Man of Steel

by Dave Conifer

  “Yeah, that’s what I remember,” Reno said. She paused for a moment. “Except for one thing. I don’t think he said ‘Pittsburg.’ I think he said ‘P-burg.’”

  Jonas’s forehead wrinkled as he thought it over. “I don’t remember either way,” he finally said.

  “Don’t ask me why but I’m sure of it,” she said.

  “In that case, what else could it be? Is there a Pottsburg, or Pemburg, or some other place he would call ‘P-burg’?”

  “Maybe,” she said. “I can’t think of any off the top of my head. Why don’t you give me a couple hours? I’ll work on it from my end and call you back.”

  ~~~

  It was only about twenty minutes later when Reno called back to tell Jonas that there were no other municipalities in Texas with a name that fit the pattern. “Well, if it’s not in Texas, it’s not in Texas,” Jonas said. “Where else should we look?”

  “I guess I could try Oklahoma and Arkansas. What about Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania?” Reno suggested. “That’s the biggest ‘P-burg’ I can think of.”

  “Maybe. But would McBride talk about driving there? All the way to Pennsylvania?”

  “You’re getting hung up on words he may not have said. We don’t really remember his exact words.”

  “Okay. I’ll see what I can come up with in Pennsylvania. You could be right.”

  He hung up the phone and rode the elevator down three floors to the resource room where he knew he could find a current phone book for every city in the country. He pulled the Pittsburgh book off the shelf and carried it to a nearby table. One minute later he was elated at what he found.

  Ronald James Pomeroy

  62 Grace St.

  (412) 291-1925

  He was so excited as he copied the number onto his notepad that he couldn’t read his own writing, and had to force himself to do it again. Without bothering to put the book back on the shelf he raced past a startled librarian and out of the resource room. Instead of waiting for the elevator he sprinted up the stairs and burst into Burkhardt’s office. “I think I found him!” he said, still out of breath.

  Burkhardt put his hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone receiver that Jonas hadn’t noticed. “Found who?” he whispered.

  Jonas gritted his teeth when he realized what he’d done. “Sorry,” he mouthed.

  Burkhardt waved his hand impatiently. “Who did you find?” he whispered.

  “Pomeroy,” Jonas said, holding the pad up.

  Burkhardt gave him a thumbs-up and pointed to the chair. Jonas took a seat and waited. When the phone call finally ended Jonas couldn’t contain himself. “We thought Pomeroy was in Texas but it turns out he’s in Pennsylvania!” He explained the confusion about the town’s name and how he and Reno had eventually guessed Pittsburgh.

  “This is the friend of the father?” Burkhardt asked. “The policeman?”

  “That’s right. He was on the force with Charles McBride. He might know something about this. If it’s actually the same guy, of course.”

  “Good work. Are you warming up to this story any yet?”

  “Yeah, some, I guess, ” Jonas conceded.

  “How can we be completely sure that this is the guy?”

  “Come on, Mr. Burkhardt. It’s got to be him.”

  “’Got to be’ and ‘is’ are two different things.”

  “I guess I should call him. They’re in our time zone aren’t they?” he asked as he reached for the phone. “Can I call from here?”

  “Wait a minute,” Burkhardt said. “Slow down. First of all, we don’t even know if it’s him. Secondly, we don’t know enough about him. He could turn out to be just another blowhard like McBride. We have to take a closer look at him first, I think. What would you think about another road trip? I’ll do the paperwork right now.”

  “To Pittsburgh? Sure. But what about my regular stuff? I haven’t done anything but JFK since I went to Dallas.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ve got somebody covering it.”

  “So what do I do when I get there if I can’t call this guy?”

  “Just play it by ear. You have his address. See if he’s the right age. And race. Trust your instincts. If he was a Dallas policeman in 1963, he probably should be a fifty year-old white man nowadays. And what the hell is a down home Texas boy doing in Pittsburgh?”

  ~~~

  Jonas called Reno when he returned to his desk. “You were right. I found a guy by that name in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.”

