, sleeping the whole way. In Columbus, we purchased a brand new limousine using my disposal ID and fake American Express card listed under the name of Richard Tucholka. The credit card was good for any amount, but only for one purchase. Afterwards, the account would be paid in full by the Bureau and permanently closed.
Driving to Kansas City, sleeping the whole way, we traded the limo in on a used school bus, which was the closet thing to an armored assault vehicle it was possible to obtain on such short notice. It also helped to muddy our trail in case the Scion was still after us. Not an unreasonable assumption. Those guys could give bloodhounds a bad name.
Hitting a theatrical supply company, and a local hangout for devious criminal types, we purchased the few additional supplies needed to do this assignment and then took off to find some secluded place where we could work in peace.
Pulling into the lot of the ‘Lazy Eight Motel', Jessica got us four adjoining rooms, and the team trundled inside with our new equipment. Most of it was weapons, ammunition, medical supplies, silver ingots and a special purchase by me, for me. I was the only member of the team trained to handle the stuff. I might have no idea what Donaher was sending us after, but I had a pretty good hunch what I would have to do to get It.
As this mission was incredibly dangerous, and slightly illegal, I was going alone. The more people involved, the bigger a chance of failure. It was not a unanimous
Reclining contentedly in his swivel chair, Raul crossed his arms. “Okay, then shoot us the straight poop, boss man."
Furrowing my brow, I revved my brain to overload and thought like a sonovabitch. No ... no ... nyah, that wouldn't work either ... ah ... er ... um....
Silent during the rhetoric, Father Donaher sat hunched over, doing his rosary at record speed and starting to break into a sweat. Then he stopped, crossed himself and wet his lip.
"Yes,” Mike said in a strained voice, as he stared at the spinning ceiling fan overhead. “If only we knew of something that could help us. But say, if some priest had heard of such a ... thing in, oh, the confessional, for example, then he couldn't tell anybody about it."
"Even if he really, really wanted to,” finished the big priest with a pained expression.
Smiles abounded. We have a bingo.
"Hey, Mike,” I grinned. “How about we go stretch our legs in the parking lot outside and maybe have a friendly game of darts?"
Tongue between teeth, Raul was already digging about in his spell book and extricated a giant map of North America. We had done this before. Many times.
Pulling a brass-trimmed, red leather box from a voluminous pocket of his cassock, Donaher eased open the top. Nestled inside on a cushion of gleaming white satin lay three darts. The needle tips were engraved with Donaher's full name, the shaft made of African ironwood, edged with mahogany, and the fletching was of the neatly trimmed feathers of an American bald Eagle.
Daintily lift a dart into view, Donaher flipped it into the air and on the way down caught the point between thumb and forefinger. Mike flipped it again, and caught the dart underhand with a snapping wrist motion. Mindy couldn't have done better.
"Gosh, Ed,” the big Catholic priest said. “I'll be glad to play a game, but I'm really not as good at darts as I would like to be."
Ooh, watching a professional like him skirt around the Ninth Commandant was always a thrill.
* * * *
The two of us played darts across four states, before we ‘needed’ a fresh map to replace the old one. Pretty soon, Mike and I were working on a street map of Kansas City, Missouri. With amazing accuracy, he laid a feathered pattern in the suburbs around a small estate owned by an old friend of ours. That is, if you use some new and twisted meaning of the word ‘friend'. Try arch-enemy instead.
Gathering the crew, we paid for dinner and took a cab from Zanesville to Columbus, sleeping the whole way. In Columbus, we purchased a brand new limousine using my disposal ID and fake American Express card listed under the name of Richard Tucholka. The credit card was good for any amount, but only for one purchase. Afterwards, the account would be paid in full by the Bureau and permanently closed.
Driving to Kansas City, sleeping the whole way, we traded the limo in on a used school bus, which was the closet thing to an armored assault vehicle it was possible to obtain on such short notice. It also helped to muddy our trail in case the Scion was still after us. Not an unreasonable assumption. Those guys could give bloodhounds a bad name.
Hitting a theatrical supply company, and a local hangout for devious criminal types, we purchased the few additional supplies needed to do this assignment and then took off to find some secluded place where we could work in peace.
Pulling into the lot of the ‘Lazy Eight Motel', Jessica got us four adjoining rooms, and the team trundled inside with our new equipment. Most of it was weapons, ammunition, medical supplies, silver ingots and a special purchase by me, for me. I was the only member of the team trained to handle the stuff. I might have no idea what Donaher was sending us after, but I had a pretty good hunch what I would have to do to get It.
As this mission was incredibly dangerous, and slightly illegal, I was going alone. The more people involved, the bigger a chance of failure. It was not a unanimous
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