Free The Vanishing Track by Stephen Legault

me the other day with a story that I think has a lot of credibility.”
    â€œWhat is it, Denny?”
    â€œPeople are disappearing, Cole.”
    MARY PATTERSON HAD been in the office for two hours when Cole arrived at ten.
    â€œGood morning, Mr. Sleepyhead,”
    â€œMorning, Mary.”
    â€œYou look like you were awake most of the night again.”
    â€œUp at four this morning.”
    Mary regarded him with a concerned smile. “You should see somebody about that. Take some pills. Get some sleep.”
    â€œI don’t have any problem falling asleep.” He took the carafe of coffee from its warmer and poured himself a cup, adding cream from a carton on the tidy table across from Mary’s desk. “It’s once I’m asleep that I have trouble. I wake up between three and five and can’t fall back asleep.”
    â€œCan’t stop thinking about work?”
    â€œSomething like that. Can you check out a group called the End Poverty Now Coalition for me, Mary?”
    â€œSure, Cole. Is this a new client file?”
    â€œNo. It’s part of the pro bono work I’m doing for Denman. Somebody has a riot planned for later on today. The Coalition people are the likely ringleaders. Denman wants my help salvaging his campaign to stop the closures of SRO s. It looks like the Lucky Strike is on the chopping block for today.”
    â€œNot so lucky.” Mary turned to type something on her keyboard.
    Cole went into his cluttered office and sat down in his chair, then got up again, pulling from his pockets his cell phone and keys, SkyTrain tickets, change, a crumpled wad of five-, ten-, and twenty-dollar bills, a stick of lip balm, two tiny hooks for hanging cups in a cupboard, a mini measuring tape, and a startling amount of lint. He dumped it all on his desk, adding to the pile of papers, books, magazines, and newspapers.
    He needed to call Nancy. Her phone rang four times, and as he was preparing to leave a message, he heard the familiar voice.
    â€œNancy Webber.”
    â€œHi, Nancy. It’s Cole.”
    â€œTo what do I owe this rare pleasure, Mr. Blackwater?”
    â€œYou’re being polite this morning.”
    â€œIt’s only Tuesday. But Friday you’ll just be ‘Asshole’ like everybody else.”
    â€œStory of my life.”
    â€œWhat’s up?”
    â€œWhere are you right now?”
    â€œI’m on my way to City Hall. They closed the Lucky Strike this morning. There’s going to be a riot. I thought I’d get the mayor on record before all hell breaks loose.”
    â€œSounds like a plan. Can you come and talk with Denman Scott afterward?”
    â€œSure. You know, since meeting him in Port Lostcoast in July, he and I have never actually sat down and talked about his work. Now that I’m on the City Hall file for the Sun , I should really talk with the mayor’s public enemy number one,” said Nancy.
    â€œIs that really what the mayor’s office calls him?”
    â€œNot in so many words, but he is persona non grata around the City offices. I’ve got a memo one of the staffers leaked to me saying that nobody from the City is allowed to talk with anybody from Priority Legal unless one of the City’s lawyers are present.”
    â€œCome over to the Lamplighter at noon.”
    â€œAnother high society lunch with the venerable Cole Blackwater?”
    â€œMan of the people.”
    â€œSee you then, Cole.”
    He hung up without saying goodbye, his mind distracted. He dialed Denman on his cell.
    â€œDenman here.”
    â€œMeet me at the Lamplighter at noon, okay?”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œWe’re going to sit down with Nancy.”
    â€œShe’s been writing good stuff.”
    â€œShe’s on her way to City Hall right now. We’ll get a good story out of it.”
    â€œSee you at noon.”
    NANCY WEBBER CAUGHT a cab in front of City Hall. She had been shut