  “You’re kidding!” she said excitedly. “Is he our man? Did you talk with him?”

  “My editor told me not to. Not yet. He wants to be sure it’s him first. I’m flying up there tonight to check him out.”

  “Ooh! Ooh! Can I come?”

  “Can you get away? I’d love to have some help.”

  “I’ll call you back. I have to go twist somebody’s arm to get it cleared.”

  “Man or woman?”

  Reno giggled. “Woman. Too bad, that would have made it so much easier.”

  -- Chapter 6--

  Jonas’s plane touched down first so he wandered over to meet Reno at her gate at Pittsburgh International Airport that night. Both were traveling with nothing but carry-on luggage so they were able to get on the road in a rental car just a few minutes after landing. After they reached Interstate 79 Reno pulled out the city map she’d bought in a gift shop. “Where are we staying, anyway?” she asked.

  “I have to stay at the Hilton, downtown,” Jonas replied. “Hilton is standard company procedure.”

  “You poor thing,” Reno said. “I didn’t have time to make a reservation so I guess I’ll get a room there, too.” She studied the map and called out directions as Jonas drove. “We’re looking for the Fort Pitt Tunnel,” she announced.

  “Are we lost?” Jonas asked a few minutes later after they’d passed several exits. “Where the hell is the city?”

  “We should be close,” Reno said. Her head swiveled between the map and the road. “I don’t get it. We’re right on top of it.”

  Even before the words were out of her mouth a sign directing them to the tunnel appeared. Jonas eased the car to the right, followed the ramp and entered the tunnel. When they emerged from the tunnel all their questions were answered in the form of a dazzling skyline that had been hidden behind a mountain ridge. They crossed the Monongahela River on a yellow steel skeleton bridge and were suddenly in the heart of the city. Only a few more turns were needed to find the Hilton.

  “My boss is worried about us working together,” Reno said as they stood in line to check in.

  “Mine too,” Jonas answered.

  “How does that work? Can we both write our own stories for our own paper? Who owns the story?”

  “I don’t know,” Jonas admitted. “I don’t see why it wouldn’t work that way. It doesn’t matter if we’re doing the research together, I don’t think.”

  “Whatever. If you’re not worried, I won’t either. But now that I’ve made this trip they’ll expect me to publish something,” Reno said.

  “Then do it,” Jonas answered. “Let’s just make sure we do our writing separately. Then there’s no debating who owns what.”

  “Cool. Hey, I tell you what. After we move into our rooms let’s come back down here and get something to eat. And drink.”

  ~~~

  “So what do we do next?” Reno asked after taking her first sip of beer. They were in a mostly-empty bar on the ground floor of the hotel. The bartender and a man in blue coveralls were watching baseball on a TV that was suspended over the bar. A large plate of Buffalo wings rested on the table between them. “I say we call him in the morning.”

  “I’d rather follow my orders,” Jonas said. “Burkhardt told me to get a look at him before I call.”

  “How do we do that? Stake out his house?”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” he replied, grinning. “Let’s get up early and find his house. We’ll watch and l
earn.”

  “I don’t see why we can’t just call. But all right, if it makes you feel better we’ll do it your way.”

  ~~~

  They were back in the car before the sun came up the next morning. Like the night before, Jonas drove while Reno navigated. Grace Street was nestled in a residential neighborhood on the far side of Mt. Washington. It wasn’t difficult to find, even in the dark. It was a tiny street, barely wide enough for two cars to pass each other. There were houses on the left side but not on the right, which tapered to a thirty-foot drop into a meadow. “I wonder how many people have rolled their cars off that cliff,” Jonas wondered aloud.

  “Don’t jinx us.”

  The first house was number Sixty-two. That was the one Pomeroy lived in, according to the phone book. They drove past slowly, not even sure what they were looking for. When they reached the end of the street they turned around and parked within sight of the house.

  “I feel like we’re wasting our time,” Reno said. “Let’s say we see somebody walk out of the house. What does that tell us? Nothing, except that a human being lives there. We can already assume that.”

