After typing in a few briefs and obits, I made my way downtown, parking strategically in front of Eliot's pawnshop instead of the courthouse and walked the three blocks down the street. I think I was secretly hoping to run into him. I didn't. There was some pretty young girl working the counter when I walked by. I mentally cursed myself for caring.
By the time I got to the county building a few blocks down, I noticed a large crowd picketing on the sidewalk in front of the modern looking monstrosity. I noticed our photographer, Jared Jackson, was happily snapping pictures of one big-busted picketer -- while glancing sideways at a well-muscled male one in tight jeans. Good grief.
I walked up to a middle-aged man with brown hair that was graying at the temples who was hanging around the outskirts of the crowd. "What's going on?"
When the man turned to me, I noticed his shirt for the first time and couldn't help but smile. It was one of those screen-printed deals with a picture of the head of the commission, Clara Black, dressed in Nazi regalia. You have to love small town politics. People go nuts -- but it makes my job so much easier.
"We're protesting water rates." The man said it to me like I was an idiot. His attitude apparently stemmed from the fact that I didn't just know what the problem was.
I know it sounds boring, but water rates are actually a huge deal in the suburbs of Detroit. Essentially, the city government of Detroit controls the water rates for the entire region. With everyone fleeing the city, to balance their budget, Detroit consistently raises water rates to the suburbs. The suburbs, of course, balk at this but don't hesitate to pass the increase on to the residents. It has actually turned into a race war between the city and the suburbs, with the black residents of Detroit screaming "white flight" and the mostly white residents of the suburbs calling Detroit crooked and lazy. In my opinion, they both had a point.
"Are they raising rates again?" I don't cover county politics very often, so I had to catch up.
The guy looked at me like I was an alien.
"So, how big of a increase are they proposing?"
"Five percent."
That's actually a pretty big increase for people who are losing jobs left and right.
"That's not the only issue either," the guy said. "The infrastructure of the water department is falling into disarray and those costs get passed on to us, as well. As they continue to lay people off, that infrastructure just continues to crumble because they don't have enough people to keep it up and the whole thing is going to hell."
Great, this is going to be a long meeting.
I introduced myself to the man and asked him if I could quote him. He was eager to be in the paper -- most people are -- and he wasted no time spelling his name for me. Rob Jones wouldn't have been too hard for me to figure out on my own, though.
After getting a few more quotes, I made my way up to the seventh floor and was surprised to see that the conference area was standing room only. Great. Luckily, there was a designated media section, so I made my way over to an empty seat.
Once I got comfortable, I scanned the room. I noticed Tad in the far corner with his head bent together with two other commissioners. I noted, it was two commissioners who were usually being investigated for corruption. That didn't surprise me.
On the other side of the room, I saw Jake talking seriously with the county prosecutor, Terrence Moore. Terrence and Jake were both young politicians who were elected off the names of their deceased fathers -- and both had a chip on their shoulder because of it. Thankfully, they were both good at their jobs, even though they tended to be hot heads. At least they were both infinitely quotable.
I greeted some of the other media in my area, two from the large dailies in Detroit and one from the smaller weeklies. I ignored the three television reporters; print and broadcast just don't mix.
The meeting was as long as I'd thought it would be. Most of it was boring, but occasionally the name-calling and finger pointing was actually fairly entertaining. In response to the county proposing to cut his staff, Terrence threatened to sue the county -- which freaked everyone out.
In his own tightly controlled diatribe, Jake pulled out the old "so you want your residents to be in danger" argument. He clearly didn’t want to lose any deputies. Tad started speaking down to him in response and Terrence had to physically restrain Jake at one point to stop him from jumping over the gate to get to Tad. To me, that would have been the best story ever.
I also noticed that the commissioners were glossing over the fact that there was a discrepancy in the water budget. A discrepancy that added up to a little more than $500,000. That usually meant embezzlement.
I saw Rob Jones get up during the public participation part of the meeting and deliver a pretty well-written, if long-winded, speech. I noticed Clara's reaction when she saw the shirt and couldn't help but smirk.
Finally, the meeting broke up and I began to move around the room to gather a few last minute quotes from the politicians. Unfortunately, the first one I ran into was Tad.
"So, Mr. Ludington, how did you feel the meeting went?"
"You need to control your boyfriend."
"What boyfriend would that be?"
"Our esteemed sheriff," Tad glowered. "He seems to think he's all that and a bag of chips."
"Yeah, my great-grandmother just called, she wants her saying back."
"You're a bitch."
Before I knew what was happening, Jake had a hold of Tad's shoulder and was roughly shoving him out of my line of sight.
I was torn. On one hand, I wanted to see Tad get his face beat in. On the other, this could cost Jake his career. I didn't get a chance to decide because, before I could, a large barreled chest covered in blue flannel was pulling Jake away from Tad. It was Eliot.
"Let it go man," Eliot was trying to calm Jake down. "The guy's a douche. Let it go."
"What are you doing here?" I hadn't expected to see Eliot. Politics didn't seem to be his thing.
