The editor took advantage of the momentary distraction to retreat into the edit bay.
“How was the shoot at the ballpark?” Rod’s voice carried an air of confidence and authority I hadn’t heard before. “Anything I need to know?”
“Usual stuff,” I said. “The kid throwing the ball and an interview with the mother. It’s in the basket, all cued up.”
The sports reporter stepped backward into Rod’s path while attempting a trash-can free throw, but Rod deftly maneuvered around him and stopped at a writer’s desk. “Did you hear that?” Rod asked her. “Can you handle the script?”
She looked up from her keyboard with a dreamy smile. “Whatever you say, Rod.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Callum said. “We don’t have an editor.”
“I’ll find someone.” Rod started toward the door.
“Remember, it’s cued up,” I said. “No need to rewind.”
He stopped suddenly and turned back to me. “I’m a little pressed now, but I need to talk to you. Come find me before you go home.”
I shook my head. “I’m not going home.”
“Right …um …” He produced his annoying giggle. “I mean if you have to leave for some reason, come find me so we can talk.”
“What about?”
“It’s not a big deal.” He looked around as though he didn’t want to be overheard. “It’s about the chief-photographer job.”
“I already know David’s probably getting it.”
“Right, but you were in the running, early on.”
“Did everybody at the station know that but me?”
He shrugged. “It was common knowledge.”
“Well, after all my equipment problems, I’m definitely not in the running anymore.”
Rod took another look around to make sure we weren’t being listened to. “That’s kind of my point.”
“What do you mean?”
“Rod,” the control room TD called from the doorway. “The director needs to see you, like five minutes ago.”
“I’m coming.” Rod turned back to me. “I’m sorry, I have to go, but find me before you leave.”
“I’m not leaving,” I said loudly.
“Right. Sorry.” He flashed his perfect teeth before exiting.
Callum had disappeared into the copy room and I followed him. “I need to talk to you about this guy Sinclair.”
He took some pages off the copier and began leafing through them. “Who?”
“Tom Sinclair. He’s the new Drillers’ GM and I think he’s related to Warner.”
“So?”
“I asked him about the murder last night.”
“Good.” He looked at me. “Did you get a sound bite for the crime-on-the-rise package?”
“No. He ran away and wouldn’t talk to me.”
He sighed and turned his attention back to the copies. “Okay. I guess we’ll try something else.”
“You don’t get it.” I stepped farther into the room. “He literally ran away—like I was chasing him with a cleaver.”
Callum’s unibrow raised and he chuckled. “What?”
“I know. I’ve never had an interview end that weird.” I couldn’t help smiling as I pictured Sinclair. “He was still miked up. If I hadn’t grabbed the camera, he would have knocked the whole thing over and dragged it into the dugout.”
Callum’s amusement faded. “You think Valley Farms has something to hide?”
“It would explain why they’re not talking. Have you heard anything more from the Sheriff’s Department?”
“No. They haven’t released the name of the victim or the trucking company or even what he was hauling. . . . Maybe the dead guy was an employee.”
One of the Wonder Twins walked in, saw us, and froze with a corn chip halfway to his mouth. “Oh, dude. Are you, like, telling her? I’m totally sorry. I wouldn’t have come in.”
Callum glared at him. “Close the door on your way out, Teddy.”
“For sure.” He started to leave, but dropped his bag of chips. He nervously bent to pick them up. “Sorry,” he stammered, then exited.
“Telling me what,” I asked.
Callum took a deep breath as though girding himself. “I don’t like having to be the one to do this. Trent went home for the day, which is fine except now he’s called and dumped this all on me.”
“Just tell me.”
“You’re going to be formally reprimanded for this morning. Trent says the suits upstairs are pushing for it.”
“What kind of reprimand?”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“What kind of reprimand?” I repeated with more urgency.
Callum paused. “An official write-up in your file and a two-day suspension.”
Shooters who used news vans to transport kegs of beer were suspended. That’s the league I was in. “Starting when?” I finally asked.
“Now.” He glanced quickly at me, then away. “Trent said to collect your cell phone and van keys and send you home.”
The door opened, and one of the Wonder Twins stuck his head in. “Dude, Teddy told me you two were in here.” He looked at me. “I’m full on commiserating with you, Lilly. Looks like you and me are in the same club. We both been suspended.” He laughed. “I think it’s a pretty sweet deal. I mean, you screw up and then get time off. How awesome is that?”
Callum rolled his eyes. “Now is not the time, Freddy.”
“But, like my mistake was superboring. Chronic lateness. How lame is that?” Freddy pointed at me. “But, dude, you’re, like, in the record books. People will be talking about this forever. You’re going to be legend.”
“Close the door on your way out,” Callum ordered.
“Dude, you’ve been hanging in this business forever,” Freddy said to him. “Isn’t this, like, the most? Won’t people be talking about this forever?”
Callum looked down at his copies. “I said, shut the door behind you.”
“Later.” Freddy withdrew and the door closed.
As soon as we were alone, I spoke. “Thanks for jumping to my defense.”
“He’s right. It was the most boneheaded thing I’ve ever seen. You should be thanking me for not saying so in front of him.”