  “Just bear with me. I want to be able to say I did what I was told.”

  “I’m going back to sleep,” she said as she reclined her seat. “Wake me up when you get a life.”

  Jonas smiled as she closed her eyes. He liked her saucy personality, even when she turned it full blast at him.

  It wasn’t long before a man emerged from the house and carefully walked down the concrete steps to the street. Jonas took a good look at him when he passed under a streetlight. He had a full head of graying hair and moved as though he was about the right age. It wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to think that he could have been a young policeman in 1963. Jonas shook Reno’s shoulder. “Abby! There he is!”

  She snapped awake and sat up. “He looks a lot older than McBride,” she said after watching the man walk to a car.

  “He’s not supposed to be Mark McBride’s age, remember?” Jonas said. “He’s old enough to be his father. He’s Charlie McBride’s age.”

  “Oops. I can’t keep that straight. What should we do?”

  “Let’s follow him.”

  “Maybe I should stay here and watch the house while you follow,” Reno suggested.

  “Good idea. Maybe this is just Pomeroy’s roommate.”

  By then he was driving away in a blue Oldsmobile. “Go!” Reno said as she stepped onto the curb. Jonas followed Pomeroy, who had already turned off Grace Street into a line of traffic heading back towards downtown. Worried that he was losing ground, he tried to remember as many details about the car as possible. He still hadn’t come any closer than two cars back as they rolled downhill toward the Fort Pitt Tunnel in the thickening rush hour traffic. Just before the tunnel entrance Pomeroy veered right onto another street. A few blocks later he entered a different tunnel through the mountain. Jonas could no longer see Pomeroy after he came out of the tunnel onto yet another steel bridge.

  He was halfway across the bridge before he saw the Oldsmobile again. He cut into the leftmost lane, sped past a line of cars, and carefully eased back over. He was still four or five cars behind but at least he was within following distance.

  The rest of the chase was low-speed but tedious. By dodging cars and weaving through city traffic Jonas managed to catch up with Pomeroy just as he was turning onto Grant Street. After several blocks he made a right turn into an underground parking facility. Jonas noted the address on a well-lit sign as he entered:

  ERC Corporation

  600 Grant Street

  He spiraled downward through levels of the garage until he reached a gate and a booth. “Excuse me, sir,” a uniformed attendant said to Jonas after he rolled the window down. “You can’t park here without a permit.”

  Jonas watched helplessly as Pomeroy disappeared down another ramp. “I must be lost,” he said. “I thought this was a public garage.”

  “No, sir,” the attendant said. “This is the Steel Building. There’s a public garage up the street at Fifth.”

  “Sorry,” Jonas said. “How can I get out of here?”

  The attendant directed him back to street level. He drove halfway up the block before abruptly pulling out of traffic and stopping at the curb. He stepped out of the car and looked back at the building he’d just come out of just so he’d be sure to remember where he’d been. It was still relatively dark back outside but the sun was already brushing the top of the building, leaving an eerie pink glow that made it stand out even more. It was a plain, dark skyscraper that dominated the cityscape as much by its blandness as by its height. There was a glass castle-like tower nearby that wasn’t quite as tall. By the looks of it he’d just chased Pomeroy into the most important building in town.

  Jonas retraced his path over the bridge and through the tunnel to get back to Grace Street. After two passes up and down the street he saw no sign of Reno. Worried, he pulled over to the side and waited. Finally he saw her walking down the steps in front of Pomeroy’s house. Maintaining a look of calm, she made her way up the street and climbed into the car.

  “Whew,” she said after exhaling dramatically. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

  “Where were you?”

  “I didn’t know where to go so I went up on his porch. I figured Pomeroy was gone so nobody would notice me.”

  Jonas shook his head and scowled at her. “Are you out of your mind? We don’t know that there’s nobody else in there. That was too risky, Abby. We don’t even know for sure that it’s Pomeroy’s house.”

  “We do now. He’s got a mailbox doesn’t he?”

