Free A Shark in Calle Ocho by Joe Curtis Page B

of the room, which was dominated by an expansive book shelf. He was leaning against a huge dark red desk covered with ornately carved sharks and dragons engaged in an endless battle of survival. He was dressed all in white in a natural fabric. His shirt was loosely buttoned.
    “Hello, Shark,” she said
    “Darling—it has been too long.”
    “It was just yesterday,” Lauren said through a smile as she walked to him and put her arms around his waist. She leaned in to kiss him on the neck, but he stopped her.
    “Wait. Tell me about the journalist,” he said, turning his head away from her. That was Shark—business first, pleasure later, whenever he had time for it.
    “Okay,” she said, patting him on the chest. “His name is Bob McKaren. He said he was a freelance journalist writing a story about non-profit medical facilities like ours. I wasn’t suspicious until he started asking questions about Jeremy. I cut him off and sent him away.”
    “You say his name was Bob McKaren?” Shark said, thinking over all the names of his enemies.
    “Yes, that was his name.”
    “And he just showed up without an appointment?”
    “Yes.”
    “Silly, silly girl,” Shark said, shaking his head as he flexed his hands into fists. Lauren started to back away from him. She’d seen this before.
    “I’m sorry, baby,” she said, hands in front of her as if trying to deflect blows that might come.
    Shark glared at her.
    “I will take care of this. Just be sure I am notified immediately the next time our journalist friend shows back up at Care Ambulance Service.” Shark dropped his hands. She closed her eyes, knowing she wouldn’t be punished this time for any wrongdoings.
    ***
    Bob entered the police station like a man on a mission. The last episode was fresh in his mind, when he was the butt of jokes. The front desk was manned by an obese twenty-something college fraternity member who called every visitor dude. He was working part time at the station to pay for his fraternity dues and the associated perks.
    “Yeah, dude. Can I help you?” he said, looking up from his portable play station as he toyed with his black curly hair.
    Bob smiled, realizing he was about to use the lad’s ignorance against him.
    “Yeah, I’m from the Miami Herald ,” he said in a hurried, tense voice. “I’m here to pick up the police report that Officer Elroy pulled for me.” Officer Elroy was the precinct’s head records keeper. Bob knew he worked days, Monday through Friday.
    “Uh, let me see if he left the report on this desk,” frat dude said while shuffling through the mess of papers that had accumulated. “No, nothing here for the Herald .”
    To make life harder for the kid, Bob pressed him.
    “Come on—I’m on deadline.”
    “Sure,” he said nervously, picking up the phone. “It’s not here. Let me call Officer Elroy.”
    “No!” Bob blurted out. “You don’t want to bother Elroy. If you bother him he might fire you on the spot!”
    Fraternity dude quickly hung up the phone and said thanks.
    “What do you want me to do then?”
    “You have to go get the record yourself. It’s the ambulance crash that happened a few days ago.” Bob reached across the desk and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You can help make the news that thousands of people will read tomorrow.” Stars suddenly lit up in the young man’s eyes. Bob nearly started laughing out loud.
    “I’ll go get it for you right now,” he said, nearly jumping from his seat with excitement.
    “You hurry back,” Bob said, waving him off and turning his back to the desk so he could hide the excitement on his face.
    A few moments passed when Bob heard an adult voice say, “Excuse me, Sir.” Alarmed, he quickly turned to see a real cop with frat dude meekly in tow. “What’s your name?”
    Bob knew he was backed into a corner.
    “Bob McKaren.”
    “Are you really from the Herald ?” the officer asked, looking over his glasses at the shrinking