Nothing Sacred (FBI Agent Dan Hammer Series Book 1) by Douglas Wickard
Authors: Douglas Wickard
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admission, but Louis, God bless him, was all ears.
Of course, Janice’s voice was as loud at two o’clock in the morning as it was in a bowling alley ordering another beer. “Louis, it’s Mouth!”
“Porco dio.”
“I got front page on this one. Help me out.” Janice was twisting a strand of hair to the point of hurting, intuiting Louis’s ebbing interest.
“I’m listening.” He fumbled on the desk for a pencil.
“You want some coffee?”
“Hold on for one hot second. You know never to call me without details. How many times…”
Janice stopped listening. She never listened. In fact, she cut him off. “… Krispy Kreme coffee?”
“What the fuck are you talking about? I haven’t heard a peep. Nothing. What are ‘ya coming in for? Nothing’s come over the scanner.”
Intrepid reporters. Always screening the police scanner for the possibility of a lead.
“They’re keeping it quiet. Real quiet. But let me tell you, when you hear this one, it’s gonna send shivers right up your spine!”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s what my wife keeps saying. I’m waiting.”
Marriage. A mental note. Shoot her if she ever considered changing stripes.
Janice continued. She didn’t want to leak too much, but she had to feed him enough to keep his limited attention span piqued. “A girl was found out on Old Towne Road. Left for dead, but somehow she managed to crawl out onto the road, or something. I just finished talking with this person, Madden. He was the one who found the girl and took her in.”
“She dead? How old?”
With that toss of a tidbit, she had him. Hook, line and sinker. “This story is going to rattle a few chains, Louis, not to mention, sell papers.” And everybody understood what that did for an author’s byline.
She could visualize Louis, massaging his temples, holding onto his pencil in that awkward slant only lefties do.
“Where are you?”
“At the hospital. The girl’s alive, Louis. She lived. I want this one. I’m up for it.”
“Let me at least try and get hold of Finch.”
“Finch? Who the fuck is Finch? Fuck Finch.” She thought of a bird, fluttering in some wooden cage. “Louis, come on. This one’s mine. I found it. I want it. It’s got my name all over it, Dammit!”
“Sorry, Mouth. Finch is the police reporter on duty tonight.”
“Police reporter on duty?” She snorted at the absurdity. “Since when does Charleston, South Carolina have a police reporter on duty?”
“Don’t worry about it, he probably won’t pick up.”
“Can’t blame him. When’s the last time you used him? The attack on Fort Sumter?”
“Very funny. You got a name yet on the girl?”
“Angie Kessler.”
“How’d you get that? They usually keep that information sealed tight, like a nun’s twat.”
“Hospital Admitting.”
Louis shook his head. Who else but Janice “Mouth” Porter would feign relative and get the kids name? “Don’t forget, lots of half and half with my coffee.”
“You need to start watching your cholesterol.”
Janice ended the call, left MUSC and ran the twenty blocks to Dunkin Donuts. It was the least she could do. She was too lazy to go get her car and drive to the Krispy Kreme. While
Of course, Janice’s voice was as loud at two o’clock in the morning as it was in a bowling alley ordering another beer. “Louis, it’s Mouth!”
“Porco dio.”
“I got front page on this one. Help me out.” Janice was twisting a strand of hair to the point of hurting, intuiting Louis’s ebbing interest.
“I’m listening.” He fumbled on the desk for a pencil.
“You want some coffee?”
“Hold on for one hot second. You know never to call me without details. How many times…”
Janice stopped listening. She never listened. In fact, she cut him off. “… Krispy Kreme coffee?”
“What the fuck are you talking about? I haven’t heard a peep. Nothing. What are ‘ya coming in for? Nothing’s come over the scanner.”
Intrepid reporters. Always screening the police scanner for the possibility of a lead.
“They’re keeping it quiet. Real quiet. But let me tell you, when you hear this one, it’s gonna send shivers right up your spine!”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s what my wife keeps saying. I’m waiting.”
Marriage. A mental note. Shoot her if she ever considered changing stripes.
Janice continued. She didn’t want to leak too much, but she had to feed him enough to keep his limited attention span piqued. “A girl was found out on Old Towne Road. Left for dead, but somehow she managed to crawl out onto the road, or something. I just finished talking with this person, Madden. He was the one who found the girl and took her in.”
“She dead? How old?”
With that toss of a tidbit, she had him. Hook, line and sinker. “This story is going to rattle a few chains, Louis, not to mention, sell papers.” And everybody understood what that did for an author’s byline.
She could visualize Louis, massaging his temples, holding onto his pencil in that awkward slant only lefties do.
“Where are you?”
“At the hospital. The girl’s alive, Louis. She lived. I want this one. I’m up for it.”
“Let me at least try and get hold of Finch.”
“Finch? Who the fuck is Finch? Fuck Finch.” She thought of a bird, fluttering in some wooden cage. “Louis, come on. This one’s mine. I found it. I want it. It’s got my name all over it, Dammit!”
“Sorry, Mouth. Finch is the police reporter on duty tonight.”
“Police reporter on duty?” She snorted at the absurdity. “Since when does Charleston, South Carolina have a police reporter on duty?”
“Don’t worry about it, he probably won’t pick up.”
“Can’t blame him. When’s the last time you used him? The attack on Fort Sumter?”
“Very funny. You got a name yet on the girl?”
“Angie Kessler.”
“How’d you get that? They usually keep that information sealed tight, like a nun’s twat.”
“Hospital Admitting.”
Louis shook his head. Who else but Janice “Mouth” Porter would feign relative and get the kids name? “Don’t forget, lots of half and half with my coffee.”
“You need to start watching your cholesterol.”
Janice ended the call, left MUSC and ran the twenty blocks to Dunkin Donuts. It was the least she could do. She was too lazy to go get her car and drive to the Krispy Kreme. While
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