I looked at the list and put myself in consideration for him. Who will I kill next? Who is in danger? I came up with six names.
The next thing I want to do is talk to Lacey. She was probably the last person to see Ashley before she was killed. I dialed Lacey's cell phone and she answered the first call, "Hey."
Her voice sounded serious, and I retorted: "It sucks."
"I can't believe she is dead. First Jennifer, now Ashley. What's the matter?"
I ignored her question. "Did Ashley talk to you in the car?"
"It's nothing important. It's just a topic."
"Did she get anything?"
"She always gets some. She's a gangbang. A cool gangbang, but still a gangbang."
"Where did she go after she dropped you off?"
"She didn't want to say it, but there was a look on her face that I would do something perverted."
I suddenly had an idea. What if Ashley and Tristen fool around? I changed the subject, "So what are your plans for today?"
"Caleb will come and pick me up to the gallery in about ten minutes. I have a meeting with a lady from the Microsoft Association and a banquet host. I need you to take care of Baxter before we move home. Last night, Kang Na found him sleeping on the suit he had just bought and almost killed him." She paused for half a second, and then asked, "When shall we move home?"
Good question, I told her to hand the pug to Caleb, hung up, and dialed Mr. Barstow. He didn't try to conceal his despair on the phone, and Ashley's death nearly collapsed his despair. I told him that I still need three people to assist in surveillance. He said he would make a few phone calls and see him in a bar a few blocks away from the school a few hours later.
It was almost noon, and I was starving to death. If I were to yell at Alex, I might as well yell while eating burgers and fries. I dialed her number and she answered it. She knows that I know that article. I know she knows I know. I think we all find it easier to pretend not to know.
Alex drove the car into Burger King’s parking lot, two cars in front of me. I parked the car next to her, and we both sneaked up to the entrance of the burger shop. I kindly asked her to open the door for me, because I am a picky genius and a picky gentleman.
I was in a bad mood, so I ordered an extra-large burger, large French fries and a glass of vanilla smoothie. Alex turned her eyes to the salad menu. She bit her lip and said, "I want the same thing too."
I imagined her calculating math in her head. I think calorie intake is equivalent to running a marathon continuously.
We found a stall, each ate a piece of French fries, and waited for each other to speak. I was the only one with ammunition, and I said, "Have you written anything good lately?"
She swallowed a French fries. "Yes, I wrote a book. Maybe you've heard of it, October 8th? Today it is number one on the New York Times bestseller list."
I planned to ask her when she would get my royalty check, but finally decided, "I think more about journalism."
Alex took a big bite of the burger. I might be mistaken, but I think I heard the sound of her jaw being dislocated. She grabbed the mouthful and said, "An article of mine was published a few days ago."
"I think more like today."
She looked up at her brain, and it was my turn to take a bite. I lifted the hamburger with both hands and put it to my mouth, leaving only the top and bottom buns between my fingers. When I tried to put the hamburger together, Alex giggled. When I was halfway through the Hamburger Jenga game, Alex answered my question: "No, I didn't write anything in today's newspaper."
I stood up and threw the hamburger of any kind into the trash can, and happened to find exhibit b in the container. I picked up the discarded "Waterville Tribune", sat back, and bounced the paper. I pointed to her story and said, "You didn't write this, right?"
"No."
"Yeah, but your name is written here. Are you sure you didn't write this article?"
She has burgers on both cheeks, but somehow, "I told someone on the phone and they typed."
"It's not a big deal. You won't get pleasure from semantics." Yes, she will.
"Yes, I will." Look.
"when?"
"When I was hiding in the lighthouse."
It makes sense, which is why all the details of the second half are lacking. This is why she didn't notice Tristen's tour. She kept chattering on the phone. I looked at my watch. It was just a little later. At 1:00 pm I am going to meet Caleb and his recruits. I grabbed my fries and said: "You work for him. Your story is a tribute to his sin. Promise me, I won't See your name again in the Waterville Tribune."
She agreed.
I turned and left and said, "I can't believe your boss let you get away with it like this. He will be prosecuted."
I heard "her" voice over my shoulder
I turned around.
