2 If It Bleeds, It Leads

by Amanda M. Lee

  When I arrived at the Monitor, I saw that the police tape had been removed and the spot where Darby’s body had lain had been hosed down. That was something at least. I found myself staring at the spot, though. The blood appeared to be gone, but it was almost as if I could still see it anyway.

  The Monitor is located in Mount Clemens – the county seat of Macomb County. The ghetto is within walking distance and the Clinton River is within spitting distance. Yeah, it’s a weird area. There’s almost always some sort of race war going on, too. Let’s put it this way: Mount Clemens is never boring.

  When I went into the office, I cut through the back conference rooms. I was hoping to avoid seeing the fake grief in the other departments. I couldn’t deal with it today and I was sure it was going to be on display. They just couldn’t help themselves.

  When I got to my desk, I noticed that a group of reporters were congregated in the walkway between the cubicles gossiping. A newspaper is a gossipy environment anyway. Let’s face it; we didn’t go into this business to respect a person’s right to privacy.

  “What’s going on?”

  “We were just going to ask you that. Any news on Darby?” That was the court reporter asking. If it had been anyone else I might have just ignored the question, but he was one of my few co-workers who didn’t annoy the shit out of me.

  “Not much. A few leads.”

  “What are they?”

  “Nothing I want to talk about right now.”

  “Why is that?” That was the cop’s reporter. Melvin “Ribs” Kowalski. He has a big mouth, a big gut and an annoying way of trying to get free food from any place he can. And if it’s a Polish place? So much the better. Packzi Day is his Christmas (or my Halloween).

  “Maybe because it’s none of your business, Melvin.” The Polish shyster was on my shit list. Two weeks ago he’d decided that the office needed cleaning. He brought in a leaf blower to do it. Needless to say, the office looked like a war zone afterwards. I still couldn’t find my Rafael Nadal desk calendar. A lot of the other reporters were trying to put their stacks of documents back together for ongoing projects they were working on. I still thought my calendar was more important.

  “I don’t see why you always have to be so snippety, missy.”

  “Maybe it’s because you call me missy. You don’t see me calling you freeloader!” We have a tempestuous relationship at best. I drive him as crazy as he drives me. I have no idea why. I’m a welcoming ray of sunshine every day.

  “Now you listen here. . .” Whatever mean thing Melvin was going to say was forgotten when our editor, Fred Fish, decided to break up the conversation.

  “Get back to work, you guys,” he admonished. “This isn’t a talking party.”

  Fish is a 1960s throwback – meaning he’s still wary of women in the work place. They’re fine as secretaries, but scary when in positions of power.

  Fish rested his blue eyes on me for a second, shook his head at the ‘Star Wars’ shirt I was wearing, and simply said, “Email me an update.”

  I nodded. I didn’t especially want to talk to him right now anyway.

  I went back to my desk and sat down to write the email. I was hoping I would be able to crank it out and then leave work early for a change. Apparently, that wasn’t going to be my fate today.

  “So were you down in Detroit?” asked Marvin, pretty much my best friend at the paper. I’m sure he’d have some drama going on. He always does. Marvin is a reporter’s reporter. He sleeps with a scanner and lives and breathes the evening news. He also has tragic taste in women and is obsessed with the NBA and professional wrestling. Yeah, I can’t explain it either. He just makes me laugh.

  He’s also a walking billboard for ADD, ADHD and narcissistic personality disorder.

  “Yeah, I was down in the D.”

  “I was there with Tina this weekend.”

  Tina was Marvin’s new girlfriend. Like all the women he found himself attracted to, she was white trash as far as I could tell. She had three children, with three different daddies, and she was looking for a fourth from everything I could see. Got to keep those welfare checks coming.

  “Yeah?” I tend to let Marvin ramble on. Sometimes he says something funny. Actually, now that I thought about it, Tina might be of some help with the Darby situation. She probably didn’t know her, but she’d know the kind of people I was looking for.

  “Hey, doesn’t Tina have an Oxy problem?”

  Marvin looked around to see if anyone had heard me. Apparently no one was paying attention.

  “You have a big mouth.”

  “So do you.”

  “I told you that in confidence.”

  “Sorry, I just remembered it.”

  “She doesn’t have an Oxy problem. She just does it occasionally.” Marvin averted his gaze to the left. My human lie detector was pinging again.

  “You told me she does it every day and it makes her fall asleep in the middle of sex.” Marvin has no filter. He tells me everything – even if it makes him look like a moron. Actually, he tells me things especially if it makes him look like a moron. He seems to thrive on it.

  “That’s only happened a few times.”

  “You said you liked it because you didn’t have to worry about pleasing her, just yourself.”

  “Do you remember everything I say?”

  “Just when it’s funny.”

  “Well, she doesn’t have a problem.” Shift to the left. Even he didn’t believe that. He obviously didn’t want to deal with it, though.

