Huddled Masses (JP Warner Book 2)

by Derek Ciccone

  My parents came out to meet us, and took photos like we were going to the prom. My father, Peter, was in his typical cheery mood, shaking hands and slapping backs like the longtime politician that he was, while my mother maintained the same concerned look she had at the game. She tended to be more passive-aggressive when it came to her displaying her displeasure with me—she didn’t talk to me for weeks when I’d returned from Serbia last year, after I’d almost gotten myself killed … again.

  Once picture-time ended, we boarded the bus. It was only seventy miles from Rockfield to Manhattan, but it seemed galaxies away. Gwen was upbeat during the ride, joking with Carter, and striking up a conversation with Kate, whom she surprisingly had a lot in common with—beyond both of them having crazy boyfriends. But I was thinking back to that school play, and was reminded that Gwen was never the best actor. I could tell something was bothering her.

  I stared out the window, watching the rural countryside turn into the concrete jungle of the city. It was a smooth trip—the journey away from Rockfield usually was. It was the return trip that was always a bumpy ride.

  Chapter 5

  The first annual charity dinner for Byron’s Rubber-Band Foundation was being held at the NoMad Hotel on 28th Street and Broadway. The neighborhood was once made up of gambling halls and brothels, and Carter appeared disappointed that it had been overtaken by the aristocracy.

  Byron was injured last July on our final assignment together, and he wasn’t released from the hospital in Germany until late September. So it was amazing that his foundation had come this far in so little time. But I’d learned firsthand that you bet against Byron at your own risk.

  The Parisian-inspired hotel was elegant enough to welcome the heavy-walleted upper crust, whose donations would be key in funding spinal cord injury research. But it wasn’t stuffy, and was equally accommodating for, let’s say, a guy not wearing sleeves and his cat-suited girlfriend.

  The main dining room featured a gigantic skylight, which gave an impressive view of the city lights. The event would be spread throughout numerous smaller rooms—a private fireplace alcove, a sitting room, a two-story library, and a bar. It created a more intimate atmosphere to mingle, and get up-close time with potential donors. Byron understood the importance of getting people interested in the cause, and not just writing a check.

  When we entered, we were provided inscribed rubber bands to commemorated the occasion. A former teammate of Byron’s used to wear a rubber band on his wrist as a reminder of how fragile life was, as it could snap at any time. Byron picked up on the theme for his organization—he now saw his mission in life to re-attach the snapped rubber band of those afflicted with paralysis.

  I turned on the charm and worked the rooms like a politician, kissing so much fanny that my lips began to hurt. Gwen followed suit, but she appeared much more interested in talking to the guests than to her boyfriend. I got the feeling that my actions at the game brought back memories of the hard-charging, abrasive reporter who chose the world over her. At least that was her version. My version focused more on her choosing to marry Stephen Dubois.

  “I need something to drink,” were her first words to me since our arrival, and she started walking in the direction of the bar. She stopped and turned back. “Do you want me to bring you something?”

  I knew this was code for ‘I want to be alone, do not even think about joining me,’ so I declined. I barely finished my response before she was off.

  This left me alone in a sea of wealth, and I worked my way through the cavernous atrium, meeting and greeting. I could have used a drink myself, but I decided it was not in my best interests to be within a three-room radius of Gwen, so I chose to enter the library instead. It was impressive with its rich fabrics and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves; a spiral staircase led to a second floor. But when I saw the man coming toward me with a shit-eating grin, I knew I’d made a wrong turn. A library would be the last place I expected to run into Cliff Sutcliffe.

  Cliff was in his early thirties, born in a suit, and became the youngest president of a news organization when he was hired by GNZ. He came over from the entertainment world when a ratings-dip made the higher-ups desperate to join the circus. Cliff did his best to try to kill off what was left of the art of journalism, along with playing a central role in expediting my retirement.

  “JP Warner … to what do I owe the pleasure?” he said, flashing a fake smile, and offering his unusually small hand to shake.