  “And you ransacked it?” Jonas asked incredulously. “You’re starting to worry me here.”

  “No, I didn’t ransack the mailbox. There was an outgoing letter. What was I supposed to do, not look at it? I put it back when I was done with it.”

  “Wow. You’re something else. So?”

  “So?” she repeated.

  “What did it say? Are we in the right place?”

  “I’m afraid so. The return address was Pomeroy. Ronald Pomeroy.”

  “I think we better get out of here,” he said as he started the car and pulled away from the curb. “We need to think about what to do next.” On the way back to the hotel he told her about how he trailed Pomeroy into the Steel Building. The chase through traffic sounded more exciting now that there was a good chance he’d been following the real R.J. Pomeroy.

  They headed back to Reno’s room when they reached the hotel. Each collapsed onto one of the beds. “I say we call him at the office. It shouldn’t be hard to get a number. Or we could just walk over. That’s probably it right there,” she said, pointing out the window.

  “How are we going to say we found him if he asks?”

  “Well, we can tell him the truth about how we knew he was in Pittsburgh,” Reno said. “McBride told us. After that, if he asks, we’ll just have to tell him that us reporters have our ways, or something like that. That’s usually enough. I’m sure you’ve done it.”

  “Okay. Who should call?” Jonas asked.

  “You, I think,” Reno replied. “It’s your story, really. I’ll do my part. I’ll work the phone and try to get a number. Then you’re up.”

  “Okay. But I don’t want to call until after lunchtime. Somehow that’ll feel less like I’m bothering him. I’m going downstairs to pick up something for breakfast. Want anything?”

  “Just get me whatever you’re having,” she said before sitting up and reaching for the phone.

  ~~~

  When Jonas returned with newspapers and muffins Reno updated him on what she’d learned. “He’s a vice-president,” she said. “In security. Imagine that? I guess all that police experience in Dallas paid off. All three months of it. Here’s his number,” she said, passing him a scrap of paper.

  Jonas took the paper and dialed the number with no idea what to expect. “Mr. Pomeroy?” he aske
d after somebody answered. “This is Joe Jonas of The Charlotte Sentinel. I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time.”

  “For what?” Pomeroy asked. “I’m very busy.”

  “Mark McBride gave us your name,” Jonas said. “He told us his father worked with you in Dallas and you might know something about some of his duties there.”

  “That goddamn kid!” Pomeroy exploded. “Whatever his kid told you, don’t believe it. I wish he’d leave me out of his publicity stunts.”

  Jonas was relieved at Pomeroy’s outburst. Now they knew they had found the right man. “We’re over at the Hilton, just around the corner,” he said. “Could we come by and talk for a few minutes?”

  “No,” Pomeroy said. “Don’t ever call me again.” Before Jonas could respond he heard a click.

  “He’s gone,” Jonas said out loud.

  “He’s going to regret that,” Reno warned. “The worst thing you can do if I’m tracking you is hang up on me.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “We know where he lives. I say we wait for him to get home and go pound on his door. I’m not backing off until he minds his manners,” she said. He noticed that her Texas accent intensified when she was angry.

  “I don’t know. What’s the point? It doesn’t sound like he wants to talk.”

  She flopped backwards onto the bed without answering. Jonas stared out the window at the city. He knew from a travel magazine he read on the plane that Pittsburgh’s compact downtown was called ‘The Golden Triangle’ and he could see why. It occupied a wedge of land framed by the Monongahela and the Allegheny. The rivers merged at the tip of the wedge, known as The Point, where they formed the third of Pittsburgh’s famed three rivers, the Ohio. He was studying the football stadium across the Ohio when the ring of the phone startled him. He reached over and picked it up before the second ring. “Jonas,” he said out of habit.

  “Mr. Jonas?” the voice asked. Jonas knew instantly that it was Pomeroy.

  “Yes. Mr. Pomeroy?”

  “I wanted to make sure you were who you said you were. That’s why I walked across the street and called you back,” Pomeroy explained. “I don’t want to take any chances.”