A Scourge of Vipers by Bruce DeSilva Read Free Book Online Page A

right.”
    â€œWho’s going to take the bets?”
    â€œThe Lottery Commission.”
    â€œThe state? Is she serious? Government can’t do anything right. She ought to solicit bids from experienced casino operators, turn this thing over to private enterprise. God, I hate these damned big-government Democrats.”
    â€œKeep your personal opinion to yourself when you edit the story next week,” I said.
    Chuckie-boy smirked, rolled his massive shoulders, and fussed with some papers on his desk.
    â€œI can’t see waiting for the governor’s announcement,” he said. “This is a huge story. I don’t want to risk getting scooped on it.”
    â€œOkay. I’ll make some calls this afternoon, see what I can do.”
    â€œWhy don’t we just pretend you did that?” he said. “Write up what you got from the governor, attribute it to an anonymous statehouse source, and I’ll lead tomorrow’s paper with it.”
    â€œYou want me to betray my source?”
    â€œJesus, Mulligan. You’re such a dinosaur. Ethics are overrated. Journalism isn’t a calling anymore. It’s a business. Or haven’t you heard?”
    â€œOh, I’ve heard, all right.”
    â€œSo get cracking.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œ No? Are you refusing this assignment?”
    â€œI guess I am.”
    â€œThat’s a firing offense.”
    â€œSo fire me.”
    He didn’t have anything to say to that.
    â€œBefore I go,” I said, “can I get a hit from your Purell bottle? I feel an urgent need for disinfectant.”
    I stomped back to my cubicle and made a round of calls. Nobody was talking. My best statehouse sources pleaded ignorance. Michael DeSimone, the Lottery Commission director, hung up on me, then called back on his personal cell phone.
    â€œAttila’s on a rampage,” he said. “She’s gonna crucify anyone who spills to the press about this.”
    I gave it up as a lost cause and turned to the day’s stack of press releases. The Vipers, Providence’s new entry in the D-League, was inviting local playground legends and former college hoopsters to open tryouts at the Dunkin’ Donuts Center, the city’s 12,993-seat sports arena, a week from Saturday. To me, it sounded like a gimmick to stir up fan interest. The rosters of the D-League, developmental teams for ballplayers not yet ready for prime time, were filled with prospects already signed by NBA teams after being scouted to death during their high school and college careers. A walk-on had as much chance of making the Vipers as I’d have if I walked into the Kennedy Space Center smoking crack and volunteered to become an astronaut.
    After I wrote it up, I made a few more calls.
    *   *   *
    â€œState Medical Examiner’s Office. Ferguson speaking.”
    â€œHi, Glenna. It’s Mulligan. Got a cause of death on the Blackstone River floater yet?”
    â€œLike I figured, he bled out from the bullet wound.”
    â€œDetermine the caliber?”
    â€œMost likely a forty-four or forty-five.”
    â€œFind anything else worth mentioning?”
    â€œThe body took a battering, most of it after he went into the water. But some of it was premortem. Somebody gave this poor bastard a hell of a beating.”
    â€œWith what?”
    â€œI’m guessing a blackjack.”
    â€œID him yet?”
    â€œNo.”
    I’d figured that because Dude hadn’t called.
    â€œWhat’s the holdup?”
    â€œI couldn’t pull any prints. Too much scavenger damage.”
    â€œDental?”
    â€œI took x-rays, but until someone reports this guy missing, I’ve got nothing to compare them with.”
    I thanked her, clicked off, checked my e-mail, and discovered that Chief Hernandez had delivered on his promise. I opened the attachment and stared at the gray, frowning visage of Lucan Alfano. His hooded eyes, broad