  “I’m here for Byron’s foundation … there is nothing pleasurable about it,” I reminded him.

  This triggered a long soliloquy about Byron’s bravery, and what an inspirational figure he was, not just to Cliff, but to the entire GNZ family. And once he concluded the prepared speech, he got to the reason for his grin. “So have you seen the ratings?”

  “I got the email,” I said. Since I was still technically on the GNZ payroll—I do four hour-long specials a year—I receive all company emails, including the ones Cliff sent hourly for a week about the ratings spike. They’re still a long way from regaining the top spot, as was commonplace back in GNZ’s heyday, but mediocrity was a step in the right direction.

  I usually ignored such propaganda, but I felt a certain responsibility in this matter, since I was the one who convinced him to go back to the roots of GNZ and hire the best reporters available, while refocusing on the investigative reporting they were once known for. Cliff had been about to get fired at the time, his ‘newsertainment’ platform backfiring badly, so he was willing to try anything.

  I smiled. “What a novel concept, a news station doing the news. What’s next, MTV playing music?”

  “I think our coverage of Korea and the Huddled Masses killings has been fantastic, but let’s be honest, the reason for the ratings jump is Tino Fernandez, and his chemistry with Lauren.”

  Since I’d pushed him to hire the best and the brightest, I would be a hypocrite to take issue with the hiring of my onetime arch-rival—often referred to as the ‘Spanish JP Warner,’ to the chagrin of both of us—and genuine sleazeball, Tino Fernandez.

  “Spin it any way you want, Cliff, but when the journalistic integrity of the station went up, so did the ratings. That’s a fact.”

  “C’mon, JP—we both know that watching cable news for the integrity is like reading Playboy for the articles. The only thing coincidental here is that when you were sleeping with Lauren last year, ratings were surging, and when you left, they nose-dived. But now she’s with a younger … and no offense … hotter version of you, who also carries the key Hispanic demographic.”

  It always amazed me how quickly people return to their DNA after a brief stint of finding religion. Four months ago, Cliff was a desperate man seeking my advice, and Maloney was begging for his life. A few months and one good ratings cycle later, and Cliff was back to being Mr. Newsertainment, while Maloney had returned to his backstabbing political ways. I wondered who exactly I would be when I returned to my DNA.

  “I can see it in your eyes, JP,” he continued.

  “If you did, you wouldn’t be standing so close.”

  He laughed like it was the funniest line he’d ever heard. “I miss that sense of humor.” His smile turned salesy. “Just like you miss us. You can try to hide it all you want, but I see it … you want back in. This hiatus in Sticksville seems to have done wonders for you, recharging your batteries, but eventually you have to be who you are. And once you join Tino in Lauren’s bedroom, GNZ will be number one once again.”

  I felt a sharp pain in my head, like those headaches from eating ice cream too fast. “What did you say?”

  “I don’t mean that you would actually be sleeping with her, JP. It’s about perception. If Lauren’s ex-boyfriend comes back, it puts her relationship with Tino into conflict—and every story needs conflict. The key is that we’ve created a love triangle in the audience’s mind.”

  My mouth hung open. I couldn’t believe it, except I could. I also sensed that I was
in the middle of another Cliff Sutcliffe orchestration.

  And that meant she was right behind—I needed to flee.

  But I was too late.

  “Hello, John Peter.”

  Chapter 6

  Lauren Bowden sauntered toward me in a black evening gown with a plunging neckline. Maybe it was me, but while the world keeps getting smaller, Lauren’s breasts seem to keep getting bigger.

  “You look stunning,” I greeted her.

  “You look well yourself, John Peter … at least for a man in your position,” she said, flipping her magnetic blonde hair.

  “John Peter? I thought JP stood for Just Pathetic,” said the fungus named Tino Fernandez, who walked up behind Lauren and put his arm around her.