“Wow, thanks.”
He shook his head. “I won’t pat your hand and tell you it’s okay, because it’s not.”
I gestured to the closed door. “What about those two idiots? A day doesn’t go by where Teddy and Freddy don’t lock themselves inside something.”
“They’re jokes.” His eyes focused on me with a rare directness. “You are so much better than them. You’ve got so much talent, but you never step up. You never put yourself out there, and it really pisses me off.”
I started to leave.
“Wait,” he ordered. “I’m not the enemy here.”
“You don’t sound like a friend.”
I left without turning in my equipment or van and made the short drive home through downtown. Major retailers abandoned the city center decades ago, but I’ve always preferred its fifties architecture and funky local shops to the cookie-cutter strip malls in the suburbs. The area even has extra sparkle in December from holiday banners and decorations. But on that drive home, all I saw were boarded-up storefronts and homeless crouched in doorways.
I parked the van at the curb and checked my camera settings. I loaded a fresh tape and replaced the camera battery. I wasn’t on call, I wasn’t even supposed to have the camera, but I was operating on autopilot and followed my usual routine.
I passed Mrs. Harris’s bungalow and stopped to pull her reindeer from where it had fallen into the manger scene. Inside my bungalow the lights were on, a result of my hasty departure, and that, along with the smell of last night’s fast-food dinner, highlighted the state of grubby clutter I lived in. When I was younger, I’d foolishly run up large credit-card debts. In the last five years I’d steadily paid them down by living cheaply. That meant only owning thrift-store furniture or ot
her people’s castoffs. Books were the only things I allowed myself to spend money on.
I walked down the hallway to my bedroom. Stacks of books sat on most surfaces, including the floor. I dropped out of junior college when my dad died. He never had the opportunity to get any kind of real education and wanted more for me and my sister. Back then, young and stupid and impatient for my life to start, I didn’t see the value in it. I only went because he forced me.
By the time I became a shooter, I felt different about dropping out—maybe even a little ashamed. To make up for it, I began reading everything I could get my hands on. In five years I’d worked my way through the classics of English and American literature, as well as philosophy, history, and a healthy dose of pulp fiction.
Suddenly the sight of the books made me feel small and cheap and stupid.
“Lilly Hawkins?” a strange voice asked.
I spun around. Two men stood in the living room.
“We’d like a word with you,” the first man said. He had a massive gut hanging over his belt and spoke with the Bakersfield twang my generation had abandoned. “If you cooperate, we’ll be out of here in a jiffy.”
“You can’t walk right in here,” I shouted. “Even if the landlord sent you, you still have to knock.”
“We’re not here for the landlord.” The one with the belly laughed, and they both started down the hallway.
I felt fear for the first time and instinctively backed farther into my bedroom. “What do you want?”
The second man was skinny and had no accent. “You shouldn’t leave your front door unlocked. It’s not safe.”
They stopped at the entrance to my bedroom and blocked the doorway.
“Get out or I’m calling the police.”
Belly looked at Skinny. “I was hopin’ we’d be able to handle this the easy way, but she looks determined to make trouble. Why don’t you show the little lady the hard way?”
FIVE
The tall, skinny man wore slacks and a gray windbreaker. “If you say so.”
His hands darted for me. I dived across my bed for the Mace in the nightstand. I didn’t make it.
“Calm down.” Skinny grabbed my legs and flipped me over.
Belly laughed. “She’s obviously not a listener.”
“Obviously,” Skinny answered.
My cell phone rang in my coat pocket. I jerked trying to get to it.
“I’m not going to tell you again. Calm down.” Skinny raised a fist and slammed it into my face.
Everything stopped except pain. It radiated outward from my head, spreading to my arms and my stomach.
Skinny reached into my pocket and removed the phone. Then he climbed off the bed and glanced at the small screen. “Looks like we’re in the right place. The call is coming from KJAY.”
I touched my face and felt liquid. I thought it was blood until I looked down and saw the clear tears on my hand.
The one with the belly took a seat on the end of the bed. “I’m sure they’ll leave a message.” Like Skinny, he wore slacks and a dress shirt, but instead of the windbreaker he had on a brown sports jacket and a bolo tie with a modest turquoise stone. “Now that you’re calmed down, we can have a nice friendly talk.”
The phone stopped ringing and Skinny set it down on a stack of books.
“We’re all professionals here,” Belly continued. “You have something of value and we want it.”
“I don’t have any money.”
He looked around the room and laughed. “That’s obvious. Good for you that’s not what we’re after.” He handed me a handkerchief. The polka-dot kind my dad used to keep in his back pocket.
I wiped my face. “Then what are you after?”
“First, let me help you get the lay of the land,” Belly said. “There’s two ways this can go. You can give us what we want, and we’re happy to pay you for it, or you can be difficult and we’ll have to give you more of the rough stuff.”
Skinny flipped through the pages of one of my books. “A job’s a job.”
“We get paid either way.” Belly picked up a framed photo from my nightstand. In the old, brown-and-green image, my mother and father held my older, blonder sister, Clementine, while Uncle Bud carried a dark-haired toddler on his shoulders. “I’m guessin’ this cutie-pie ridin’ the old fella is you.”
