A Crowdsourced Novel
Read it here – Say what comes next.
Desi climbed into his car and smiled before he pulled out his phone to report. The city made it so easy. Force a police Sergeant to be a desk jockey. The boredom. The lousy pay. Expect him to be satisfied with that. Expect it to bother his conscience when he shares intel and crime reports with his good friends. No way. The organization paid a guy real cash for that kind of work and no income tax ever entered the picture. After all, that’s how things worked in Chi-Town.
He dialed Uncle Uomo’s direct line.
Three rings, then the answer, “Speak.” The inflection of that one word like snapping a trap.
“It’s me, Desi.” The old man never checked his caller ID.
“Ah, my most incompetent nephew. You have news for me?”
Desi cleared his throat. “One of our informants saw surveillance video from a stabbing down at Union Station. Our guy thinks it might be Tony. He offed a cop in broad daylight. Right before it happened a blond chick was there. Might be the same girl with him at the hotel in Joliet.”
Uomo grunted, “Very well. Make sure your friend gets an anonymous gift for his trouble. Find Mr. Ferragamo—and his new playmate. Do not let me down.”
The line went dead and Desi’s hand shook as he speed-dialed the number of the man he used in Joliet—the man with no life in his eyes. Nice not to have to look him in the face this time. He’d get those same two heavies to stake out Tony’s sister. The guy was bound to show up there sooner or later. Desi pulled out his keys, fired up the big block engine and headed for his place in Oak Park.
* * *
As he got ready for bed, Agent Stan Harris caught a TV news story about the killing of a Chicago Policeman. It featured a photograph of the suspect, one Anthony Ferragamo, already wanted for two other killings. Another photo of an unknown woman. Harris had no trouble recognizing Roya Fetova and knew the man would probably check out as Frank Smith. Why did the Chicago PD have to be so slow reporting to the FBI? He picked up the phone and ordered a copy of the police report and all the video by 6 am.
* * *
Frank and Roya found the address and drove by several times in Tatiana’s SUV. Ferragamo’s sister lived in a bungalow, the same as any other Berwyn bungalow. They tried the alley and Frank caught a dim light from a basement window but no life. Roya pulled around front again and stopped at the curb, shaded from the streetlight by a tree. “Now we wait.”
Frank grunted and looked around at the other parked cars. Was that the shadow of a head in the car across the street? Unlikely. He squinted at the car but couldn’t tell and finally settled back in his seat.
HOW TO PLAY–This is an interactive story based on Nate’s game in my novel. You get to say what comes next:
1.) KEEP IT SHORT – It’s easy to play Nate’s game. Just enter your idea as a comment like, “their jeep drives off a cliff.” Don’t worry about form—just suggest the next step in the story. I’ll pick one, write it, and post it as a scene in serial form.
2.) KEEP IT CLEAN – I hold the veto pen. In general, if it wouldn’t fly in an old 60’s Bond movie, then it’s out. Since this is an experiment, I get to add rules as we go along.
3.) SHARE – Your posts are a precious gift to me. Maybe you’ll help write my next novel. If so, I’ll list your name prominently as a contributor. If not, then we’ll just have a great time. I take you at your word that all ideas are your original thoughts. No criticism. No arguments. No lawsuits allowed. Let’s have some fun.