"She will be sued."
When I arrived at the bar, I was not surprised to see Caleb sitting at a table with three of my other students.
They put two large glasses of wine on the table, and Baxter lying between them. They handed me a cold glass, and we toasted Ashley. None of us cry, but the interesting thing is that we all have the same allergy to beer. The five of us beat the pitchers to the bottom, and I passed the ball to them. They are all happy to be selected and doubly help catch the killer who killed their friends. I think the six girls on the list are Caitlin; Lacey; the other three girls in my class, and Alex Thomas. Caitlin had enough protection in front of the three agents, and Caleb seemed to be doing a good job with my sister. I put my other students on their classmates. Then I took Alex away.
On the way to the bar, I picked up three pairs of remote intercoms and separated them in my car. I told them that we will stick to this channel and pack up like they did for a three-day camping trip. I also told them that in the next twenty-four hours, they can count on an FBI nerd to appear on each of them. They both drove away with a grin. I don't think this is because of alcoholism.
At 6:0 that night, I went to a small supermarket, bought enough food for me and Baxter to eat for 7 hours, bought three CD books, ordered a new carpet for Lacey’s room, and was now placed in Alex Outside the doorless driveway of X. Toums.
I picked up the walkie-talkie, switched to Channel 9 and said, "Are you all ready?"
I received three "checks" and one "preparation". Go ahead. "
This will be a long night. I reviewed some surveillance protocols and route etiquette, and then said "Tomorrow you can take a nap during the day, but I don't want you to blink tonight."
I went to Baxter, but he seemed to have a seizure, snoring in the rear hatch. I tore the cellophane wrapper from a book on the CD and inserted the first disk into the optical drive. A voice shouted: "Welcome to Michael Clayton's prey."
How appropriate. When I was trying to protect Tristen Greer’s prey, I was listening to a book called "The Prey". Does sarcasm have any meaning? After playing the first disc, I looked at Baxter. He suddenly appeared in the passenger seat and asked him: "Do you understand this shit? Explain the nanoparticles to me."
He couldn't do it, so I restarted the first set. When I heard the first disk for the third time, the intercom cracked, "Hey, are you willing to put an horn on your forehead, or an egg on your palm?"
The egg on the palm of my hand.
certainly.
I opened my eyes casually, peeking at the light from all angles. At 7:0 in the morning, I raised my seat and looked at the clock.
I controlled my heartbeat at 00 and rolled down the car window. "You scared me to death."
Alex is wearing chestnut Boston College sports shorts and my red sweatshirt. She said, "Let's go."
I told her for a minute, and then closed the window. I picked up the walkie-talkie and said, "The sun is basking, maggots."
All parties have been counted. I think I am the only one who takes a nap. I called Lacey to confirm that she was okay. She said that Connor had just left and she was going out for breakfast with Kellerb. So the good news is that nothing happened last night. The bad news is that the Range Rover smells like shit.
It took me a minute to find Baxter. I finally found it in the back pocket of the driver's seat. It looked like a part of the pocket of Mother Kangaroo. I jumped out of the car, opened the back door, and carried him out of my pocket. Baxter didn't avoid his thrust, I pulled the bag away. It looks like someone emptied a bag of Reese's work in the hot summer.
I turned around and threw Baxter on the grass where Alex was stretching. Baxter landed with a bang and rolled to less than a foot from her. So it's the cat that lands on its feet, not the sleepy pug.
Alex looked at me in horror and said, "You killed him."
If only I was so lucky. "He may not be dead. Sometimes he needs to throw a few times to wake up."
I put on the second pair of sneakers and sat next to Alex with a plop. Baxter was alive and kicking, trying to move under Alex's lap and put on her sports shorts. It seems that Baxter and I have more in common than we know about nanoparticles.
The two of us were walking and jogging for more than half an hour. I have to praise Baxter: he has only slept a few times, and only once he put his head in the mole hole.
We were about a quarter of a mile away from her home, and Alex started to speed up, saying: "Whoever runs to the door first. The loser treats guests to dinner." (to be continued) (end of this chapter)