I nodded.
“What a nice picture full of nice people.” Belly leaned in and I instinctively recoiled. “You wouldn’t like it if something bad happened to any of them, right? You wouldn’t want me and my partner to pay them a visit?”
“No,” I mumbled even though my father was at Oleander Cemetery and my mother and sister had moved away ten years ago.
“Good.” Belly replaced the photo. “Then all you got to do is answer one simple question and then me and my friend will give you a pile of money and nobody gets hurt. Do you think you can answer a question?”
I quickly nodded.
“Where’s the tape you made last night?” He flashed a wide good-old-boy grin at me. “The one out at the orchard.”
I rubbed my head where Skinny had hit me, as if my brain had been damaged. “What?”
Belly’s grin melted into a flat line. He spoke slowly this time, focusing on each word in turn. “Where—is—the—tape?”
I took a gulp of air and tried to think.
“Makin’ me wait for an answer isn’t very respectful.”
“But there isn’t any tape,” I blurted out.
“Now, missy …”
“I swear. It was black.” The words tumbled out of me. “I messed up the camera and nothing recorded.”
“I know that’s what you told those suckers back where you work, but I’m not so stupid.”
The skinny one glanced up from the book. “Neither am I.”
“You don’t understand,” I explained. “I’ve been having a lot of bad luck.”
Belly’s forehead creased and he leaned in. “You expect me to believe you’re that bad at your job?”
I flinched, not from fear, but wounded pride. “Why would I lie about it?”
“You saw an opportunity and decided to take advantage. I respect that and we’re willin’ to pay you.”
I shook my head. “What opportunity?”
“Wherever you planned on peddlin’ that tape, they’re not payin’ like us, and there’s the added bonus of us not killin’ you.”
In an instant Belly’s right hand grabbed my throat. His fat fingers smelled like tobacco and gasoline. “Where’s the tape?”
“There’s no tape,” I said while trying to breath. “I swear.”
“Do I have to hurt you?”
“No, please, I’ll do anything you want.”
“I want the tape.”
“Then I’ll get you the tape,” I lied.
“Where is it?”
I hesitated.
He squeezed harder. “Where is it?”
“It’s not here, but I can get it. I need a little time.” Time to call 911. “If you come back later, I’ll have it for you.”
Suddenly a high-pitched shrieking filled the room. My body involuntarily jumped, but the fat one’s giant hand held me in place. Skinny removed a cell phone from his belt and glanced at the screen.
“They want us,” he said, and clipped the phone back on his belt.
Belly nodded and turned back to me. “How’s about we meet back here in two hours?”
“Whatever you want,” I said.
He let go. “How much money you askin’ for, anyway?”
I rubbed my neck and sat up a little. “How much can you pay?”
Belly laughed. “That’s the spirit. Twenty grand sound okay?”
I stared at him. He was serious.
He grinned and showed me a set of yellow teeth. “Give us what we want and everybody wins.” His smile disappeared. “But if you work a double cross or breathe a word about this to the police or your mama or your long-lost pen pal in China, we won’t just kil
l you, we’ll go after everybody you ever met.” Belly stood up. “We’ll see you back here at two, and remember, if you’re not home, we’re goin’ to make some house calls to your friends and family.”
They started to leave, but at my bedroom door Skinny stopped. He held up a paperback mystery. “Mind if I borrow it? I haven’t read this one.”
They both chuckled, then Belly said, “Anybody asks about your face, just tell ’em your boyfriend promised not to do it again.”
They laughed at me. I heard it echoing down the hallway as they walked out of my house.
I’ve been told I have a temper. At that moment, temper didn’t even begin to describe what I had.
I grabbed the Mace and jumped out the bathroom window into the alley behind the bungalows. A part of me reasoned I’d be able to get their license-plate number, but mostly I wanted to jump out of the bushes and Mace them back to the Stone Age. My bare feet sprinted down the alley jumping over broken glass and who knows what else. At the last bungalow I crouched down in the bushes and waited.
I heard the skinny one’s voice first. “I thought she was going to pee in her pants.”
“Me too. I’m thinkin’ she’d never been hit before.”
Their laughter echoed down the pavement and mingled with their footsteps. I clutched the Mace in anticipation.
“You think someone got to her?” Skinny asked. “I thought we made good time over here.”
“Nah. She’s workin’ on her own. Saw a chance to make a buck and went for it.”
Peeking through the bushes, I could see a white sedan parked at the curb. It was generic except for the large antenna coming off the back. I knew it didn’t belong to anyone in my complex.
“I bet you could have gotten the tape for nothing,” Skinny said.
“Probably, but since it’s not my money, I’m not too worried about it.”
Something about the white sedan bothered me. Even though it had never been parked there before, it felt familiar—and the clean white was too perfect, too institutional.
“Too bad we can’t be that rough all the time.” Skinny laughed. “We’d get a lot more results.”
My body froze as I recognized the car, or rather the type. I’d done several ride-alongs in similar unmarked vehicles for stories.
A Bad Day’s Work Page 6