  For the record, it’s actually John Pierpont, after JP Morgan. My mother, the Connecticut historian, named all her children after well-known people who were born in the state. But I was never one to get in the way of a juvenile putdown, so I let it go.

  Tino looked his usual Rico Suave self, continuing on in his quest to return Miami Vice fashion to the mainstream. He was dressed in an aqua suit, with shirt unbuttoned enough to display a jungle of chest hair. He was also sporting his usual cocky smirk.

  Lauren let out a theatrical yawn. “I apologize,” she said in her soothing southern twang. “But I’m still a little jet-lagged … Tino took me to Venice for Valentine’s Day, and we spent a week there on a well-deserved vacation. Reentry has been a struggle for me, but I guess that’s the price one pays for being in love.”

  Tino took the comment as an opportunity to show off his ability to speak Italian. I understood enough to know that he told her that is was his greatest honor to spend the day of love in the city of love, with his one true love. That’s amore … and a lot of bullshit. Lauren giggled like a schoolgirl, even though she had no idea what he said, and would have had the same reaction if he told her that she almost sunk their gondola because she ate too much spaghetti.

  “What did you do for Valentine’s Day, John Peter … are you still with that country girl?” she asked.

  “Yes, Farmer Gwen. We had a little dinner, and then spent the night at the tree fort. No jet or lag.”

  “The Tree Fort, I’m not familiar with it,” she said with a look of confusion.

  “It’s this new hot club,” I said.

  “Never heard of it,” she reiterated, and looked to Tino.

  He just shook his head. It was official—if the cool kids didn’t know about it then it couldn’t exist.

  “It’s exclusive,” I said. “You have to be really famous to even know where it is.”

  “John Peter, I’m much more famous than you ever …” She caught herself, knowing I’d hooked her once again. I smiled at her, for old time’s sake.

  But my gloating would be brief, as the time had arrived for Lauren’s big fat ‘I told you so’ that could sink an entire river of gondolas. “By any chance did you see last month’s ratings, John Peter?”

  “Was there an email sent out on that?”

  “You can try to downplay it all you want, but I hear the regret in your voice … although, you can’t say I didn’t warn you about leaving.”

  “I’m actually thinking about returning—Cliff and I were just talking about a title of Director of Love Triangles. But it’s only in the discussion stage.”

  She flashed me a look of pity. “I know it’s hard for you, realizing that you weren’t as important to GNZ as you thought. And I’m sure it was difficult seeing Tino and me together, and so in love.”

  I was in full agreement—seeing her and Tino together … and so close they could touch me … was causing me great pain.

  I held a long gaze on Lauren, and then raised my voice for all to hear, “I do feel the pain—and it’s as if you have stabbed me through the heart! But I will do whatever it takes to win you back. He might have taken you to Venice, but I will take you to the stars,” I pointed to the ceiling. It would have played much better if we were in the dining room with the enormous skylight.

  Lauren’s face flushed, and she began fanning herself. “John Peter—I’m flattered really, but I’m a spoken-for woman.”

  We could only wish that were true. “If I can’t have you, then I don’t want to take another breath,” I declared, noticing that the entire room had stopped and were staring at us. “So I will throw myself off the second level of this library, and plunge to my end. It will be far less painful than seeing you with him … farewell, my dear lady.”

  I took her hand and lightly kissed it on the top. She actually looked impressed by my gesture. So not wanting to let her down, I ran to the spiral staircase, and sprinted upward. It was my stairway to heaven … or at least an escape hatch from hell.

  Chapter 7

  It seemed like the perfect plan until pain intervened—I was still recovering from a knee injury sustained during my captivity last year. And on top of that, upon reaching the top, I plowed right into an attractive fifty-something woman, with short blonde hair, almost knocking her over.

  “So you’re the one causing all this commotion. I thought I taught you to cover the story, not be the story,” she said to me.

