The Whisper Box by Roger Olivieri Read Free Book Online Page B

the phone and headed south to Laura's apartment.
    Mac barely made it out before the small town was buzzing. He noticed three different news vans going North on the Taconic while he traveled South, only minutes after his pone call. McFarland had everyone racing each other to get to Poughkeepsie. The media, the police, and the hungry attorneys were cutting each other off on the Taconic Parkway to beat the next guy. Mac laughed to himself as he headed in the opposite direction, away from Poughkeepsie, away from the cafe, away from the cops and towards Laura's place.
    Who would have the story first? Who would have the client first? Who would take America's Most Wanted into custody first? America was all about firsts. McFarland knew this and used it to his advantage. He sped down the highway. He would be at Laura's apartment in less than forty minutes where he would go to the hole in the floor that she had described. This time tomorrow, Mac's name would be all over the country, maybe even the world. Again, he pictured his face on television. He thought of the money, he imagined the future; the law was a beautiful thing. He also pictured Laura alone in his office, scared; he did care about his only client.
     
    The bullet entered Michael's skull from the rear. He had not even finished taking his keys out of the door. The man grabbed him from behind, asked no questions, and fired. The tightly screwed on silencer startled no neighbors. Michael felt a tiny twinge for a half a second, and then nothing. The body was disposed of quickly in the Hudson River. Blocks were tied to the plastic wrapped around his corpse to make certain it would never surface. A note left under the neighbor’s mat read:
    Joe and Jenny—
    Unexpected vacation time from the boss! I am heading to the Jersey shore. Please check my mail for me. I'll be home in a week!
    See Ya'- Mike
    PS - If Tonya comes by, tell her I needed some time away; she'll know what you mean.
    Michael's body would never be found. The orders had gone out this morning to take care of this matter immediately.
     
    Mac turned the radio on and pondered what he had done. He had created a story that had caused all local members of the media to gather for nothing. The thought of one hundred eager, annoying paparazzi types running in circles comparing notes, twenty police officers, questioning locals, as three FBI agents attempt to control the crowd, amongst the clueless, nosy townies was laughable. There would be mass confusion for at least two hours before everyone realized there was nothing, absolutely nothing, to be found at the café. He created a cloud of steam. It appeared to be thick and solid, but when you reached into it, there was nothing to grab.
    He pulled down the alley behind the apartment building with his lights off. His black Corvette almost seemed invisible. He felt invisible. His heart was pounding through his chest. He could feel the tension. In a sick way, he loved it. What he refused to admit to himself was that at any moment the villain could show up. This was serious.
    Upon exiting his car, he realized how high the drop down stairway was. He jumped as high as he could, but he missed the stairway by at least six inches.
    A wave of negativity hit him. There was no way he could make this happen, at least not this way. Ignoring his thoughts, he tried again. He was not even close. On the last attempt he landed in a puddle.
    Puddles in the back of dark alleys are worse than puddles that form on a sidewalk. They are dirty. They always have some sort of oil in them. The oil forms a glistening film across the top of the water. There are also always chunks of mud in these puddles. This oily mud puddle was now up one side of his pants and down the other. He could not see it, it was dark, but he could feel it.
    There was no use in jumping any longer. Frustrated, he stood there for a few minutes with his hands on his hips and looked around the alley. Suddenly, something caught his eye. In