4 Shot Off The Presses

by Amanda M. Lee

  “And you think you can bully Commissioner Ludington into rescinding my contract?” Christine looked doubtful.

  “I think that Tad has bigger things on his mind now,” I replied snottily. “I think the Christine Brady experiment is going to be something he’s going to be happy to end pretty quickly.”

  Christine shook her head angrily. “You’re so smug. You think you’re always going to just get your way, don’t you?”

  “I think, in this case, the best possible outcome for everyone involved – with the exception of you, of course – is going to be getting rid of the sheriff’s department public relations liaison,” I replied snottily.

  Christine turned to Jake incredulously. “Are you going to let her dictate your office labor policies?”

  “No,” Jake shook his head. “I’m going to handle that myself.”

  Christine turned to me with a triumphant look on her face. I cast a sideways glance at Jake. I wasn’t sure where he was going with this.

  “Christine,” Jake said quietly.

  She turned to him expectantly. “Yes, Sheriff Farrell?”

  “You’re fired.”

  This really was turning into a magnificent day.

  Thirty-Two

  I excused myself from Jake’s office after he lowered the boom on Christine. I could still hear her screeching from beyond the closed door when Derrick came out of his office across the hall a few minutes later.

  “What is that about?”

  “Jake just fired Christine.” I was trying to be subdued, but I couldn’t hide the whiff of glee that was emanating from me.

  Derrick raised his eyebrows in surprise and then ran a tired hand over his jaw. It took me a second to realize he was trying to cover up a smile. “That’s terrible,” he said finally.

  “I know,” I agreed, averting my gaze from his. “It’s awful when someone loses their job.” If our eyes connected, I knew we would both burst out laughing.

  Derrick cocked his head as he listened to Christine’s shrieks from Jake’s office. “Were you in there when she was fired?”

  “I was.”

  “How did she take it?”

  “Not well.”

  “Huh.”

  “Yep.”

  “We should probably go down to the conference room now and not keep loitering around out here,” Derrick said thoughtfully.

  “Yeah, we don’t want to look like ghouls trying to pick apart her corpse when she comes out,” I agreed.

  “You need to stop watching so many horror movies,” Derrick complained as we started moving down the hallway.

  “I just watched the whole Crystal Lake Memories documentary,” I said suddenly. “It was like seven hours of gossiping and backbiting – with special effects documentaries.”

  “Those movies are terrible.”

  “Bite your tongue. Those movies are awesome and, for some reason, I can’t help but be reminded of Christine when I think about it.”

  “Ax in the face?”

  “Female camper being beaten against a tree in her sleeping bag,” I countered.

  “Yeah, that was a great death. Those movies still suck, though.”

  AFTER the press conference, I returned to The Monitor to file a story and check in. Marvin was waiting for me when I got there, hopping up and down like a nervous bird as he did.

  “Did you find anything?”

  “I talked to the Harrison Township supervisor,” Marvin said in a low voice. “He says that the base has been targeted before but they’ve always managed to get out of it. He says that he hasn’t heard anything recently about the base but he’s going to make some calls.”

  “How would Tad know and yet the Harrison Township supervisor wouldn’t?” That didn’t make any sense.

  “That’s a good question. Maybe something else is going on?” Marvin looked thoughtful. He’s goofy in general, but when he’s sniffing out a story he’s as professional as they come.

  “Well, keep pressing,” I said. “I don’t know what else we can do besides that right now. I have to think that something is up. The more I think about Turner calling me into his office, the more I wonder if he was trying to sound me out.”

  “About what?”

  “About the possible closure of the base,” I replied simply. “He just used the shootings as a screen. Or, maybe, the shootings are all tied up into the base possibly closing and he was trying to get control of both stories.”

  “I know you like to fancy yourself the queen of the reporters, but there are more holes in that theory than a prostitute’s nylons.”

  “What do you think then?”

