Things Lost In The Fire Read Online Free Page B

Murda to get more footage. Brody merely lifted his aviator sunglasses from the neck of his white ‘I Make Stuff Up’ T-shirt and slid them over his eyes.
    “Well, ladies and gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure.” He bowed to his fellow reporters and to the crowd that had gathered, earning more looks of disgust than appreciation. “Until next time.”
    Camera in hand, he took off in the opposite direction. He dug into the back pocket of his jeans for a pack of cigarettes, shaking one out of the case and into his mouth. Seconds later he lit it and smiled into the bright California sun, smoke dancing around his face. The worn-out Chucks on his feet slapped against the chewing-gum smeared concrete, taking him east down Sunset Boulevard.
    He knew he should be grateful he’d narrowly escaped a beating, but the blood rush had been worth the risk. There was a time not long ago when he’d dodged bullets and laid awake at night with the sounds of sirens and bombs exploding in the distance. That had been a real rush, he recalled, the sentiment bittersweet. He’d had a real job back then, a respectable one. Now he was stuck chasing celebrities all across the greater Los Angeles area to exploit them in their weakest moments. Moments of adultery, anger, inebriation, violence—whatever the tabloids were willing to pay him for. Sometimes it paid big, but most times he was stuck begging for scraps.
    Either way, it was a life he’d earned. He knew that much. He held no delusions that he deserved anything better than what that bitch Karma had bestowed upon him. In the end, he was right where he belonged.
    His mouth twisted around his cigarette in a cynical grin as he approached his car. It was a white ’95 Thunderbird, beat to shit and barely functional. He reached for his keys and unlocked the door, slipping onto the faded red seat with a grunt and tossing the camera onto the passenger seat. As he coaxed the car to life, he wheeled the driver’s side window down to let the smoke from his cigarette escape.
    The radio kicked on, the snarky wisecracks of Jack FM preceding one of his favorite songs. His smile widened as he cranked up the sound of Guns N’ Roses singing about Paradise City, instinctively bobbing his head in time with the beat.
    Shoving the car in drive, he whipped out into traffic and joined the mad rush of Hollywood.
    He let his arm hang out the window, smoke drifting from the tip of his cigarette. Without working air conditioning in his car, he had no choice but to embrace what little breeze there was on the hot streets of the city.
    He’d lived most of his twenty-nine years in L.A., except for that glorious time when he’d roamed the darker, more grotesque cities of the world on the hunt for a story. Those had been the best years of his life. When he’d lived for something meaningful and pursued truth the way a hound hunts down a slippery fox. Back then, even his father had to admit that he’d been worth a damn to the world.
    Brody sucked on his cigarette and tapped ash out the window. Bitterness wallowed in his gut but he forced it back. His pride wouldn’t allow him to suffer under the weight of the old man’s judgment anymore.
    His father, the lawyer. Not just any lawyer, but the most powerful defense attorney in all of Los Angeles. Everyone who could pay the price tag sought out the services of Max Odell of the Odell & Son law firm. His reputation was spotless, his intellect and knowledge of the law impeccable, and his ability to win cases legendary. He could whittle even the most reliable witnesses offered by the prosecution down to sputtering uncertainty. And the power he held over wobbling juries was the stuff of legend.
    If only he’d been half as good a father as he was a lawyer, maybe things would have worked out differently. Brody scoffed at the idea, knowing he’d be the black sheep of the family even if his father wasn’t such a righteous bastard.
    The ‘son’ in Odell & Son was Brody’s