Free Next Victim by Michael Prescott Page B

rate. And Levine was a crime reporter for KPTI-TV. Except he didn’t call it crime reporting. To hear Levine tell it, he was the Channel Eight Justice Watch correspondent.
    The job title was bullshit. TV news was bullshit. Truth be told, most of the actual facts reported in the news were bullshit, too. Fucking reporters either got the facts wrong or just plain made them up.
    Dodge wasn’t judgmental about any of that. He didn’t blame Myron Levine and his associates for peddling a load of crap to an ignorant public. Hell, it was a living.
    He knew Levine wanted to get right to the point, which was why he decided to make him wait a minute or two. "You were in Denver for a while, right?"
    "Couple years at Channel Three. Why?"
    "Ever hear of an FBI agent name of Tess McCallum?"
    Levine nodded. "Black Tiger."
    "Black Tiger? What the fuck is that? Some kind of secret code?"
    "A case she worked."
    "In Denver?"
    "In Miami, as I recall. But it was news everywhere for a while. I even tried to set up an interview with McCallum when she transferred to Denver, but she wouldn’t talk to me."
    Dodge wasn’t surprised. "She’s not too talkative. I noticed that myself."
    Levine was getting antsy. "So what does Tess McCallum have to do with the price of beer in China?"
    "Not a fucking thing. Just a matter of personal curiosity."
    "You called me out here to satisfy your curiosity?"
    "No, that was just a side issue. I’ve got something for you. Something you’ll like."
    "I hope so. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m always grateful for a heads-up, but I’ve got a lot on my plate right now."
    Dodge didn’t give a shit about Levine’s plate. "How interested are you in the Grandy case?" he asked.
    That cocked eyebrow again. "What is this, an IQ test? I’m interested. Obviously I’m interested. Everybody’s interested. We ran with it as our lead story on the ten o’clock show tonight."
    "I said, how interested?"
    Levine considered the question. "A thousand."
    "What I have is more interesting than that."
    "Fifteen hundred."
    "Cheap doesn’t look good on you, Myron."
    "Give me some idea of what you’ve got, and we’ll talk."
    Dodge shrugged. "Fair enough. I can tell you what Mr. Delbert Grandy, upstanding citizen and innocent motorist, was overheard saying not long after a nine-millimeter soft-point round pulverized his clavicle."
    "Overheard by who?"
    "It’s whom , Myron. Correct grammar is whom . Don’t they teach you TV dipshits basic English?"
    Levine ignored this. "Who the fuck heard it?"
    "Me, for one. My partner, for another. You know that Bradley and me were in the neighborhood, so we were early on the scene. Got there before the EMTs, even."
    "Yeah, I know that. I also know that you wouldn’t give me anything that can be linked that closely to you or to Al Bradley."
    "Of course I wouldn’t. I’m not a moron, Myron." Dodge smiled. "Hey, you ever notice how much those two words sound alike? Moron. Myron. It’s like your parents had a, what d’you call it, premonition."
    "Fuck you, Dodge."
    "Touchy." He sipped his seltzer. "Anyway, Mr. Grandy’s words are now known by all members of the grand jury, not to mention miscellaneous other individuals present in the courtroom today, not least of whom is the lady bystander who testified about it. So nothing can be linked to me. That’s why I’m giving it to you."
    " Selling it to me."
    "Your formulation is more accurate. The information is indeed for sale. What’s it worth?"
    "Two thousand. That’s my limit."
    Dodge pretended to think it over, though he had already known Levine would max out at two thousand and that he would take it. This was the way it always worked, and the haggling was only a game they played to show each other how smart they were.
    Levine had been buying information from Dodge, and no doubt from other people, ever since his arrival in LA last year. Most journalists, whether out of ethical considerations or simple impecuniousness, refused to pay their