  “I’m don’t think anything yet,” Marvin replied. “We have to keep digging. Jumping to conclusions is just going to skew us off course.”

  I hate it when Marvin has more reason than I do. “Fine.”

  I cranked out my story and then left for the day. Tonight was Carly’s bachelorette party and I had to check in with Lexie to see what we had planned. Back at my house, Lexie was a bundle of excitement and nerves.

  “What are you up to?”

  “Why do you assume I’m up to something?” Lexie asked innocently, smoothing down her lavender tank top.

  “If you were any guiltier an inverted cross would have appeared on your forehead.”

  “You’re always so suspicious,” Lexie sighed.

  “So, what’s the plan?”

  “I got a limo to take us to Ferndale,” Lexie replied.

  “Ferndale? Why?”

  “We’re going to Pompeii,” Lexie said simply.

  “The gay strip club?”

  “Yup.”

  “Why there?”

  “Because it’s fun and safe,” Lexie replied. “We can go wild and not worry about anyone hitting on us.”

  “They’re male strippers, right?”

  “Yes, they’re male strippers,” Lexie rolled her eyes irritably.

  “So, we’re going to be watching men get naked with a bunch of other men?”

  “Yes,” Lexie’s voice was sharp. “If you don’t like it, then you should have planned it yourself like you were supposed to.”

  “It’s fine,” I said. “It will probably be fun.”

  “It will be fun,” Lexie grumbled.

  “Who is coming?”

  Lexie handed me a sheet of paper with a list of names on it. I perused the list curiously. “There’s like twenty people here.”

  “You, me, Carly’s sister, her sister-in-law, her mother, all your friends from college,” Lexie nodded. “That’s a normal guest list, isn’t it?”

  Oh, holy hell. “What is Harriet’s name doing on this list?”

  Lexie looked confused. “Isn’t that her future mother-in-law?”

  “Yes, Satan is going to be Carly’s mother-in-law,” I agreed.

  “You can’t not invite her. That’s just rude.”

  “Since when do you care about being rude?” I asked honestly.

  “I called Carly’s mom for a list. She included Harriet. Take it up with her.”

  As much as I loved Carly’s mom, I had no intention of fighting her on something like this. Not only did I think she could take me, I had once seen her get so drunk she thought the cement duck on her front porch was real. That was a whole level of crazy I wasn’t in the mood to deal with.

  “It’s fine,” I said forcefully. “We’ve got a limo. I can get falling down drunk. Maybe Harriet is fun when she’s got some liquor in her?”

  “Plus, we’ll be at a gay bar,” Lexie replied brightly. “Who doesn’t love that?”

  Given what I knew about Harriet, I had a feeling that going to a gay bar was the last thing she would want to do. For that reason alone, I was starting to warm up to the idea of going to Pompeii.

  AT A FEW minutes after eight, a long black limo was parked at my curb. When Lexie and I climbed in, we were both surprised to find a pall over the inhabitants of the limo.

  “What’s up?” I asked Carly warily, casti
ng a glance at her mother and Harriet worriedly.

  “Nothing,” Carly waved the duo off dismissively. “They just found out we’re going to a gay bar.”

  I pulled a flask out of the small purse I had chosen for the night – one that I could slip over my neck and not have to worry about losing – and handed it to Carly. She didn’t even ask what was in it before she took a swig. I had a feeling that fifteen-minute ride from her house to mine had felt four times as long as it really had been.

  “It will be fun,” Lexie said, sliding into the seat next to me and casting a dubious look in Harriet’s direction. “We could drop you two off back at home if you want?”

  I turned to Carly’s mom and Harriet hopefully.

  “Of course we’re not going to miss the bachelorette party,” Harriet said primly. “That would be unconscionable.”

  “You’re just worried I’ll get drunk and cheat on Kyle,” Carly scoffed, handing the flask to her sister wordlessly.