  “I thought you said it made her a pathological liar, too. That she missed a date and said one of her kids was hit by a car but when you saw the kid he was fine.”

  “I’m not telling you anything else,” he muttered.

  “I’m just wondering where she gets it from.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m just curious.” I wanted to tell Marvin why, but he has a bigger mouth than I do. That boggles the minds of most people that know me, but it’s true. He just can’t seem to shut up. On the flip side, I can shut up if it benefits me. If it doesn’t, though, I totally blather on, too.

  “I’ll ask her.”

  “Good. But I could just ask her myself if you’re more comfortable with that.” I had a couple other questions I wouldn’t mind asking her truthfully.

  “No, that’s alright, I don’t think she can take being around you for more than a few minutes. I’ll ask her.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, it means you’re mean to people and that scares them.” That was rich coming from him. He was known as something of a tyrant.

  “I am not mean to people.” Not often, at least.

  “I’ll ask her.” That apparently was the end of that conversation.

  I noticed Marvin was scratching his wrist. The area around his watchband was red and irritated. “What’s wrong with your wrist?”

  “I have shingles.” Did I mention Marvin is also a hypochondriac?

  “You don’t have shingles.”

  “Well then what do you think this is?” He shoved the ugly mess in my face.

  I peered at his red wrist. “Dry skin. Try some moisturizer.”

  “I think this is a little more than dry skin.” Marvin gets irritated when I belittle his myriad of injuries. If he ever really does get something serious the world is going to end.

  “Maybe it’s flesh-eating bacteria and your hand is going to fall off.” That probably wasn’t the right thing to say to a guy who is terrified of being sick (and yet who secretly yearns for it) because I saw Marvin immediately turn tail and call up Web MD on his computer. That was a weird thing to have bookmarked on your work computer if you ask me. Of course, the number one site on my bookmark list is DSW. Well, that would keep him busy for at least an hour anyway.

  Instead of returning to my desk to write my email to Fish, I decided to go get the office gossip from my friend Erin.

  Erin is atypical for the news bus
iness. She’s not cynical, forceful or sarcastic. I was surprised she had lasted this long in a business that thrives on all three. She also always dresses in a little suit and matching blazer and her shoes always have heels and never have laces. If I didn’t like her I would hate her (or at least mock her more often).

  Despite the fact that we have very little in common, Erin is a fountain of useful information – or at least interesting information. She was just as gossipy as the rest of us – and that was her saving grace. Of course, she always felt bad about gossiping afterwards. I never had that problem. Guilt isn’t an emotion that I often access. I don’t find it helpful, so mostly I just disregard it.

  I greeted her, noticing her Marcia Clark hair was perfectly coiffed and in place. That was a keen difference from my windblown blond mop, which looked like it had never met a brush or straightening iron. In the muggy summer months, I just usually pull it up in a messy bun. It’s not even worth dealing with. Erin would never do something like that. Appearances were everything to her. I cared about appearances, too, but not nearly as much as I did about other things – like coffee and donuts before my shift started.

  “Hi,” she greeted me brightly. She is always sunny and chipper. It gets to be annoying sometimes.

  “Any gossip?” I’m always blunt and to the point. I bet that gets annoying, too. She’s too polite to tell me that to my face, though.

  “Not really. Just the usual. Everyone is upset about Darby, of course.” I noticed she surreptitiously wiped a tear from her eye. Cripes.

  “Oh, and Gertrude is coming back.”

  This was a surprise. And not a welcome one. “You’re kidding.”

  “She’s on the callback list and they need to fill the position.”

  Crap. “Well that sucks.”

  “Finally you and I agree on something.” Speaking of crap. I steeled myself and turned around to see the office tool, aka Duncan Marlow, standing behind me with a page proof. Probably another one of his Extreme Ego columns – and no one wanted to go there. He is one of those writers who takes his work around and watches others read it and then waits expectantly for them to praise it. Of course, he only takes it to people who he knows will tell him that it’s wonderful. I’m not on that (really small) list. Go figure.

  “I’m fairly certain that no one was talking to you, Duncan.” Duncan is one of those guys who thinks everyone in the room is out to get him. He thinks it’s because he’s smarter than everyone else. Oh, and a better writer. In reality, it’s because he’s the biggest asshole in the room. – and that’s saying something, because the room was full of a lot of assholes. Myself included.

  “Well then maybe you shouldn’t talk so loud, Avery.” I do have an inside voice, I just don’t use it very often.

  “Well, I figure if I don’t then my voice won’t filter into that big head of yours.” Never take the blame when you can verbally bitch slap a mortal enemy. That’s one of my mottoes anyway.

  Duncan gave me a dirty look. I wasn’t worried. It wasn’t the first time and it most certainly wouldn’t be the last. He perpetually walks around like he smells elephant dung. I couldn’t help but wonder if his mother had ever told him that his face would freeze like that if he weren’t careful.

  “You know, Avery, the only person with fewer social skills in this office than you is Gertrude.”