  The woman before me was my former colleague, Katie Barrett, the one who showed me the ropes when I was starting out in the business. And in the smartest move GNZ had made in years, she was recently brought back as News Director. Like me, she had left as part of the Sutcliffe exodus.

  “I would congratulate you on the improved ratings, but Cliff just informed me it was due to Lauren and Tino going steady.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Cliff says a lot of things.”

  “I think he also just tried to hire me as the office gigolo.”

  She smiled. “You might be overqualified for that job. And not to rain on Cliff’s parade, but I have final say on all news-related hires. Speaking of which, if you’re ever looking to return full-time, there is always a place for you here.”

  “Thanks, appreciate it, but I’m where I need to be.”

  She nodded with understanding.

  Our conversation was interrupted by the words, “So are you an old news guy, or just old news?”

  I turned to see Christina Wilkins. If Katie was my guide into this crazy world of TV journalism, then I was Christina’s, even if she wouldn’t admit it at gunpoint. Since she joined GNZ last fall, she has been traveling the world covering everything from the Korean conflict, which turned out to be not as conflicted as everyone feared, to the latest hysteria to sweep America—the Huddled Masses killings. So the last time I’d seen her in person was last fall in Rockfield, when she assisted me in trying to solve my brother’s murder.

  Tonight she was dressed in a business suit, and her hair and makeup were professionally done—I barely recognized the grownup version.

  The moment seemed to call for a hug, but that wasn’t our thing. We were more comfortable tossing zingers at the other.

  “We owe you a debt of gratitude, JP, for recommending Christina to us. We threw her right into the fire, and she’s done a fabulous job. Reminds me of someone else I know,” Katie said.

  “I’m very proud of her,” I replied.

  “Why don’t you two just pat me on the head and send me back to the kiddie table,” Christina chimed in.

  “Funny you should mention that, as I’m on my way to babysit some children myself … television executives,” Katie said with a smile. She then excused herself, and made her way to the next room.

  Christina turned her attention to me—I’d forgotten how much her wise-ass grin could annoy me.

  “What?”

  “I loved your act downstairs—you’ve still got it.”

  “Thanks … I think.”

  “Although, it was nothing compared to that show you put on this afternoon. I’m curious—who do you think is crazy?”

  “How did you know …” then it hit me. “Carter has a big mouth.”

  “It wasn’t Carter.” She held up her phone. “D
id you know postal workers call it ‘Going JP’ when someone loses their mind?”

  “What is that?” I asked, as she handed me the phone.

  “A website called Celebrity Meltdown—and now maybe you’ll be the first person to make it twice in one day. I’ll bet your mother is proud.”

  I groaned as I watched the video. It must have been taken by a spectator at the game … Maloney came to mind. And for what it’s worth, I was even more convinced the referee made the wrong call.

  “Speaking of Big Ugly, have you seen him? We need to go over the details of our next assignment,” Christina said.

  As far as I could remember, Byron was the only one Carter would let call him that. But since I’d retired, and Carter had been serving in a similar role for Christina as he’d done for me, I was out of the loop.

  I shrugged. “For someone so big, he’s really good at sneaking off without anyone noticing. So how are you two getting along?”

  “Me and Carter? Great—it’s like we know what the other is thinking before we even think it. Have you ever experienced anything like that?”

  Yeah, me and Carter, for like fifteen years.

  She began to bounce away. “Nice running into you, JP. If you see Big Ugly, let him know I’m looking for him.”

  Suddenly I was her assistant—it seemed as if the world had been turned upside down. But her “special connection” with Carter must have been a little off tonight, because she didn’t look in the most obvious place.

  I bellied up to the elegant bar. “I’ll have what he’s having,” I said to the bartender. Words I knew I’d live to regret. Or at least I’d regret.

  “I thought you were going to leap to your death?” Carter said, without looking up from his drink.

  My drink arrived in a short tumbler glass. I took a sip and my throat felt as if it had caught on fire. “No need to bloody the floor—this stuff will do the trick. What is it?”