BLIND TRIAL by Brian Deer EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Brian Deer
- Language: English
- Genre: Medical Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
THEY AGREED last night the location for this meeting: “Twelfth
Street at New York Avenue.” They agreed on the time: “eight-thirty in
the ayem.” They agreed: “punctuality is critical.” But waiting on the
corner, four blocks northeast of the White House, Ben Louviere—
senior marketing assistant at BerneWerner Biomed—could see no
sign of his employer’s general counsel: Mr. Theodore Hosea
Hoffman III.
Behind a blue-and-yellow tie and white cotton business shirt,
sweat trickled from his chest to his navel. He’d only run eighty yards
from the Marriott at Metro Center but, even with the temperature
barely nudging 70°F, the exertion fused with the capital’s humidity to
express his emotions in his skin. His palms felt damp. His shorts
clung to his genitals. A stain the size of Lake Michigan soaked his
back.
So, where’s Mr. Hoffman? He promised to be here. He promised
he would help. We had a deal.
Ben, twenty-six, arrived at 08:22, and for a while held together his
coolest act. He was the six-one big dick, the college baseball
catcher, posing, deltoids straining inside a navy Donna Karan suit,
smiling looks for beard trimmer commercials. Bristling hair so black,
flashing eyes so blue, and boasting a JD degree from Loyola,
Chicago, the manufacturers of recombinant vaccines, interferons,
and colony stimulating factors had never been so lucky as the day
they discovered him and volunteered to pay his way through school.
But twenty minutes later, he was losing it. Bigtime. He was a
seven-year-old abandoned at the mall. He was rubbing his neck,
hanging toes off the curb, darting pigeon-quick glances up the street.
He was fingering his Samsung, fighting the urge to call home. He
was sure Mr. Hoffman wouldn’t show. All the jokey camaraderie,
backslaps, shoulder-hugs, were just phony office politics bullshit. So
much for the theory they shared a special bond or met in a previous
life.
Hands in pockets, Ben paced in the shade of polished black
granite: the American Association for the Advancement of Science
building. Traffic choked the avenue, now in rush-hour mayhem, and
sporadic pedestrians hurried from a subway exit to the National
Museum of Women in the Arts. On a square of clipped grass across
a wide, divided intersection, a panhandler folded a tarp.
So, where’s Mr. Hoffman? He was meant to be the man. He’d
said, “Come to me with your problems.”
But then—thank Christ—a car surged into view. He felt like mom
kissed him on the forehead. Two hundred feet south, turning left from
H Street, swung a silver Ford LTD Crown Victoria. Styled for the
seventies, but vintage 1986: a classic four-door, classic cop.
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