Rip

by Paul Sating

  "Absolutely horrible, isn't it?"

  What was she supposed to say? "Yeah, it is."

  The police had captured it clearly, and all of its hideous glory.

  "You don't have to keep looking at it, Janis," Monica said somewhere in the muffled distance. "It's traumatizing. Horrendous. I don't want you to suffer by exposing yourself to evidence like that if you're not ready for it."

  "No, I'll be fine," Janis shook her head, her eyes never leaving the one picture that captured the irreverent evisceration. A picture she never thought the department would have the guts to share outside their parochial walls, it showed the victim's stomach, forever capturing what remained after her killer removed her uterus.

  The smirk remained hidden from Monica, but Janis couldn't help but be pleased by what she was looking at. This story was already shaping people within the walls of the city's media and law enforcement. Starting today, she would be the one to tell it. No one else, but her.

  It all started on the day of her rebirth in the industry. A birthright.

  ***

  The Lamplighter Lounge had seen better days. Located on the east side of Memphis, it had somehow remained the local social spot for employees at the paper during routine networking hours. Angelique tried not to express her jaded attitude, not around Janis, especially. If her friend performed well on this trial hire, she'd have plenty of time to come to hate these social hours too. Still, there were so many other pubs or bars to be forced to patronize, many closer to the paper than the Lamplighter. But tradition demanded their presence, so Angelique played along, wearing one of her warmer expressions.

  Looking across the raised table at Janis, it was obvious her friend held a much more positive attitude about this get together. Don't you be an ass Angelique, she told herself. She needs this more than you need to be free of social bullshit obligations.

  "This is an interesting place," Janis said, taking in dark and tiny interior.

  Angelique swallowed down her more genuine response. "Only the finest for The Times' employees." Angelique didn't have to worry about the tone or content of the conversation. The bar was small and crowded, but it was also one of those few places where everyone, long-time patron or first-time visitor, felt comfortable. The noise level provided enough privacy for them to talk about anyone they wanted, and talking about other people was one of Angelique's favorite pastimes.

  Angelique's eyes were drawn to the row of televisions behind the bar. The local Memphis nightly news was on each one. How were the prime time crews going to cover the day's events, she wondered. The curse of the reporter, always working, even when you weren't. But that was the reality of the game of exclusives. Livelihoods and jobs were secured and lost depending on who got the first scoop. The invisible ribbon hung around the necks of champions. Angelique had a few of those winner's medals, but not enough to be a champion. Not yet.

  And she wanted to be one of those champions. More than anything. The Times was a great paper to work for, Monica was wonderful, but the paper wasn't the green pasture some of her less-motivated peers considered it. She had bigger aspirations, and even though she was one of the best reporters at the largest paper in this mid-sized American city, it wasn't going to get her there. Television was the way out. The next step.

  A female anchor in a red blouse sat as straight as if someone had shoved a four-foot rod up her ass. Below her image, a digitalized banner announced BREAKING NEWS in brash white lettering. Angelique leaned closer, trying to pick up every word. "We now take you over to Lisa Thomas, who is out and Nonconnah Creek, for the details," the anchor said, stoically. "What do you have for us, Lisa?"

  The camera cut away to a field reporter standing on the edge of a gravel road. Behind her, the too-familiar site of yellow police tape strewn across trees, establishing a zone of demarcation for non-police personnel. Interestingly, there was a white tent at the edge of the camera angle, its presence hinting of secrets.

  "Thank you, Karen," Lisa the reporter said. "The news is truly tragic. Police aren't releasing much information at the moment, but my sources, speaking on conditions of anonymity, say what was found here rattled even experienced investigators."

  The view switched to a side-by-side panel presentation, showing the anchor and the field reporter simultaneously. Adds dramatic flair, Angelique admitted. "Did they give you any information on the victim?" the anchor asked.

