The Space Coast Out-of-This-World Tatler & Herald-Tribune: a novel

Next up:

As the era of ink-stained wretches of journalism fades, Mac MacGregor believes his little weekly tabloid newspaper on Florida’s Space Coast, full of crime news, entertainment news, and beach babes, all with an ass-kicking attitude, still can make a difference. His newest reporter, young Stevie Guthrie, took the job in part because, in this time of anemic, timid, and directionless newspapers, Mac’s little rag just might offer a journalism apprenticeship like no other. Also, he needed the job. As they look into a gruesome murder story and uncover a terrorism plot, Mac and Guthrie might be digging up the scoop of a lifetime—provided they can stay alive long enough to report it.

Excerpt:

“Water please,” Paisley whispered, his weak breath barely forming words.

Wedge brought him a glass of water.

“Do you have a straw?”

“What?”

Paisley raised his hands. His palms and fingers were swollen, covered with blisters, scabs and dried blood.

“A straw. I can’t.”

Wedge went back into the kitchen. Fortunately, Gliesa grabbed straws, napkins, plastic forks and ketchup packets by the fistful every time she went to Wendy’s or someplace. So they had a drawer full. He stripped one and brought it back.

“Thank you.”

“Lemme tell you something, you little puke,” Wedge said.

“My name is Charlie.”

“Listen, Charlie. You have no idea what you’re into. So tomorrow, we’re going to the bank, you’re going to get this stuff for me, and then I’m going to let you go. And you’re never going to say a word about this to anyone. Understand?”

Paisley nodded.

“Or we’ll be back. Understand?”

Paisley nodded, with his eyes closed now.

Wedge got comfortable in the chair and fell asleep. So he didn’t notice when Charles Paisley drew his last breath.

Wedge awoke around 4 a.m., his back hurting like hell and his shoulders all stiff. He shuffled into the bathroom, took a couple Oxys, and came back to shake Paisley. The fat man didn’t respond. Not one bit. Wedge checked for a pulse.

“Well, fuck,” he said.

An hour later, on the edge of a swampy pond, Wedge, Mitch, and Boo dragged Paisley’s body out of Boo’s truck and left it for gators to feast upon.

Wedge had Paisley’s keys, but he wasn’t sure yet what to do with them.