01 - Goblins Read Online Free PDF Page A

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former semi-pro footballer who had all the heart and few of the major skills to
make it in the NFL or Canada. Luckily, he had recognized the shortcomings before
it was too late; now he wrote about the sport for the revitalized New Jersey
Chronicle, and once every six weeks or so came down to Washington to check
out the Redskins, or to see what Congress was up to with a recent flurry of
sports safety legislation. While he was here, he always dropped in, looking for
a free meal, or a long night of pub-crawling.
    Mulder never asked how his friend always managed to get a pass without
calling ahead; he had a feeling he didn’t need to know the answer.
    “So,” Barelli said, finally lighting on a chair, kicking aside the paper
balls as he stretched out his legs. He glanced through the doorway to the quiet
flow of agents outside, then back at the walls.
    “So,” Mulder echoed.
    “So where’s Scully?”
    “She took some time off. She went West someplace, to see friends, I think.
She’s too cheap to send me a postcard.” A shrug with his eyebrows. “Today’s
Wednesday, the fifth, right? She’ll be back on Monday.”
    “Too bad. I could’ve saved her.”
    Mulder smiled, but it wasn’t wide, merely polite. Carl had been trying to get Scully out of the Bureau and into his
love life, not necessarily in that order, ever since he had met her just over a
year ago. Scully, although she claimed to be flattered by the attention, didn’t
think this was the guy who would, as she put it, light up her life.
    Neither did Mulder.
    While he liked Carl a lot, and they had good times together, the man was
incorrigible and unrepentant when it came to chasing women. As far as Mulder was
concerned, Scully was permanently out of bounds.
    Barelli folded his hands over his stomach, pursed his lips, licked them, blew
out a silent whistle.
    “What?” Mulder was puzzled. No handshake, no raucous invitation to
debauchery, no futile attempt to show him exactly how to shoot a basket. The
established routine had been abandoned, and he didn’t care for the way the man
refused to meet his gaze.
    The reporter shook himself elaborately, forced a smile, crossed his legs.
“Sorry, pal. To be honest, I’ve had a pretty shitty week, all in all, and it
sure ain’t getting any better sitting in this place. When the hell are you going
to get a room with a view?”
    “I like it here. It’s quiet.”
    “It’s like a tomb is what it is.”
    Mulder didn’t take the bait. “What’s the problem, Carl?”
    The man hesitated before clearing his throat. “You remember Frank Ulman?”
    Mulder wadded up another sheet. “No, I don’t think so. Should I?”
    “He was at my sister’s a couple of Christmases ago. Skinny kid? Regular Army?
He kept hitting on my cousin Angie, she kept shooting him down, and you decided
to show him how to do it right.”
    Suddenly, as he threw the paper ball, he remembered the night, and the memory
brought a smile. The kid, and he wasn’t much more than that, had paraded around
the Barellis’ suburban North Jersey house in his dress uniform, desperately
trying to find a woman who would be impressed by his bearing and ribbons. He was
so eager, he was laughable, and Mulder had finally taken pity on him.
Unfortunately, the heart-to-heart they had had in the rec room didn’t take.
Barelli’s cousin’s brother had had to be physically restrained from punching the
guy into the new year.
    “Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Yeah.”
    The ball went in.
    “Well, a couple, three months ago, he and Angie got together. Kind of
serious, actually. I heard they were talking marriage and stuff.”
    Mulder’s eyes widened. “Your cousin and that guy? Really? Why didn’t her
brother kill him?”
    Barelli winced and looked away.
    Oh shit, Mulder thought; open mouth, insert foot.
    He abandoned his slouch for a posture more attentive. “Tell me.”
    “He was killed last weekend.”
    “Damn. Hey, I’m sorry, Carl. I