  The field reporter was already shaking her head. "So far details are sketchy. "Even my sources have been careful with what they've shared. What we do know is that the body of a woman in her thirties was found along the banks of Nonconnah Creek, just east of Harrison Yard, at about four-thirty this morning. A jogger, unnamed, came across the remains on the river bank and called authorities. Though no one has stated on–record that this is being considered a homicide, my sources indicate the victim was killed on site." The news anchor shook her head in time with the revelation.

  Everything looked so scripted. As annoying as it was, Angelique recognized she would have to practice those same theatrics if she wanted to break away from print.

  "Investigators followed a trail of possible clues up the bank and into the tree–coverage, just north of Chicago Avenue," Lisa said in practiced rhythm. "That's where they found signs of what they believe to be the murder scene. My sources tell me the disturbed fauna indicates the victim was alive at the time and was brought closer to the river only after she died. One source, also not wanting to be named, said they've all but ruled out suicide."

  Janis was also attentively watching the screens, giving Angelique the safety to proudly nod at her friend's behaviors. The old Janis was almost back.

  The news anchor jumped back in. "Then they're sure this is a homicide? If that's the case, that brings the total to two women who've been murdered in just the past three weeks under similar circumstances. What are your sources saying about that?"

  Lisa, gripping the microphone tightly, nodded with each affirmative statement made by her counterpart, only prying a hand away to cover her ear ostensibly so she could hear the message from the newsroom. "Not much. At least not right now. Of course, we're being kept away and authorities have screened everything off. Whatever happened, authorities are being very careful about what they're allowing us to know at this moment. That's all for me. I'll follow up if further information comes in. Back to you in the studio."

  The producer seamlessly cut away from the on–scene report, giving the glory of a full-screen over to Karen the Anchor. Not a wisp of the woman's hair fell out of place as she shook her head in scripted sorrow. "Such a tragedy," Karen bemoaned. "As always, we will keep you up-to-date as more information comes out." Without missing a beat, she continued, "Traffic around Memphis has gotten worse, and now the city—"

  "Man, can you turn the damn channel, please?" a patron in a Lynyrd Skynyrd concert shirt shouted from a few tables away. The year emblazoned on the shirt was 1991. The shirt was holding up better than the man wearing it. "It's Happy Hour; no one wants to watch that shit! Total downer."

  "Mmmmm, mmmm, wonder what else they're hiding." Angelique offered, spinning the stool to face the table again now that she'd lost interest in anything on the news, or anything else on television had to offer.

  "Who knows," Janis said, pulling her own eyes away from the irrelevant traffic status. "Maybe we should ask Monica?"

  The heat in the comment crossed the table. Angelique grimaced at Janis' tone, the way she was almost any time she talked about other women. Women could be catty and her friend, love her as she did, was one of the cattiest God ever created. "Why did you take the assignment if you have such a strong dislike of her?"

  "Because YouTube videos and blogs don't pay the bills," Janis answered, her eyes matching the heat in her voice. She took a deep breath. "Honey, I've got to take all the work I can get. Plus, don't you think it's kind of cool to have a woman picked to do some investigative journalism in this city for a change? It's about damn time."

  "
I do," Angelique said, "but the hostility towards Monica, no matter how subtle, is what I don't get. It's not like she had to be talked into hiring you, not really, when I brought up your name. Hell, she was all over getting you on board. I just thought you'd be a little more appreciative."

  Janis scoffed. "Appreciative? Of Monica?"

  "Yes, why not?" Angelique leaned forward, not to hide the conversation, no one was listening anyway, but because her auburn-haired friend across the table could be pigheaded and she wanted to drive this point home. "She's not the bad person, Janis. There's plenty of others to blame for the shit that happened, but Monica isn't one of them. Start with the guys over at the television station. The bullshit you put up with there? I get being mad at them, but you can't go blaming everyone plus Adam and Eve because you haven't let it go or dealt with it. It's like you want to be pissed."

  Janis had her retort ready. "Well, if the men who control the media in the city would give people who've proven themselves a shot, maybe I wouldn't be so hostile."

