Shattered Read Online Free

Jackson Bridge. Not too many troublemakers will pay five dollars each way to get to the scene of the crime, if you know what I mean.”
    “Not too many tourists, either.”
    “Like I said.”
    Guy flipped his notebook closed, smiling. “Sounds like another article, John.”
    Case gestured toward Guy's notebook. “You're going to make me sound like a real son of a bitch in this one, aren't you?”
    Guy reached for his jacket, which he had tossed carelessly across the arm of the chair, and absently brushed at the wrinkles as he stood. “Toughest gun east of the Mississippi,” he assured him.
    “Well, as long as you spell the name right.” Case walked him to the door. “So how'd you get stuck doing piss-ant little stories about spring break, anyhow? Seems like I remember you from much bigger things.”
    “Didn't you hear? I got a promotion. I get to pick my own stories now.”
    “And you picked spring break?” Case gave a sad shake of his head. “I hate to tell you, my friend, but that ain't the way to becoming a prize-winning reporter.”
    “Yeah, well you do me a favor and be sure to give me a call the next time the Democratic party holds its national convention here.”
    Case grinned. “Hell, I'd probably just get your answering machine. 'Gone fishin,' it'd say.”
    “Yeah, you got me there.”
    They had reached the outer office and Guy paused, glancing around casually. Two deputies, a man and a woman, were at their computers, filling out up reports with that pained hunt-and-peck method favored by law enforcement officers everywhere. Maryanne, the dispatcher, had her earphones on and was talking to someone about a dog—lost or found, it was difficult to tell. Static and muffled voices came from her scanner as the units talked back and forth to one another, and in another part of the room a tinny-sounding radio was tuned to a country-western station. Garth Brooks.
    Guy glanced toward the back wall, where a steel door separated the jail from the offices. He said, keeping his tone negligent, “So what's the story on that guy the state police brought in?”
    Case's eyes narrowed with amusement and mild incredulity. “You sneaky S.O.B., you suckered me right in. You tie up a busy public official with an hour and a half of bullshit about spring break—”
    “More like forty-minutes.” Guy lifted a shoulder toward the jail. “So how about it? 'According to Sheriff John Case.’
    “He's gone,” Case said.
    “Yeah, I know. Four o'clock this morning.”
    “So there's your story.” Case turned back toward his office.
    “Big-time drug pusher, huh?”
    “Come on, Guy, all we did was store him. And you know how the state boys feel about locals riding on their coattails.”
    “So what'd the state police ever do for you?”
    “Cute.”
    “I heard you confiscated eighty kilos.”
    Case grunted. “Where are you getting your information? More like a hundred eighty.”
    Guy gave a low whistle, scribbling in his notebook. “False bottom in the trunk, right?”
    “Wheels. Jesus, what are you writing this down for? Nobody said you could have the story.”
    “ 'According to an unnamed source ...’” Guy quoted, not looking up. “What's the street value?”
    “You figure it out. You know more about this shit than I do.”
    “I'm flattered. What did you do with it?”
    “What?”
    “The coke.”
    “It's evidence. The state's sending a crime lab van for it.”
    “Meantime?”
    “What do you mean, meantime?”
    But his eyes betrayed him with a sliding glance toward the steel door that led to the jail, and Guy burst out laughing.
    “Are you kidding me? You're holding several hundred thousand dollars worth of high-grade cocaine prisoner in the county jail? Now, that's a headline.”
    “Goddamn it, Guy—”
    Guy put his notebook back in his pocket, still chuckling, and slipped on his coat. “Now do you see why I love working here?”
    “Now you listen here, Guy—”
    Case was starting to look alarmed, so