The Omega Device (The Ha-Shan Chronicles Book 1) Read Free Page A

your guys with though—you know, so he doesn't step in them.”
    The OCF chuckled and agreed. Russell headed for the road. In a way the comment was a joke, but then again, he'd seen enough young cops stumble into evidence and entirely corrupt or destroy a crime scene. The kid was smart, sure, but he was still new.
    Russell reached the street, sighed at the knot still strangely prevalent in his gut. He edged back around the ambulance and between the squad cars. Amid the din and gusts of traffic, he slid into his Impala and ignited the engine. His free-hand dialed a cell-phone as he steered into morning traffic.
    The tone sounded twice before his department head answered with a low baritone, “Switzer.”
    “Chuck,” Russell said, eyes on the road.
    “Yeah, what've you got, Russ?”
    “Got time for coffee?” He asked, stomach rumbling.
    “Sure.”
    “I'll be there in ten.”
    He ended the call and made a left from 308 onto Union. It ran perpendicular past the alley for the heart of Oakton. All around the city teemed with life. People scurried about along lines of various shops interspersed by private restaurants, fast-food chains, and locally-owned apartments.
    Downtown's center drew nearer with a shifted landscape. Large office-buildings, franchised banks, international businesses, and expensive hotels dominated the scenes. With them, the people changed too; from street clothes to suits and something called casual-formal—an expression a man perpetually in jeans, sneakers, and a windbreaker never understood.
    As his destination neared, the juxtaposition of the few small diners within the franchised district rang vaguely nostalgic. He smiled at the thought, parallel-parked behind Chuck's black Silverado, then stepped out to edge between bumpers for “Ma's Sport's Cafe.”
    Beside the door, Switzer's large frame broadened beyond Russell's own, lean figure. It would've seemed menacing to a passersby, whom might peg him for a thug long before a decorated OPD veteran. Russell chuckled in thought, stepped to open the door ahead of Chuck.
    They took their usual places beside a window of the retro-50's diner. Windowed booths lined the walls across from a long counter separating the dining room from the kitchen. A cashier there—a young, twenty-something woman—leaned in at a low conversation with a waitress, inaudible over the din of metal on ceramic and conversing patrons.
    The scent of frying foods wafted over as Switzer adjusted his jacket, stretched his arms across the back of his booth-seat. Russell unzipped his windbreaker, readjusted the gun at his hip. A middle-aged, brunette waitress stepped up to take their order. Patty looked like a caricature of a bygone era in a pink and red, polka dot, maid's outfit and bright, red Lipstick.
    She smiled, “Usual, boys?”
    Russell looked to Switzer whom nodded with a scrunched face over a yawn. Russell mimed it. Patty gave a short bow and turned away.
    “So what's it looking like?” Switzer asked.
    “Bleak, man. Stiff in the alley today? Something was off. OCF's all over it, but…” Russell hesitated. The knot tightened. “Something's not right.”
    Chuck's brow rose with curiosity, “Wud'ya mean, Rus?”
    Russell half-winced to keep his mind from running away. He leaned back, “OCF's thinking it's just another random. Even the rookie pegged it as a bad deal.”
    Chuck nodded, “But it seems like something more.”
    “Maybe.” He mentally examined the sensation in his gut, mused aloud, “OCF's not gonna' come right out and say it's a deal, but they all seemed to think so too.”
    Patty returned with coffee, interrupted him, “Eggs cookin', bacon's frying. You boys need anything else?”
    “No thanks, hon,” Switzer said with a wide, toothy smile. Patty returned the smile and turned away.
    Russell kept himself calm despite a well-spring of disdain, “It's too common, Chuck. Unless we see an immediate connection, everyone  wants to be done with it—leave the