Eliot didn't meet my gaze. He was too busy gauging Jake to see if he was about to commit murder. "The council was worried that something might happen, so they had me wiring the room with cameras that caught every angle."
I took that information in for a minute as I watched Eliot warily let Jake go. Tad had regained his footing and was now incensed.
"I want that man arrested," he said pointing at Jake.
"For what? From my perspective you attacked him." Like I said, I can lie when it benefits me.
"What?" Tad was outraged. "You saw it!"
"I saw you attack him."
"Well, your roided up boy toy over there has it on tape."
Eliot's expression didn't change and he didn't acknowledge the steroids comment. "The camera on this side of the room isn't working. I was trying to fix it all meeting. As a witness, though, like Ms. Shaw, I saw you attack the sheriff."
Tad was dumbfounded. "Aren't you two fighting over this slut?" He was gesturing to me. "I thought that was the county gossip. Why would you possibly be taking his side?"
"Did you just call me a slut?"
"There are no sides," Eliot said smoothly. "There is only the truth and the truth is that you attacked the sheriff first and it's only out of the goodness of his heart that he's not pressing charges against you."
"Did you just call me a slut?" I was seeing red. The next thing I knew Eliot was pulling me off of Tad, who was trying to brush his receding hairline back into place.
"You're a menace," he seethed. "I want charges brought up against you, too!"
Eliot sighed. "Ms. Shaw only got involved to protect Sheriff Farrell."
Jake nodded stiffly and silently in assent. He wasn't fond of me right now, but he really hated Tad.
For his part, Tad was speechless.
"You'll all pay."
Well, almost speechless.
Fourteen
After Tad departed, the three of us were left in an uncomfortable silence. Jake was mad because he felt indebted to Eliot. Eliot was mad
that he had been put in the situation to protect Tad when he'd much rather kick his ass himself. And me? I was mad that no one had beat the snot out of Tad for calling me a slut -- and that neither Jake nor Eliot seemed all that interested in me, or my woes, at the moment.
I'm shallow, I know.
Finally, Jake broke the silence.
"You didn't have to lie for me. I made the mistake. I should have taken responsibility."
Eliot shook his head in disgust. "You just can't say thank you, can you?"
"I had the situation under control."
"Yeah, clearly."
Actually, what seemed to be clear was that I was no longer important to the conversation. I didn't even bother to say goodbye. Instead I made my way across the room to Clara Black to get her take on the meeting.
"I'm actually running late," she said tersely. "You can ride down in the elevator with me to get a quote, but that's all the time I can spare."
Beggars can't be choosers.
The ride down to the first floor was pretty tense. Black was clearly agitated by the meeting -- and the fact that anyone would dare call her leadership into question. I was annoyed that neither Jake nor Eliot had noticed me leave.
"So, do you think the missing money has been embezzled by someone in the department or on the commission?"
"Ms. Shaw, Macomb County has an extremely large budget," Clara responded, clearly annoyed by my question. "I'm sure once we have a forensic accountant conduct an audit we'll find that that money has been funneled to another department."
"You're saying you lost it?"
"No, I'm saying it's just been . . . misplaced."
"Well, I'm no genius, but I think misplaced and lost mean the same thing."
Clara didn't respond.
"From a political standpoint, is it really better to lose it than to have it embezzled?" I was genuinely curious on this point.
"It hasn't been embezzled. It's just been shuttled to a different department. We just have to find it."
As the elevator neared the bottom of the steps I decided to let my attitude do the asking and really go for broke.
"So, what do you think your chances are of retaining a seat when the districts are redrawn? I mean, you're not particularly well liked right now."
Clara looked incredulous and opened her mouth to deliver what I was sure was going to be a first rate diatribe. She never got the chance. When the doors to the elevator were opened, we were both doused with a bucketful of water.
I stood there in shocked disbelief, while Clara flew into a tantrum.
"What the hell are you doing?"
I noticed Rob Jones sitting on the other side of the door looking unapologetic. The woman standing next to him looked slightly abashed.
"Sorry," she said to me. "We thought Black would be alone."
I still hadn't moved, but I was sure my hair -- which had been perfectly flat ironed this morning -- was now a wavy mess. Dammit.
"And why were you throwing water?"
"As a political statement."
"A political statement about what?"
"County waste. We feel that there are plenty of places to cut that won't include the water department or public safety."
"Like what?"
"What about the commissioners salaries?"
Good point.
"Rob says that before he was laid off from the water department he had a whole list of suggestions for Commissioner Black and she just ignored him," the girl continued earnestly. I could tell right away she was one of those young, idealistic individuals who would only realize the futility of it all when she got a little more jaded.
"He used to work for the water department, too?" I was distracted with trying to comb out my snarled hair, but was passively listening.
"Yeah, he handled payroll."
"When was he laid off?"
"About six months ago."
"Hmm."
"I really am sorry." The woman seemed genuinely contrite.
"I think you should bring your list of problems to Commissioner Ludington in person. Approach him the same way you did Black."
The girl smiled happily. "You think that will work?"
"Definitely." My lack of maturity really knows no bounds sometimes. I can't help it if I'm petty – or that Tad deserved it.
