Free NYPD Red by James Patterson Page A

assistant to the gaffer—you know, the head electrician.”
    “Funny,” the second cop said. “I always see ‘Best Boy’ in the credits at the end of a movie. Never knew what it meant.”
    “Well, next time you see it, you can think of me,” The Chameleon said.
    “What happens if the main assistant is a woman,” the female cop said.
    The Chameleon gave her his most charming grin. “Then the head electrician does whatever she tells him.”
    Big laugh, and the two cops ushered him through the barrier.
    The E! channel had set up three TV camera scaffolds—one on 50th Street, one on 51st, and this one on Sixth Avenue, directly across from the theater.
    It was dark under the scaffold, and he turned on his flashlight. The ground was a hodgepodge of feeder cables snaking off in different directions, but the transformer where they all met was clearly labeled.
    He found the two cables he was looking for and yanked them both.
    He couldn’t hear over the crowd, but he’d bet that thirty feet above him the TV cameraman was cursing up a storm.
    The Chameleon climbed three quarters of the way up the scaffold.
    “You having power problems?” he yelled up to the cameraman.
    “Yeah. I got no picture. No audio to the booth. No nothing.”
    “Tranny problem,” The Chameleon said. “I can fix it. But I need a third hand. Can I borrow one of yours?”
    “Not my union, bucko.”
    “I just need you to hold the flashlight. I promise I won’t report you to the gaffers’ union.”
    “All right, all right,” the cameraman said.
    He followed The Chameleon down to the bottom of the scaffold.
    “Can you get down there and shine the light directly at the fun box,” The Chameleon said, pointing at the unit that picked up the power from the generator truck.
    The cameraman grunted as he squatted. “Hurry up, I don’t have the knees for this kind of sh—”
    The blow to the temple was swift and accurate. The cameraman collapsed in a heap. He was out cold, but that wouldn’t last long.
    “What you need now is a little vitamin K,” The Chameleon said, sticking a syringe into the man’s right deltoid and injecting him with ketamine. “You have a nice nap. I’ll go upstairs and operate the camera,” he said, plugging the two cables back into the box and rebooting the audio and video feeds.
    He climbed to the top of the scaffold and put on the headset that was dangling from the camera.
    “Camera Three,” the voice came from the production truck a block away. “Brian, you there?”
    “I’m here,” The Chameleon said.
    “We lost you for a minute there. Everything okay?”
    The Chameleon adjusted his E! channel cap and got comfortable behind the camera. “Everything’s perfect,” he said.
    As writ.

Chapter 24
    LEXI SAT CROSS-LEGGED on the sofa, elbows on knees, chin resting on her open palms, eyes riveted to the TV screen, not wanting to miss a single tidbit Ryan Seacrest might unearth.
    She was a full-fledged, card-carrying, dyed-in-the-wool Celebrity Junkie, and she didn’t care who knew it. They were glamorous, they were hideous, they were superstars, they were flaming assholes—it didn’t matter, she couldn’t get enough of them. Even the ones she hated. Even the ones she wanted to kill.
    The cheese platter was sitting on the coffee table, the Saran Wrap still on. She had brought out the two champagne glasses and filled hers with Bud Light. The bubbly was definitely staying on ice till Gabe got home.
    The cell phone between her legs vibrated, and she grabbed it.
    The text made her giddy: Greetings from Camera 3. DTB. Luv, G
    DTB. Don’t text back. God knows she wanted to, but this was Gabe’s biggest scene yet. Not fair to distract him.
    She sipped her beer and watched Ryan joke around with all the celebs as their limos pulled up to the red carpet. It had to be the most awesome job in the world. Plus he got paid zillions.
    “I’d do it for free, Ryan,” she said to the screen. “Hell, I’d even pay you to