  "So what? Men own the media outlets?" It was a trite argument, one Angelique was sick and tired of listening to because too many damn women in this city toted it around like an unaddressed daddy issue. "Big deal. They practically own everything. That's not news, honey." Angelique softened her voice. Janis had dealt with a lot, for years. The last year had been particularly unkind, to the point that Janis had scared Angelique on numerous occasions by going dark and disappearing for weeks at a time. Times got tough and Janis got quiet, invisible, hiding away her unhealthy tendencies and poor strategies for managing stress. Angelique had no problem helping anyone who needed it, especially a friend, but she expected the other person to do the heavy lifting. "Your man–hating ways will bite you in the ass one of these days."

  "I don't hate men."

  "Fine, you don't. You just don't like them or respect them, to the point where you disrespect Monica because you're convinced she's a pawn in some patriarchal game."

  Janis sat back. Was she capitulating? Angelique could barely hear Janis when she finally responded. "It's not as simple as that. You know that."

  There it was! Vulnerability. Good. "I know girl," Angelique whispered. "But seriously, Monica loves you. Thinks very highly of you, in fact. She didn't bring you in to work the story just to cover her ass in case this all turns upside down. You know that, right? She brought you in because you're a damn good journalist and, honestly, she's always respected your work. So cut her some slack, okay?"

  Angelique nearly choked on her drink when she saw the sarcastic, playful smile spread across Janis's face. Her friend was up to something. "Who would've thought you'd be a straight woman's biggest cheerleader?"

  Angelique choked on her drink, setting her it down quickly to avoid spilling it. "Why? Because I love me some of the ladies? Trust me, not hating you straight ladies makes it a hell of a lot easier to pick up the hotties during these stupid happy hour meetings. I can't stand these—"

  "Angelique," a gruff voice interrupted.

  Angelique turned, sighing internally and groaning externally. Branson Stuart had made it to the gathering. It was fantasy to hope he would skip out on an opportunity to suck up to Monica, or anyone in the Lamplighter who could open a door for him. A short man, a half foot shy of six feet, and in decent shape for someone who sat behind a desk all day, Branson wasn't a physical stereotype, but he made up for that with his decrepit personality. His brown hair was tightly curled and compacted, which made Angelique curious about Branson's heritage. They might have explored his family tree one day, to see if he was another minority she could confide in during those rare times she needed someone who would understand her perspective, but five minutes in his presence was six minutes too long, so she had no interest in discovering more about him than she already disliked. But this was Happy Hour; this was networking, the entry fee the political game required if she ever wanted to work at a place that wasn't cemented in a dying industry.

  "Hey Branson," she pasted a smile on that told him to piss off, as quickly as possible. Social norms required that introductions were made, since Janis hadn't yet had the distinct displeasure of conversing with The Times' most established writer. "How are you? Janis, this is Branson Stuart; he works at the paper too. Covers all sort of shit for Monica. Branson, this is Janis—"

  Branson's flat response cut her off. "I know who she is. Nice to meet you, Ms. Herring."

  "Likewise, Branson." Janis' expression gave nothing away.

  If she were Queen for a day, Branson wouldn't ever get near Janis. They pair had a room temperature flash point. For now, she hoped the conversation didn't go off the rails before she could manage it. For his part, Branson didn't seem to be aware of the silent interaction that just happened. But he still wore the familiar sneer.

  "Enjoying drinks while on the big story?" His tone deserved a mouth full of knuckles.

  "Is that a problem?" Janis verbally punched back. "Besides, this is Happy Hour."

  The opportunity was irresistible. "You could do the little loosening up anyway, Branson. Join us?" She kept the invitation as tight and unfriendly as possible and was grateful when he declined.

  Branson snickered. "No, I don't think I should. I'm working a few stories for Monica and never could bring myself to drink on the clock. But if that's how you like to build your network, well, whatever gets you by. Seems to be working wonders for you."

