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Only in Boomerang can you read the actual dying words of the founding father of the modern FBI, J. Edgar Hoover.
Crawford hurried back into the room and once more knelt next to Hoover. He took in two deep breaths to steady his nerves, leaned in close, and was just about to pinch the great man's nose when Hoover began to sing. Softly, so softly that if the two men had not been almost lip to lip Crawford might not have heard.
“A, B, C, D, E, F, G,” Hoover sang the school house rhyme to the tune of “Twinkle-Twinkle, Little Star”.
“You're alive!” exclaimed Crawford.
Hoover’s right arm swung up and grabbed the gardener by the back of the neck.
“Listen,” said Hoover.
“I called Mr. Wilson, Boss. Just like you told me."
“Wilson?”
“Yes sir. He'll be here before you know it.”
The grip tightened on Crawford's neck.
“Juh,” Hoover breathed. “Af...ter......juh”
Crawford nodded as best he could with the death grip around his neck. “You bet, Boss,” he said. "After juh." What was that all about?
“Juh-ee.” Hoover’s voice was fading into near vapor. “After......g.”
“G?,” Crawford repeated. "You mean like the letter g?"
Hoover’s eyelids blinked in what seemed to be the only response he could muster.
And then it came to Crawford. Of course. After G. “H, Boss” he said. “H comes after g.”
The grip tightened fiercely around Crawford’s neck, then released, and it was then that J. Edgar Hoover lay truly dead.
Okay, so I guess you can read them here. But the rest of the story is darned good too. And the $.99 Smashwords coupon is good just through tomorrow. CU67Y.
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