  “We’re going to a gay bar,” I said sagely. “You’d have to grow a penis for that to happen.”

  “Give me another drink,” Carly instructed. “Maybe if I get drunk enough that will be possible.”

  Harriet ignored Carly’s crass response and turned to me. “Who else are we picking up?”

  I looked to Lexie expectantly. “It’s just us in the limo,” she said. “Everyone else is meeting us there. They all lived on the west side of Detroit and in Oakland County, so it didn’t make sense to pick them all up.”

  It took about twenty minutes to get to Ferndale and, by the time we got there, my flask was empty. Harriet’s disdain of our drinking had only propelled the three of us to keep doing it for the entire ride.

  Once we got to the bar, I was relieved to see a lot of familiar faces waiting for us outside. I didn’t know everyone there – Carly had been a member of an academic sorority at college, so a lot of the people in attendance were her friends and not mine – but there were enough former college comrades to keep me busy for the next few hours.

  The hostess, a strapping young man in a white evening gown, led us to our table and told us someone would be by to get our drinks in the next few minutes. The bar itself was packed. I took the opportunity, once we were seated, to get a better look at our surroundings.

  I don’t know what I had been expecting, but this wasn’t it. Television and movies had informed my knowledge of gay bars in an unfortunate way. There were no cages hanging from the ceiling – which was a relief – but it did look like a hundred glow sticks had exploded everywhere.

  After ordering something called a Typhoid Mary – which I was assured was just a fancy Bloody Mary – I turned to Carly. “Is this what you wanted?”

  “This place looks fun,” Carly enthused.

  “I’m sorry about Harriet being here,” I said ruefully. “I left Lexie in charge of the guest list.”

  “You know what?” Carly said saucily. “I don’t give a crap about Harriet anymore. The wedding is almost here and I’m going to have a good time tonight.”

  “That’s good,” I laughed.

  “We’re definitely going to have to dance later,” she said, motioning to the packed parquet area in the middle of the bar. I have negative rhythm, but I figured that no one would notice in a busy atmosphere like this one.

  “I think they have a floor show first,” Lexie said, settling into the seat on my right. “After that I’ve heard it’s a free-for-all.”

  That should be fun. I was happily sipping my third Typhoid Mary when I heard the unmistakable sounds of YMCA start bellowing from the speakers. I turned to the stage behind the dance floor expectantly and was rewarded with about twenty Village People – and then some -- and they were all dressed in unique ways.

  “So they’ve got a construction worker, a cop, a fireman, a Renaissance knight, a soccer player, a horse rider in assless chaps and a priest,” Carly mused after a few minutes. “That’s a group you don’t see every day.”

  “I like the assless chaps, although I’m not sure they were designed for twerking,” I added after a few minutes of watching.

  “They’ve got unique rhythm,” Lexie agreed.

  “This is obscene,” Harriet complained when the fireman came up behind her and wrapped his sparkly hose around her neck, gyrating behind her chair rhythmically.

  “Put a dollar in his belt and he’ll go away,” Carly suggested helpfully.

  Harriet looked doubtful, but did as she was told. This only caused the faux priest to come over and join the fray behind her back. I couldn’t help but notice that Harriet’s eyes kept widening as more and more bare-chested boys filed into the open area behind her.

  The sudden flash of a cell phone camera surprised me. I looked to my left and watched Carly as she happily snapped pictures of her future mother-in-law. Thankfully, Harriet was too blinded by muscles, glitter, thongs and sweat to notice. A scantily clad doctor was trying to get her to tie him up with his stethoscope at the present moment, and she looked a little less resistant than she had only moments before.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Blackmail material for after the wedding.”

  “Good thinking.”

  It was almost two in the morning when we finally left. Harriet and Carly’s mom were both drunk off their asses – as were the rest of us – but everyone was raving about what a good time they had when we said our goodbyes on the sidewalk in front of Pompeii.