I decided to go back to the office despite my dampness. It was closer and once I filed my story I would be free for the rest of the day. As I made my way to my car I noticed Clara Black was still fighting with Rob Jones, but the argument had moved to a corner and the two seemed to be talking in much lower voices. When I turned to my right, I saw Eliot and Jake exit from the stairwell and they seemed to be talking to one another without throwing punches. It didn't seem friendly, but it didn't seem overtly hostile either. Any progress is good, I guess.
When they caught sight of me, they both started laughing.
"I got caught up in a political protest against Black," I offered.
"Better than an intergalactic war, I guess," Eliot laughed.
Everyone has a Star Wars joke.
I quickly said goodbye to Jake and Eliot, both of whom watched me leave. Of course, now I looked like crap so it was the last thing I wanted. It wasn't until I got to my car that I realized that my mostly white pants were clinging to my body and, like an idiot, I was wearing a bright pink thong that was now visible through the back of my pants -- as were my ass cheeks. Great.
Back at the office, all the gathered reporters took one look at me and thought it best to avoid the situation. All except Marvin, who was dealing with his own problem.
"So I went to the doctor," he said matter-of-factly.
"What did he say?" I was mostly disinterested. Marvin was always going to the doctor for some malady or the other. Most of them he made up in his head.
"Well, you know when I got frostbite in January from walking my mom's dog without gloves when it was 30-degrees out?" I didn't, but I nodded anyway. It sounded vaguely familiar. "Well, I've been having trouble with my fingers ever since."
"Are you sure it's not arthritis?"
"No, it's not arthritis. Haven't you ever heard, frostbite in January then amputation in July?" I hadn't. I don't think anyone had. "Well, the doctor says I'm making it up."
I had to side with the doctor on this one. I'd been through so many illnesses with Marvin I was only waiting for him to contract cervical cancer.
"So why are you in a good mood if the doctor says you're making it up?"
"He thinks I should see a shrink."
Uh-oh.
"What do you think?"
"Maybe I have a brain tumor."
Of course he did.
"I do use my cell phone a lot."
I sighed. "Is there another story on the wire about cell phones causing brain cancer?" This was the third brain tumor Marvin thought he had in the past year. They usually popped up after a science story on the AP Wire pointing out a link between cell phone use and brain tumors. He'd also gotten SARS and swine flu after those stories broke.
Marvin wasn't chastened by my question. "One day I'm going to be really sick and you're going to feel really bad."
"Have you ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy?"
Marvin ignored my question. "Why are you all wet? Is it raining?"
"No, I got caught in a political debate."
I pulled my damp notebook out of my pocket and put it in front of the small fan on my desk. It would take at least twenty minutes for the notes to dry. I guess I had time to catch up on newsroom gossip.
I made my way to Erin's desk -- stopping quickly at Fish's to tell him about the meeting. Luckily, Erin and Fish's desks face one another. "What happened to you?" Erin seemed concerned.
Fish didn't even blink an eye. Apparently he didn't notice any difference.
I told Erin about the political picket as Fish went into the afternoon budget meeting. I was relieved to see him go.
"So, did Melvin get in any more trouble after I l
eft?"
Erin explained that Melvin had managed to weasel out of trouble by bringing stuffed cabbage to Fish for lunch. As usual, all problems in Melvin's world could be solved by food.
Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for my world.
"No work to do again?"
I silently cursed the arrival of Duncan Marlow, who was carrying a proof sheet of tomorrow's features section in his hand. I noticed, without really caring, that the majority of the section front was taken up with Marlow's extreme sports column.
Despite being a copy editor, Marlow fancied himself a good writer. He had conned Fish into writing a monthly column detailing his attempts at extreme sports in the county. The problem was, after skydiving and bungee jumping, there were no real extreme sports in Macomb County.
Apparently this week's column was about go-kart racing. Wow, real life-threatening stuff there.
Duncan saw me looking at the proof and handed it to me. "Look how nice it turned out."
Despite pretending he has an over-abundance of confidence, Duncan is one of those people that actually lacks confidence. He takes his columns around the newsroom to anyone that he finds and asks them to read it out loud. He then expects you to fawn all over him and pretend it's the best thing ever written. Behind his back, of course, we'd all dubbed the sports column his Extreme Ego column.
I took the proof in my hand and grimaced as I read. Apparently, Duncan was the quickest person in the history of mankind to catch on to riding go-karts. The instructor told him this -- at least that's what the column said.
"Isn't riding go-karts something that seven-year-olds do?"
Duncan looked angry. Of course, he usually looks like he's sitting on a big stick, so this was an improvement.
"These are adult off-road vehicles," he said. "They aren't go-karts."
"They look like go-karts." I froze as I read further down into the article. Per usual, Duncan had made the whole thing about himself. But a certain sentence had caught my eye. I read it out loud. "The instructor commented that only someone with supreme athletic ability could catch on as fast as I did. Of course, the name Duncan means brown fighter, so I always knew I was a soldier in the world of off-roading."
Who, what, where, when, die (An Avery Shaw Mystery) Page 9