4 Shot Off The Presses

by Amanda M. Lee

  “I didn’t say that,” Commander Turner argued. “I thought we would help you by dissuading you of just that possibility right from the get-go.”

  “And how are you going to dissuade me from that?”

  “Well, it’s just obvious that this is not a military person,” Commander Turner said bitingly.

  “How is that obvious?” I plowed on.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We don’t know anything about anything yet,” I said. “We don’t know anything about the victim, whether she had enemies or not. We don’t know anything about the type of gun used or how hard the shot really was, since we have no idea if the victim was purposely targeted or just a lucky get. So, essentially, we know nothing except that, according to you, it couldn’t possibly be military related.”

  “Well,” Commander Turner said stiffly. “I guess that you’ve got this in hand then.”

  “I do,” I agreed. “However, I have to say, the fact that you called me out here to tell me that the military couldn’t possibly be involved makes me believe that you think the military is involved for some reason.”

  Sgt. Harmon jumped to his feet hurriedly. “That’s simply not true.”

  “Calm down Esmeralda,” I admonished him. I turned back to Commander Turner. “We’re just feeling each other out here, aren’t we?”

  “Sgt. Harmon, why don’t you leave Ms. Shaw and I alone for a chat,” Turner answered harshly.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Sgt. Harmon said nervously.

  “That’s an order.”

  Sgt. Harmon cast one last look in my direction and then quietly slunk out of the room, closing the door behind him as he did.

  “Alone at last,” I smiled broadly, even though I was suddenly nervous.

  “You have a certain reputation in this county, Ms. Shaw.”

  “I have a certain reputation in a lot of counties,” I countered. “In Northern Oakland County, for example, I’m known as a sniper from the three-point line when playing street basketball. My height can be deceiving, I know, but I’m a raging cager.”

  Commander Turner ignored me. “You’re known as a loose cannon.”

  “You’re in the military; you like cannons.”

  “You’re known for becoming a little too involved in your stories. That’s not something a reporter is supposed to do, am I right?”

  “I guess it depends,” I said carefully. “I always tend to get my story, so I guess I’m given a lot of leeway.”

  “You’ve almost been killed, a couple of times, while getting these stories if I remember correctly.”

  It wasn’t overtly a threat, but it felt like a threat.

  “I have a certain effect on people,” I replied. “I tend to drive them crazy.”

  “I can see that.”

  I pulled my notebook out of my The Walking Dead purse, flipped it open and looked back up to Commander Turner. “So, what statement do you want me to share with the public in this regard?”

  Turner smiled – although it looked more like a snarl. “Only that this situation has nothing to do with Jefferson Air National Guard Base.”

  “And you would like me to base this statement on the basis of?”

  Turner frowned. “It’s the truth. “

  “Of course,” I started studiously writing in my notebook. “The military is not involved because Commander Turner said so. I got it.”

  The room fell silent, uncomfortably so. I was trying to find a way to gracefully exit without looking like I was running in fear when I heard raised voices from beyond the door to the outer office.

  I glanced up at Turner and he looked equally baffled.

  “He’s in a meeting.” It sounded like the secretary was trying to stop someone from entering the office.

  “I’m sure he is, but it will have to wait.”

  I frowned when I recognized the other voice. I wasn’t surprised when the door flew open and the county sheriff, Jake Farrell, strode into the room purposefully.

  “Leonard.”

  “Jake.”

  “You haven’t returned my calls,” Jake said angrily, running a hand through his bird’s nest black hair anxiously.

  “I’ve been busy,” Turner said quietly. “I’m busy right now, in fact.”

  “With what?” Jake glanced around the room and froze when he saw me sitting in the chair behind him. “What are you doing here?”

  “Good to see you, too,” I said evenly, although I was secretly glad to see him. His appearance would make my exit that much easier.

  “Why are you here?” Jake repeated the question, his dark eyes focusing on me questioningly.

  “Commander Turner requested an interview.”

  “I was doing you a favor,” Turner frowned.

  Jake glanced between us suspiciously. “Why would you request an interview?”

  “Why would you just assume she’s telling the truth?”

  “Why would she lie about this?”

  “You’re saying she never lies? How would you know that? Oh, right, you have a past with her, don’t you? Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  Well this was getting ugly – uglier – pretty quick. I was definitely missing something here and I had a feeling that something had something to do with Eliot’s weird reaction this morning.

  Jake didn’t rise to the bait. “Why wouldn’t you return my calls?”

  “I told you I was busy.”

  “With Avery?”

  “Partly. I do run this base, in case you forgot. That’s five thousand men under my command. I don’t always have time to bend to the every whim of the county sheriff.”

  “Every whim?” Jake looked incredulous. He swung on me suddenly, hands on his narrow hips. “What did he say to you?”

  I shrugged. “He just wanted to make it clear that the freeway shooter had nothing to do with the military base.” I didn’t see any reason to lie. Something suddenly dawned on me. “Hey, why aren’t you at the press conference at the sheriff’s department?”

