Eye of the Burning Man: A Mick Callahan Novel (The Mick Callahan Series) by Harry Shannon Read Free Book Online Page A

reactionary fundamentalists manipulating some news outlets and trying to turn the clock back. Wars, deficits, apathy. And listen, I recognize that I contributed to this chaos. We all do. Our politicians are sleazy, corrupt, and we no longer revere Congress, the Senate, or the Presidency. And you want us to run off to some festival in the desert to re-live the glory years? Come on. That's what we got from the last time around. We got screwed. We're a mess, Gene."
    Gene paused. "Okay," he said finally. "But we did get some freaking great rock and roll music."
    I roared. "Okay, I'll have to give you that one. We certainly did. And it's also a good thing that we learned to question our government more than we ever had before. Thanks for calling in."
    I cut the line, sat in the chair, flipped through some CDs, spoke over the musical introduction. "And here, just for the Hades of it, is a song from Gene's favorite flashback. It is a little piece by Cream, with Eric Clapton on guitar. It's called 'Sunshine of Your Love.' I'm Mick Callahan, and I'll be back with you in just a moment."
    The music rocked on and I reached into the small refrigerator near my feet, grabbed a Diet soda. The air-conditioning kicked in and a soft rush of cool wind blew past my shoulders. If that doesn't stir something up, I don't know what will. If it stays dead tonight, maybe it's time for another career change.
    Line one. I took the call during the song. I couldn't hear the voice at first, just noise; the cacophony of competing rock music and some static, voices murmuring in the background. Someone was trying to call from a bar or a night club.
    "Hello?"
    Slurring words, trying to whisper: "I need you."
    I glanced at the caller ID, jotted down the number. It was long distance, a 909 prefix; so somewhere out towards San Bernardino, Pomona, or maybe even Claremont. Was this a prank? "Please, speak up. Don't waste my time."
    "I need your help," a woman said. She sounded drunk or drugged. "Don't you remember?"
    I didn't, not at first. "Who is this?"
    She broke the connection, as if startled by something. I frowned, looked at the telephone number, and after a long moment tossed it. Eric Clapton played the last lead licks and the record came to an end.
    "Gene, that was for you and your faded, graying hippie buddies. I'm Mick Callahan and I'll start taking calls again in just a moment, but first, a quick word from one of our sponsors." I started a new CD; a short commercial for an expensive skin-care product. I slumped forward in the chair, elbows on the console. After a few seconds I reached into the trash bucket, extracted the telephone number, and put it in the pocket of my jeans.
    Line one again. I grabbed it, with one eye on the timer. The commercial was nearly over. "Hello?"
    "Is this Mick Callahan?" It was another woman, not the same one.
    "Yes. Can I help you?"
    "I just wanted to say thank you for sticking it to that idiot who called you about the Burning Man Festival. I saw part of a documentary on it once, and it is a Pagan ritual that would be an affront to our Lord Jesus Christ, were He here to see it. Those naked heathens turn my stomach. It says in the Bible that . . ."
    I cut her off. "Sorry lady, the commercial is nearly over. Thank you for calling. Let me know when the rapture starts, okay?"
    In the nick of time: "Mick Callahan, here. We have just a few minutes left, so I wanted to mention something else that has been on my mind." I looked down at the phones, swearing silently. Nobody, damn it! "We're really busy this evening, and I have so many callers I am going to clear the decks and take caller number five." Can you guys tell I'm lying through my grinning teeth, here? I certainly hope not. "I have two tickets to the opening night of the new James Bond movie to give away, so caller number five gets the last question of the night and two hot tickets. Come on folks, hit the phones and let's see who wins."
    I played a disc with an out-of-tune