Frederic Edwin Church Cotopaxi painting

Frederic Edwin Church Cotopaxi paintingGeorge Frederick Watts Watts Hope paintingAlbert Bierstadt In the Mountains painting
bloody pieces or escaped to Goose Crotch.“Don’t get me wrong, Fric. I’m not saying you invented those calls. In fact, I’m sure you didn’t.”Clenched tightly around the cart handle, Fric’s hands had grown damp. He blotted them on his pants—and realized that he should not have done so. Every crummy, sleazy criminal in the world probably got sweaty palms in the presence of a cop.“I’m sure you didn’t,” Mr. Truman continued, “because last night someone rang me up on one of my private lines, and it didn’t show on the log, either.”Surprised by this news, Fric stopped blotting his hands and said, “You heard from the breather?”“Not the breather, no. Someone else.”“Who?”“Probably a wrong number.”Fric looked at the security chief’s hands. He couldn’t tell whether or not they were sweaty.“Evidently,” Mr. Truman continued, “something’s wrong with the read. He said, “Ghost? What makes you say that?”On the trembling edge of divulging all, Fric remembered that his mother had once been in a booby hatch. She had stayed there only ten days, and she hadn’t been chop-’em-up-with-an-ax crazy or anything as bad as that.Nevertheless, if Fric started babbling about recent freaky events, Mr. Truman