  “It was postponed until this afternoon.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean why? Do I have to have a reason? I’m the sheriff.”

  “You usually do have a reason,” I argued.

  I could see Commander Turner watching us interact out of the corner of my eye. I didn’t like it. “We’re done, right?” I turned back to him.

  “We are,” he nodded. “I trust that I will find fair and balanced coverage in tomorrow’s edition.”

  “Sure, whatever,” I waved him off and turned to Jake. “What time is the new press conference?”

  “After lunch.”

  “You’re not going to tell me why it was postponed?”

  Jake’s eyes were fixed angrily on Commander Turner. He turned to me when he realized I was still there. “What?”

  “Why was the press conference postponed?”

  “The victim died. We needed more time to get the correct information together.”

  “She died?” That was sad, and enough to elevate his story from passing interest to all-out panic in certain motorist circles.

  “Can we talk about this later?” Jake asked irritably. “I need to have a discussion with Leonard.”

  “It looks more like you’re going to beat the crap out of each other,” I said.

  Jake shot me his death look. “I will talk to you later.”

  “Goodbye, Ms. Shaw,” Leonard agreed.

  I guess I’d been dismissed.

  Seven

  After an uncomfortable ride with Sgt. Harmon back to my car – one where we didn’t say a single word to one another – I was back on the highway within five minutes and back at The Monitor within fifteen.

  When I got to the office, I strode straight to Fish’s desk purposely. “Well that was fun, and I by fun I mean painful.”

  Fish didn’t look up. “You’re always so dramatic.”

  “I’m not dramatic.”

  “You are dramatic.
”

  “I am not dramatic and I resent you saying I’m dramatic.” Suddenly a memory from the previous night flashed in my mind, the one where Lexie said she wasn’t high maintenance. I pushed the thought out as quickly as I let it in. Who needs that?

  Fish finished typing whatever he was working on and finally glanced in my direction. “Please tell me you didn’t go to the air base dressed like that.”

  “Funnily enough, you’re less pissed off than Commander Turner was.”

  “What did he say?” Fish narrowed his eyes. It was one thing for him to pick on my outfit. It was quite another for someone else to do it.

  “Let’s just say he’s not a big fan of the Thundercats.”

  “Thundercats?” Fish looked confused.

  I gestured down to my black and orange cat-striped shoes, which featured a big-bosomed cat woman in all her glory. “She’s got a nice rack,” Fish said finally.

  “She does,” I agreed.

  “So, what did he want?”

  “He wanted to make sure we knew that the freeway shooter had nothing to do with the base.”

  Fish didn’t look surprised. “I figured it was something like that. What do you think?”

  “I think that he’s trying really hard to distance the base from this shooting.”

  “And?”

  “And? And that makes me think that he’s knows something, or he’s really worried about something. Or he’s trying to misdirect us from something.”

  “Like?”

  “How should I know? I was with the man for twenty minutes.”

  Fish smirked. “Something tells me you’re going to find out what he’s trying to hide.”

  “You make me sound petty.”

  “That’s one of your virtues,” Fish brushed off my petulance. “Just make sure you don’t let your investigation into Turner get in the way of your coverage on this story.”

  “Like I would do that,” I scoffed.

  Fish rolled his eyes. “You always do that.”

  “It always works out,” I countered.

  “You do have a certain knack,” Fish agreed.

  “On that note,” I started to move away. “The victim died.”

  “How do you know that?”

  I told Fish about seeing Jake at Turner’s office, omitting the parts about the antagonistic nature of their interaction. I wanted to keep that to myself – for now, at least.

  “What was Farrell doing with Turner?” Fish asked curiously.

  “Probably the same thing I was,” I said. “Except he knows more about the shooting, which means that it was probably a pretty hard shot and that led him to the military.”

  “Well, Turner isn’t going to like that,” Fish mused.

  “He didn’t seem to.”

  Fish was quiet while he thought for a second and then turned back to me. “You’re going to the press conference.”

  “Why? I thought I would be the one going to the family. You were going to send Duncan to the press conference.”

  “Now I’m sending you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you have better connections with the sheriff’s department,” Fish said succinctly.

  “Jake? He’s not exactly feeding me exclusives these days,” I grumbled.

  “And Derrick.”

  “He never feeds me exclusives,” I shot back.

  “They’ll still talk to you. They still give you tips and hints. They don’t do that with anyone else.”

  “And they won’t talk to Duncan?” The minute I asked the question I realized the stupidity of it. Duncan was the office tool for a reason.

  “No one talks to Duncan twice,” Fish agreed. “Once they’ve met him, it’s pretty much over. You can’t spend five minutes with the guy and not realize he’s a total douche.”

  “So you think it’s a good idea to send him to a grieving family?”

  “I’ll figure something out,” Fish waved off my concerns. “I just know I want you at the press conference.”

  “Great,” I muttered and wandered back to my desk. I found Marvin loitering in the walkway amongst the cubicles. “What’s up with you?”

  “Nothing,” Marvin looked instantly guilty.