  "What's that supposed—"

  Janis' icy tone told Angelique all she needed to know about the possibilities of an amicable relationship between the pair. "Lay off, Branson. I don't know what your angle is, but Janis is working a hell of a story. She landed the one about the homicides." Shifting the conversation to work always seemed effective when interacting with Branson. Angelique wondered what the man did outside the office. Did he have any hobbies or anyone to spend time with to distract him from his own self-importance? "Did you hear there was another one last night? Another woman. As gruesome as the last one."

  "Yeah, I heard."

  "You don't seem too bothered by it," Janis observed.

  "Why should I be?" Branson scoffed. "It's not my story to chase, Monica made sure of that. Plus, I'm sure you can appreciate me not traipsing all over your work, Ms. Herring?"

  "Yeah," Janis tipped the mouth of her beer bottle toward Branson, "thanks for that."

  Angelique should be managing this conversation, helping Janis keep a healthy mindset and Branson in check. What she knew she shouldn't do was jump in. But Branson always was an ass and taking Janis' side felt good. "So, just because this isn't your story, you don't care about it?"

  Branson's lips pursed. "I didn't know them."

  "Wow, Branson, with that charming empathy, why would a woman ever divorce you?"

  The jab landed. Branson's voice rose. "What would you rather have me say? That I care about the murder of strangers?"

  "Yeah! A little empathy toward fellow humans would be a nice thing to see from you once in a while." Angelique's volume matched his. More than one casual observer turned to observe. Men needed aggression with a slight hint of embarrassment in order to back down to a woman in this part of the world. It didn't work everywhere, but it definitely did in the South, where men were trained to be gentlemanly.

  "Maybe he doesn't care because it's just two women?" Janis antagonized.

  "Or," Branson's response was immediate, "maybe it is the fact that Memphis is one of the most dangerous cities in the country, and if I cared about every single homicide, I wouldn't have time to do my damn job. Speaking of," Branson turned, directing all of his newborn heat on Janis, "how'd you get this story, Ms. Herring? Sort of weird to have someone who isn't employed by the paper covering a potentially huge story like this, wouldn't you say?"

  "Not necessarily. Doesn't the paper have a history of contracting contributing writers?"

  "Yeah, to come up with the latest intellectual piece on gardening or to capture the next controversy at the farmer's market," Branson snapp
ed. "What the paper doesn't do is bring in writers to cover high–profile murders. What gives?"

  "I don't know. You'd have to ask Monica. She's the one who hired me."

  "I might."

  "Good for you," Janis' mocking smirk confirmed Angelique's failure at her one major task, to keep these two away from each other's throats. "Hope you get the answer you're looking for."

  There was nothing like awkward tension to drive home the value of networking events. Angelique had no idea how to transition from this so the two would back away. In the end, she didn't have to.

  With a sharp nod, Branson said, "Have a good evening, ladies." It took everything Angelique had to not laugh as he quickly moved through the crowd, many of who were trying to appear disinterested.

  She failed and it felt good to react childishly toward Branson. For years, he'd brought out the worst in the people around him, including her, so at least he was consistent. Plus, this was Janis, and the last thing she would do was judge anyone who reacted to bullying men.

  For the first time this evening, Janis laughed, their earlier confrontation obviously forgotten thanks to Branson's intervention. Life was always full of surprises, and you could never tell who was going to shock you next.

  "Oh girl, he does not like you," Angelique smirked.

  "That's okay," Janis shrugged, "I've never been a fan of guys like him either. He seems like a petty, little asshole."

  "Oh, he is, trust me. And he'll do it too," Angelique warned. "He'll go to Monica, close the door, and give the poor woman a twenty minute lecture on why hiring you was a mistake and how, if only he'd been given the chance, the paper would get the greatest feature ever written."

  "And he'd probably solve the murders while he's at it," Janis quipped with a huge grin showing most of her teeth, eliciting a huge roar from Angelique.

  Usually at these events, Angelique had to manufacture enjoyment for the benefit of career opportunities and progress. It was nice to laugh simply because she was enjoying herself.