Read Jury of Peers for Free Online Page B

few small kicks.  The alcohol was readily at hand, whiskey this time, but it did not relieve the anger he kept at every last thing in his life.  It wasn't fair that he'd made it on his own, but couldn't tell a fucking soul.  If he did, the illusion of integrity so carefully crafted, would evaporate before his eyes.  In the space of one 360º arc, Hack had gone from the master of his domain to a surveyor of hades itself. 
    He jammed the pencil down into the desk and brought out his cell phone.  Another drink as he swiped to the right speed dial and punched the number.
                  This one was another brown kid with a Punjab accent and some sense of the covert.  Brown kids were easier to get into position.  Mostly his contacts – agents, he liked to think–worked for what they thought was exceptionally good money.  They were young, most had debts, and they were willing to take risks that Hack could easily deny.  They would get their checks for working on the inside and feeding information, and Hack would get his stories.  He had seventy–two of these types at his disposal right now, a large staff to run out of his pocket to be sure, but that's the way he liked it.  Diverse and deniable.
                  He picked up the tenderized pencil and waited as the phone rang.  As was often the case, it rang to a bogus voicemail account at which point Hack punched end and put the phone down beside his tenderized pencil.
                  Four minutes later, it rang back.
                  "Let's hear it.  You said you had something."
                  “I do."
                  “Convince me,” he said.  All the kid had provided thus far was a little inside information on an altercation between two police dogs and the beginning salvos of what would ultimately amount to little more than a perceived smear editorial against a couple of cops who had bent the rules.  Such shit almost never made it to print status because, quite frankly, people were programmed by Hollywood to actually admire cops who made up their own game plan.  Too many fucking Lethal Weapon movies.  It wasn’t much, and would have to be spun to the point where everyone would just get dizzy.  It would end up in the online column, but, again, it was shit.  Eight weeks of nothing.  It was almost as if the fucking police were running their department on the level.  Of course, his inside guy was new, and new guys were never trusted.  This kid was a bit of idealist despite his ability to stay under the radar, and that was also irritating. 
                  “Do you remember Whitaker Meek?”
                  He turned the pencil under his molars.  “Yeah, political guy.  Got culled from the herd under Carter or Reagan.”  He paused, “Jesus, tell me he was bangin’ some whore or something.”
                  “More than that.”  The voice was clipped; the kid was quiet all of the time, but now he sounded almost sullen.
                  The pencil came out, poised to jot notes, "Go.”
                  “His kid’s in the hospital.”
              “Big deal…”
                  “ His kid’s whole family got wiped out in Arlington Heights.  His son , Seth, is a person of interest in the case.”
                  “Holy shit,” Hack whispered.  He leaned back in his chair, pondering his hairy toes.  “Does anyone know?  Made the connection?”
                  “Probably, but it’s just internal right now."
                  Hack closed his eyes and smiled.  “And it hasn’t come out yet, at all?”
                  “Not yet.  I’m sure someone has it figured, but they’re keeping it real quiet.  Arlington Heights is pretty uppity.”
                  "You think you'll get to look at anything?" Hack asked