Corruption Read Online Free PDF

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    rookie.”
    ***
    Reports filed, news articles about bath salts read, and forty-five e-mail inquiries to illegal internet pharmacies later, and Lucky was ready to call it a
    night. But first, time for more research. He keyed “Jameson O’Donoghue” into the web browser, clicking on the first link to
    appear in a long list.
    “Jameson O’Donoghue, highly decorated officer of NYPD, consultant for the Drug Enforcement and Food and Drug Administrations, author of
    three books on the subject of undercover investigations,” a web page declared.
    Lucky expected a wizened grandpa of a man or a suited businessman type. Instead, judging by the picture posted online, O’Donoghue preferred jeans
    to dress slacks and T-shirts to button-downs much as Lucky did. The man also inspired, or more than likely paid for, pages upon pages of officer
    testimonials to his teaching techniques. Apparently, the man fooled some of the people most of the time. No way could anyone learn in a classroom the
    lessons the street taught, yet Jameson laughed all the way to the bank.
    Based on this jerkoff’s opinion, Walter might shove Bo out into a big ugly world he wasn’t ready for, where a single botched move meant
    the difference between life and death. Should Lucky have lied for the review? Told Walter Bo never learned a thing or challenged authority? Wait. Walter
    would have simply pointed out Lucky’s own authority-defying ways. And look where being a hard nose got him.
    More pages covered news articles of Jameson’s field work with the DEA. Okay, so maybe he did have some street smarts after all. But not here in
    the South and definitely not on both sides of the coin, like Lucky.
    A click of a finger left Jameson behind and brought up the SNB home page, where an icon beckoned on the far right of the screen. A glance right and left
    ensured no one approached. Lucky clicked on the innocuous looking Memorial button.
    A twenty-seven-year-old father of two smiled from the page, wearing a 1970s era SNB uniform. Agent Martinez, the first casualty of the then newly-formed
    Southeastern Narcotics Bureau, shot at close range during a raid. He’d be retired by now if he’d lived and stayed with the department;
    his kids were grown with kids of their own, more than likely, with no grandpa to bounce them on his knee.
    Scrolling down the page revealed poofed 80s blonde hair, bright green eyes, and an eternal grin, immortalizing the accountant who’d been hit by a
    drunk driver on her way to pick her kids up from school. Poor buggers never saw their mom alive again. She may not have been an agent on a drug bust, but
    she’d been a member of the SNB nonetheless.
    Several more former SNB agents’ and employees’ biographies filled the page: some succumbed to natural causes, many more died in
    performance of their duties. Most were younger than Lucky at the time of their deaths. Narcotics enforcement and longevity didn’t run hand in
    hand.
    At the bottom of the page, a pictureless obituary stated, “Agent Richmond Eugene Lucklighter, killed on assignment.” The image of an
    SNB shield further marked the man’s status of having died in the line of duty, along with a gold ribbon proclaiming that he’d saved the
    life of a fellow agent. Was something wrong with the sudden surge of pride? Although Lucky now bore the name Simon Harrison and continued in the land of
    the living, to have left the world fighting for the good guys choked him up every time.
    What did his parents think of their son dying to save another man’s life? Or did they remember Lucky at all? Did Mom and Dad visit this memorial
    page, regretting having turned their backs on their oldest child?
    Lucky scrolled back through the listing, stopping whenever the shield symbol popped up. Each of the men and women who’d died on the job had
    gotten up for work one morning and hadn’t come home, firmly believing they’d learned everything they needed to about the job and how to
    stay