America's Trust Read Online Free PDF

dose of sarcasm.
    Swanson didn’t even justify his criticism with a response. She merely smiled politely and led the way into the diner.
    “Clever name!” added Butler with yet more sarcasm. Swanson shook her head.
    “You know it’s a diner, so what better name than ‘The Diner’?” explained Butler to the uninterested Swanson.
    Swanson dismissed Butler by simply pointing towards a booth while she caught the waitress’ eye. A simple two fingers raised by Swanson received a nod of understanding from the waitress, along with a warm, welcoming smile.
    Obviously a regular , thought Butler as he took his seat. The subsequent look of disapproval from the waitress to Swanson when the waitress eyed Butler, did not go unnoticed by him.
    Swanson pulled herself into the booth. “Calmed down yet?” she asked sternly.
    Butler caught himself. She was right, he did have to calm down. How many people, however, had met their executioner, stared down the barrel of the gun about to kill them, only to be saved at the last second? The vision of Smith beginning to pull the trigger with a smile on his face was not one Butler would forget, nor did he ever wish to remember. He realized Swanson was staring at him, reading his every thought. She was an FBI agent trained in the art of reading every nuance, every movement and action of their suspects. He had to change the subject.
    “Not a fan?” he asked, motioning towards the waitress.
    Swanson looked bewildered for a second. “No, no, she’s been trying to set me up for some time and you’re the first guy I’ve ever brought here. She put two and two together and came up with about eighty seven,” she laughed. A little too much Butler thought. Although who was he kidding? He was old enough to be her father. At least it had lightened the mood. She was studying him again.
    “Do they have a menu?” he asked, keen to have something to do other than be under her gaze.
    “Already ordered. Now are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on or not?”
    “I don’t know what you mean,” he said unconvincingly.
    “Okay, let’s do it the hard way,” said Swanson, noting Butler moved back slightly in his seat. “Full name?”
    “Remember I’ve been released.”
    “On you go,” said Swanson. She had seen the fear in Butler’s eyes. She knew he was going nowhere.
    “I think we both know I’m not going anywhere, although do you mind if I just nip to the restroom before we get started?” he pleaded, a little too pathetically.
    Swanson wasn’t quite buying Butler, something was amiss. He came across meek and mild, but his eyes told her something different.
    “Fine, but don’t do anything silly.”
    Butler got up and found the restroom. The pay phone sat next to the entrance of the restrooms just as he had hoped. He dialed the number and was pleased to hear the voice on the other end. “Six?”
    “Negatori,” was the slightly panicked response.
    “Scatter!” he said quickly and hung up, a huge weight lifted from his shoulders. He made his way back to the booth and pulled himself in.
    “Thomas Franklin Butler,” he said.
    Swanson noticed his change in demeanor.
    “Occupation?”
    “Retired.”
    Swanson smiled without any warmth. Butler understood.
    “Retired analyst,” he added with a hint of a grin.
    Swanson remained silent.
    “Honestly, I was an analyst!” he replied indignantly.
    “Retired?” she questioned, unconvinced. She knew Butler was fifty-four from the APB that had been circulated for his arrest. Other than his name and age, the APB had been bereft of any other information. Fifty-four was not an age you retired willingly unless monies allowed, and from what she could see, certainly from his clothing and wristwatch, money was not overtly displayed.
    “Downsized,” admitted Butler reluctantly.
    “From where?”
    “My firm on Wall Street,” replied Butler.
    “So you were a financial analyst?”
    “Yes,” lied Butler.
    Swanson did not miss the lie,