Parallelities Read Online Free PDF

glass mounted atop the shiny brown skull of an allosaurus. Max gestured as he sat down across from it.
    “That’s one of those cast-resin reproductions, isn’t it?”
    Displaying an utter lack of pretension, his host flopped into the chair opposite and shook his head, grinning proudly. “Nope. It’s an original. From Colorado. Nice, isn’t it?”
    “An original, huh? Okay, I’m impressed.” So that Boles could see what he was doing, he made a show of removing his recorder from his shirt pocket, but did not turn it on. “It’s pretty late in the day for this sort of thing, and I’m sure your time is as precious to you as mine is to me, so I won’t mince words with you, Mr. Boles.”
    “Please. Just call me Barry.” His host’s smile was as ingratiating as that of a head waiter at a trendy Japanese restaurant.
    “Okay—Barry.” Max refused to be drawn in or disarmed by his host’s evident charm. It was much too soon in their relationship to take a liking to the man. “I’m a junior science reporter for the
L.A. Times
and I …”
    “No you’re not,” Boles declared with his irrepressible good humor intact. It was the second time his host had interruptedhim. “The
Times
would have called before sending somebody out. Besides, I’ve already had a couple of their people here. A writer and a photographer.” The smile diminished slightly. “We didn’t get along.”
    Max was not in the least nonplussed, switching conversational gears as easily as his Aurora. “I thought you might see through that. It’s just that it sounds more impressive if you say you’re from the
Times
instead of from the
Orange County Register.
Or the
Free Press.”
His follow-up grin was only half forced. “Saying that you’re the science columnist for the
Free Press
doesn’t carry much weight at, say, JPL.”
    Boles crossed one leg over the other, cocked his head sideways, and rested chin and cheek against one hand as he studied his guest. “You’re not from the
Register
, either. Or the
Free Press
, or the
Valley Times
, or the
San Bernadino Sun
, or any standard Southern California paper. I like you, Max, but don’t try my patience or insult my intelligence or this meeting will be a short one. Now, who do you represent? Really?”
    Max debated whether to confess he was a freelancer in search of a good story or a stringer for Reuters. The latter claim was sufficiently impressive and obscure enough to deceive most potential interviewees. But the longer he considered his subject the more he found himself thinking that there was more to Boles than there was to the usual fruitcake with a wild idea. The man had let him into his house without an appointment and had so far treated him in a fair and courteousmanner. Why not try something different from the usual endless loop of subterfuges for a change and respond in kind? He took a deep breath.
    “Barry, I’m a reporter for the
International Investigator.”
    Boles nodded and looked satisfied. “There now, doesn’t that feel better? You want to interview me, do you?”
    “Very much so. Are you familiar with the
Investigator?”
    His host nodded once. “I’ve seen it around.”
    Max kept his tone casual. “And the thought of being reported in it doesn’t bother you?”
    Boles squirmed slightly, straightening in his chair. “Max, I’ve dealt with reporters from every legitimate newspaper and magazine in the country as well as a number from overseas. Not to mention writers for various documentary series, assorted sensationalist television shows, and a goodly number of respected and not-so-respected scientific journals. I doubt that you can treat me any worse than they have.
    “Besides, your paper deals in exposure as opposed to truth, and exposure is what I need now. Given sufficient exposure, the truth will follow of its own accord. What I don’t wish to be is ignored. It just so happens you have arrived at a propitious time. I’ll see to it that you get your story,