A3Writer: F³ WIP Unofficial Permission
1001 Nights (4) Abraham (11) Aphrodite (3) Apocalypse (6) Apollo (4) Arabian (4) Artemis (5) Arthur (12) Athena (3) Bard (1) Ben Slater (13) Bible (60) Celtic (2) Character File (2) Chinese (1) Christian (6) Conferences (30) creation myths (15) Criminalelement (11) Dark Winds (22) Demeter (10) Don Iverson (4) Eden (5) Enchanter (16) essay (9) F3 (402) (1) Fairy Tales (14) Family (2) Flood Myth (8) Flynn (75) Greek (68) Guest (1) Hades (10) Hercules (9) Hestia (2) Hindu (2) History Prof (22) Holiday (12) Holiday Myths (6) Incan (1) Iranian (2) Japanese (1) Job (21) Judges (5) Knowledge Myths (3) Library (8) Life (121) Love Gods (4) M3 (196) (1) map (13) Matt Allen (135) Medieval (7) Metamyth (5) Misc Flash (36) monthly chart (21) Movies (6) Myth Law (2) Myth Media (4) NaNoWriMo (22) Noah (5) noir (9) Norse (10) Odyssey (8) Persephone (13) Perseus (14) Persian (1) Poseidon (1) Prometheus (8) publishing (24) ramble (113) Review (1) Sam Faraday (30) Samson (14) Sci Fi (15) science (1) Serial (39) short story (14) Spotlight (8) Storm Riders (54) Teaching (136) Tech (18) Transformation (5) Travel (27) TV (10) TV Myth (1) Underworld (6) Vacation (15) vampires (18) W3 (11) WIP (15) Writing (166) Writing Tools (16) Zeus (8)

Friday, August 3, 2018

F³ WIP Unofficial Permission


            My phone buzzed, and I thought it would be Kate. Instead, it was Collins. I answered immediately, “Hang on, I’ve got a reporter in the room.”
            I looked over to Reese. “I need to take this. Can I have the room?”
            She gave me a venomous look, then stormed over, knocking my shoulder on her way out.
            “Okay, I’m good.”
            “We’ve got it.”
            “It?”

            “The whole shebang. We’ve got access to the phones’ cellular logs and turned on their gps. It all tracks. They’ve been congregating at a dock in Shoreward on a regularly irregular basis.”
            “What does that mean?”
            “It means that they don’t do a set time when they meet. They get a text message from a number we haven’t been able to trace, telling them to show up within two hours if they want more supply. Never at the same time of day, usually at night, but two of these guys are already moving towards Shoreward. It’s goind down, soon.”
            “Where?”
            “1753 South Shoreside Drive.” I wrote it down on a piece of scrap paper the library provided for call numbers.
            “Do you have a team ready?”
            “I’ve got a team, but I don’t have a warrant for the place in Shoreward. We’re typing it up, now, but it might be too late to get a judge to sign off on it.”
            “But I don’t need a warrant.”
            “I have no knowledge of your activities and plans. As an officer, I would be duty-bound to report your intentions to my superiors.”
            “Yeah, well, I think I’ll hit up a deli for a nice pastrami sandwich until the warrant comes in, then you can tell me where you want to mee. That’s my official story.”
            “Right. Don’t get killed, Allen. I think I like you, and I hate going to funerals for people I like.”
            “I’ll do my best.”
            “Your best is pretty damned good, but also ends up causing catastrophes, so shoot for something else.”
            “None of what happened in the park was my fault.”
            “You were there. That’s enough.”
            He might have a point.