by Allen Weiner
“Holy shit,” a startled Max blurted out. “And then what?”
“One guy took out his gun while the other one looked me in the eye and said, ‘Consider this a warning.’ After that, things are a bit hazy, but they told me I was shot in my shoulder right below my collarbone. The next thing I remember, I work up here in the ER.”
“What are you thinking?” Max asked.
“I don’t think it had anything to do with the stuff with the FBI sting of the mayor in Allentown. That’s white-collar stuff.”
“Don’t tell me,” Max said, interrupting. “You asked a source about the fake kidnapping of the porn guy’s wife.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Oh man, I can’t believe I dragged you into this mess.”
“Don’t be sorry. Every good lawyer worth his degree should be shot at least once in his or her life.”
“That’s good. You haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
“So, here’s my request,” Norm whispered, quickly running out of steam. “I want you to double down on your investigation into that scumbag. Please don’t let me get shot for nothing.”
“Seriously?”
“I am deadly serious. Well, I hope not deadly.”
“I will get right on it, Norm. Please get well. The Sixers might make the playoffs, and there’s a game that has our name on it.”
“You bet. Please tell my family to come back in.”
Max had plenty of time left on his parking meter, so he went over to Dalessandro’s, a place always in the news for its cheesesteaks. Unlike most of his Philadelphia brethren, Max was not a big cheesesteak person; in fact, the ones his mother made at home were better than any at such famous places as Pat’s and Geno’s. Having skipped lunch though, the greasy, meaty, iconic sandwich called his name. He ordered one to go and ate it one-handed on his way back to his parents’ home.
On the ride home, up a crowded I-95, Max switched between sports talk and the news. The radio provided background noise, and he thought about the promise he made to Norm and his conversation with his parents, and then later Barrett. As he drove, he looked at the other cars—heat blasting inside, nose to tail, riding on the pothole marked highway. What would life be like in a place like San Diego? It had to be warmer than the Northeast part of the country, and traffic had to be better. And then there was the beach.
Caught daydreaming, an angry driver behind Max honked viciously when he failed to move with the traffic. He waved as if he were sorry and concentrated on the road ahead. Max knew once he got home—probably just in time for dinner—that he would have to tell his parents he was heading back to Nesquehoning in the morning. He was anxious to dive into the Mitchell kidnapping case and provide some vengeance for his buddy Norm.
Max pulled into the driveway at four forty-five, just as the sun was going down, and the air became decidedly cooler. On his way down I-95 to his parents’ home—about five miles as the crow flies—he stopped and bought his mother flowers. He wanted to show his appreciation for her concern and her restraint in providing her flavor of advice.
Having parents who grew up in the Depression, the Rosens were big on leftovers. Everything generally tasted better the second day, so dinner was a replica of the previous night with a fresh salad and the addition of his mother’s homemade vegetable soup.
As Max helped clear the dishes, he told his mom and dad that he would be leaving in the morning to go back to work. While he didn’t provide specifics—many of which would cause concern—Max told them he was working on another big story dealing with another notorious Lehigh Valley character. His parents were wise not to ask any questions.
Adrenaline pumping from a crazy day, Max barely slept. Small snippets of time he spent with Sue played in his memory like precisely edited filmstrips. Most of all, he thought about how he and Aaron would bring Arnie Mitchell and his slimy cohorts to justice. When he closed his eyes, all Max could see was an exhausted Norm Weiss in his hospital bed urging his reporter friend to nail that porno kingpin piece of shit. Max knew Aaron, a real family man, would love to be along for the ride.
After a cup of coffee from his mother’s new Mr. Coffee, Max took a neatly wrapped bagel with vegetable schmear and was ready to head back. He kissed his mother goodbye and hugged his dad, giving him the traditional Rosen kiss on the neck. As he left with a basket of clean clothes, Max promised to return in the next few weeks.
Opting to go the long way back to Nesquehoning, Max got on Route 309 toward Allentown. Until he got out of range, Max listened to WIFI-92 with Byron and Tanaka’s morning team. Their odd humor appealed to Max, especially their funny take on the day’s news. The duo’s spiel made the ride go quickly. Once outside of Allentown, Max looped over to Route 476, which took him right to his destination. After ninety minutes of non-stop driving, Max was glad to be home.
It took two trips for Max to bring in everything he brought back from his trip to Philadelphia. In addition to his laundry, his mother wrapped a brisket she made for him. There were grocery bags of staples such as Bachman pretzels that he couldn’t find in Carbon County.
After his last load, Max locked his car and quietly walked up the stairs. It was still before 10 a.m. and he didn’t want to irritate the neighbors. He walked into his apartment, turned on the heat, and noticed he had two messages on his answering machine. The first was from a college acquaintance who read his story in the Chronicle and wanted to know if the paper had any openings.
The second call stopped Max dead in his tracks.
“Max, this is David Lawrence from the Seattle Herald. We have been following the work you have done and were blown away by the mayoral investigation piece. We’d like to talk to you about interviewing for a job we have open. Give me a call.”
Max sat and stared at his answering machine. After the events of the past few days, only one thought came to mind:
Be careful what you wish for.
The End
Max Rosen’s life at the Chronicle continues with the novella Tickle Takedown.
Look for an all-new Max Rosen adventure, Nosejob, coming in 2021.
About the Author
Allen Weiner is a writer and technology analyst known for his expertise in areas ranging from sports, publishing technology, and digital media, to cooking, travel, art, music, and the future of food. As an analyst, Allen has been featured in the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal, USA Today, the Washington Post, and on CNN, Good Morning America, Bloomberg News, and the BBC.
Allen’s career as a multimedia journalist includes his work as a reporter and columnist at daily newspapers, trade and consumer magazines, and digital publications such as The Daily Dot and Sportscasting.com. He was also a digital media executive who led the team that launched the first newspaper on the web: SFGate.
What Goes Up is Allen’s first novel. A native of Philadelphia, Allen lives with his wife in Ponte Vedra, Florida, and is a diehard Philadelphia sports fan.