By Gonz Blinko
The west coast of Florida extends from the Panhandle all of the way to the Everglades. Hurricanes tend to behave irrationally so the meteorologists can’t predict where the storm might make landfall. As a result, while El Negro and I shot at Pigeons and guzzled coffee, Tampa got a fair amount of rain and some somewhat heavy winds but nothing like a real hurricane. Alfredo went right passed us and on up the coast to make landfall somewhere north.
The phone rang in my suite, waking me up this morning. “Gonz,” I answered.
“It’s Sam, it looks like we have clear enough skies to send up a skeleton crew in one of the choppers to do some preliminary recon. I’m going to go with BC’s wife, El Negro and that whacko who volunteered from Freeman Scientology.”
“Should I join you?”
“Not unless you’ve taken up photography.”
“I got some news.”
“Chairman Mal contacted me and said that neither he nor the BPP is involved in BC’s disappearance.”
“Could be a decoy.”
“My thoughts exactly. Do we have any people who can follow him around Austin?”
“We’ll get on it.”
I hung up the phone and turned on my laptop, I thought I should rally up some guns in Texas just in case.”
To be continued…