  It took both Carly and I to shove Harriet into the limo; she was mostly dead weight at this point. I had no idea how Carly and her sister were going to get Harriet and her mom into the house once Lexie and I were gone – but I figured that was their problem.

  Just as I was about to get into the limo, my attention was drawn to a group of guys smoking – either hand-rolled cigarettes or pot, I couldn’t be a hundred percent sure which – just outside the front door.

  “Did you guys have fun?” One of the guys asked.

  “Yeah, it was great,” I replied honestly. “I wasn’t sure a bachelorette party at a male gay bar was going to be a good idea, but they should offer that in the Zagat’s guide for Detroit.”

  One of the guys, an attractive blond with an easy smile, barked out a laugh. “Make sure you tell your friends that gay people are more than the stereotype. We don’t just want to sit around and play with each other’s lightsabers.”

  What? I glanced down at my glitter Princess Leia shirt and smiled back at him. “I like the stereotype,” I admitted.

  “You go on girl,” the guy drawled, clearly pandering. His southern accent sounded real, even though he was clearly turning on the southern charm just for my benefit.

  I smiled, despite myself. I turned to climb into the limo but was momentarily distracted by the sound of fireworks and a sharp breeze that moved past my left cheek when I tried to duck down.

  I pulled back in surprise. “Is someone lighting off fireworks?”

  I turned to the guys behind me and was shocked to see that they’d all hit the ground behind the limo. The wall where they had just been standing, though, had a big hole in the middle of it that I could swear hadn’t been there a few minutes before.

  “What’s going on?” I started to straighten up but the blond guy had crawled over to me and was dragging me back down on the ground next to him.

  “They’re shooting at us girl! Get your fool head down.”

  Thirty-Three

  The Ferndale cops were on the scene in less than five minutes. My level of intoxication had gone from a hundred to zero – okay, twenty – in that same amount of time. While, in general, I disdain police officers on moral ground – they’re usually jerks to me – I had to admit that the Ferndale cops were a different breed.

  “Ma’am, you should really sit down. You’ve had a shock.”

  I glanced at the young police officer, who had insisted we go back inside of Pompeii for questioning, curiously.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You were shot at,�
�� the officer corrected me. “You could have died. If you need to vomit, I’ll understand.”

  I glanced around the bar, which had emptied out pretty quickly once the police had shown up. “I’m fine. I’ll just keep drinking water. I don’t think vomit will be an issue.”

  A different police officer, one who had a few more years on him, picked his way through the crowd and across the bar – which the cleaning staff were busily trying to scour – and headed towards me.

  “I’m Detective Mohan,” the officer introduced himself. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “I really didn’t see,” I said honestly. “I was getting in the car when I thought I heard fireworks. I felt something kind of fly by my face and then the next thing I know the guys behind us were yelling about being shot at.”

  “There’s a slug in the wall,” the officer said carefully. “What we’re trying to ascertain is if you were the one being shot at or if they were?”

  “It was probably me,” I admitted.

  “Why do you say that?”

  I rolled my tongue in my mouth as I pondered the question. In the end, I told the detective everything – well, mostly everything. There was no sense of lying, I realized. My ties to the freeway shooter story were going to be pretty easy to dig up. When I was done, I waited for Detective Mohan’s response. To his credit, he handled things a lot better than most of the cops I knew would have.

  “You think this was the freeway shooter?”

  “Who else?” I shrugged.

  “Maybe the shooter was aiming for the men that were behind you? There are still people that dislike the gay lifestyle.” I could tell Detective Mohan was trying to feel me out – to see if I was a kook or something.

  “If this had happened in Macomb County, I might buy that,” I said. “This is Ferndale, though. It’s very gay friendly.”

  “And what were you doing at a gay bar?”

  “Bachelorette party,” I replied simply.

  Detective Mohan nodded, like what I had just told him was normal. Maybe, for Ferndale, it was. “That would mean someone followed you here from Macomb County?”