  “Well, that was convincing.”

  Marvin glanced around the busy cubicles conspiratorially. “I’ve got a new mission in life.”

  Oh, good. I love Marvin, but he has a new mission in life every week. Last week it was to stop trolling AA meetings for women. He found out that, even though a lot of them were needy, they weren’t willing to go out to his favorite bar every night like he wanted. And worse, when they did, they fell off the wagon hard and usually started stalking him. Yeah, he didn’t really think that one through.

  “What’s your new mission? Are you going to get in shape with that mechanical belt you strap around your waist again?”

  “No. I still maintain that was false advertising, though.”

  “Back to meditation in the park?”

  “No. There are too many bugs there.”

  “So, what’s your new mission?”

  “I’m going to seize the day.”

  Huh, where to go with this, where to go with this? “I don’t know what that means,” I said finally.

  “I almost died last night.”

  Oh, well, this wasn’t new. Marvin is an outstanding reporter, but he’s the biggest hypochondriac in the world. “How?”

  “I was walking in the parking lot of the Roost last night.” The Roost is his favorite bar. “And I was almost hit by a car.”

  “Were you drunk?”

  “No.”

  “How close were you to the car?”

  “It was like ten feet,” Marvin said seriously.

  “That’s not very close.”

  “I saw my life flashing before my eyes.”

  “And what did you see?”

  “It wasn’t much,” Marvin admitted. “It was a steady stream of women and drinks with nothing of substance attached to it.”

  Oh, good, he was feeling existential today. “So you’re going to start going to that weird church again?”

  “It wasn’t weird. It was a real church.”

  “It was a motivational church,” I corrected him. “Self-empowerment and all that. Chanting.”

  “That’s still a thing.”

  “Fine,” I conceded. “It’s a thing. A thing with chanting.”

  “Anyway,” Marvin was looking irritated now. “I realized I don’t have anything to anchor me to this life.”

  “You want to be anchored to this life? Why?”

  “I mean there’s no one here who will remember me when I’m gone.”

  “I’ll remember you,” I said hurriedly. Like I could forget.

  “Oh, please,” Marvin said dismissively. “You’ll die before I do. You live a reckless life.”

  “Nice.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  Sadly, it was. “Where are you going to find this anchor?”

  “I’m going to get married,” Marvin boldly announced.

  “To who?”

  “I haven’t decided yet, that’s where you come in.”

  Uh-oh. “I’m not marrying you.”

  “Like I would want to marry you,” Marvin scoffed. “You’re mean.”

  “I’m not mean.” Even as I said the words, I knew they weren’t true. I idle at mean some days – and then I accelerate to evil when I have PMS.

  “I need you to introduce me to someone.”

  “Someone to marry?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t know anyone that would be right for you,” I said carefully.

  “What about that friend of yours? Carly?”

  “She’s already engaged,” I reminded him.

  “That means she’s serious about marriage.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “To Kyle, not you.”

  “Still, you could set it up.”

  “No, I couldn’t,” I argued.

&n
bsp; “Please?” He looked so sad.

  “No.”

  “Fine!” Marvin whirled and stalked back to his cubicle. “I told you that you were mean.”

  “Whatever.”

  “You guys argue like you’re married.”

  I glanced up and saw Brick watching us with an amused – and somewhat disdainful – look on his face. “Brick.”

  “Avery.”

  “Can I do something for you?”

  “I just heard you talking to Fish.”

  “Good?” I wasn’t sure where he was going with this.

  “I think it’s typical that a liberal swine like yourself would naturally assume the military is involved in this.”

  “Why do you care?” I ignored the liberal swine remark. I couldn’t muster the energy to be offended by a guy with the name of Brick.

  “I’m a veteran.”

  “I think I already knew that,” I pointed out. “That still doesn’t explain why you’ve got your panties in a bunch about this.”

  “I don’t wear panties,” Brick looked incensed.

  “I heard they were camouflage.” Sometimes I like to poke angry little bears just for the hell of it.

  “There’s a reason why everyone in this office thinks you’re an asshole,” Brick shot back.

  “Really? I was going for bitchy, not asshole. I’ll adjust to get the outcome I want, though,” I replied breezily.

  Brick narrowed his angry brown eyes on me. “I can’t believe someone hasn’t shot you yet.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Marvin was back in the aisle and regarding Brick angrily. “You can’t talk to her like that.”

  “Like what? You said she was mean,” Brick reminded him.

  “Yeah, but you’re being a dick.”

  “I am not.”

  “You are, too.”

  This was spinning out of control. “I’m going to leave you girls to your hair-pulling fight,” I said quickly. “I’ve got a press conference to get to.”

  “That’s still hours away,” Marvin said angrily.

  “Yeah, well, waiting in a quiet room surrounded by cops sounds better than hanging out with you two right now.”

  I cast one last glance down the aisle as I left and found Marvin and Brick still eyeing each other reproachfully. There must be something in the air today. All the men in my world were going steadily crazy.