  That could be true, I guess. Of course, I didn’t comb my mustache. That immediately gave me a leg up – and not that weird Angelina Jolie at the Oscars leg thing that somehow got its own Twitter account.

  “I figure her only saving grace is that she annoys you.”

  “She also listens in to my phone calls.”

  “So what? Unless you’re doing a drug deal what does it matter?”

  “She told everyone that my wife is leaving me. That she’s never coming back from Colombia.” Actually, I might have told everyone that. What? He’s a douche.

  Erin gave me a knowing look. She knew I’d started that rumor, too.

  A few months ago, Duncan had done something no one in the office ever thought possible. He’d found a woman who was dumb enough to marry him. The fact that she was Colombian-born and looking for a green card explained a lot.

  More than a month ago the wife had gone to Colombia to visit her sick mother. The rumor was that she had taken all of Duncan’s money with her. Since reporters make very little, that wasn’t a great sum of money. If it was anyone else I might have been able to muster a little bit of sympathy (even fake sympathy). Since it was him, though, I found it funny.

  “When is your wife coming back from Colombia? Or did she find someone better looking and with more career prospects in her home country? I hear that being a drug dealer in Colombia is like being a prince in England.”

  The disdain oozing from Duncan’s eyes actually was hilarious to me. I take pride in how quickly I can piss people off. Sometimes I treat it like a race, sometimes like a marathon. Today I was going for a short sprint. I didn’t want to spend any more time around Duncan than I had to.

  “My wife and I are happy and dedicated to one another.”

  “That sounds hot.”

  Duncan’s eyes narrowed again. I swear, his face is actually going to freeze that way some day.

  “You know, office gossip says that you get turned on by ‘Brokeback Mountain’ anyway,” I continued. I figured if I was going to go there, I might as well go all the way. “Maybe you’re picking dates from the wrong gender pool. I mean you already walk around like you have something shoved up your ass. This might be the solution.” I started the ‘Brokeback Mountain’ gossip, too. He had been obsessed with that movie for like a month straight. That’s not normal for a straight guy.

  Duncan turned and stalked away. I had a sneaking suspicion that he was going straight to human resources to report me. Again. Oh, well. My file was probably getting pretty thick. Of course, just about everyone in the office thought he was a complete and total tool – so most of the time his complaints were just logged and then ignored.

  I smirked at Erin as I returned to my desk. I don’t think she approved of my gay barbs to Duncan. Actually, I don’t think that using gay barbs as a weapon is a good idea either. It’s just the easiest way to get Duncan riled up. You know that saying about what homophobia really says about you? I think it might be true in Duncan’s case. He would be a lot more fun if he just embraced it.

  When I got back to my desk, Marvin was waiting. I guess he’d given up the idea that he had flesh-eating bacteria. Or, knowing Marvin, had made a doctor’s appointment to make sure.

  “I talked to Tina,” he said. “She’s willing to meet with you if you still want to talk about the Oxy.”

  Well, this was a surprise.

  “You have to be nice to her, though.”

  “I’m always nice.” I should have said I always try to be nice – but even that’s not factual.

  “Yeah, Duncan is out in the hallway crying. I don’t think that’s true.”

  “I’ll be nice.”

  Marvin raised his eyebrows.

  “I’ll be really nice. I promise.” I meant it when I said it, I really did.

  Eight

  I left work with a promise to meet Marvin around 9:30 p.m. at a downtown bar. This gave me enough time to go home, grab some dinner (that new home-style mac and cheese with the bread crumbs is to die for, by the way) and change my clothes into something more appropriate for a bar. I was thinking my vintage ‘Harold and Maude’ shirt would be perfect.

  Luckily for me, the bar Marvin had picked was essentially a dive and I didn’t have to worry about getting too dressed up. Marvin prefers bars where the female bartenders are busting out of their tank tops – but I had no intention of going to Hooters if I could help it.

  I changed into my most comfortable jeans and a clean ‘Star Wars’ shirt. Ultimately I decided I wanted to save the ‘Harold and Maude’ shirt for a special occasion – like Fish’s birthday. I just got a new ‘Star Wars’ shirt -
- in the same delivery as ‘Harold and Maude’ -- that featured the Emperor shooting lightning bolts out of his fingers that said “Don’t Tase Me Bro.” I couldn’t think of a better time to wear it.

  By the time I was done eating and getting dressed, I still had a half hour to burn so I sat down and caught the new episode of ‘The Big Bang Theory’ before heading back to downtown Mount Clemens. Nerds are always fun.

  I parked across from Eliot’s pawnshop. I kept telling myself I wasn’t hoping to run into him. I’m not sure I believed it, but it ultimately didn’t matter. The store was still open but the girl behind the counter obviously wasn’t Eliot. Good, I didn’t want to see him anyway.

  I checked my watch and noticed I was right on time. That was something of a novelty for me, so I basked in my inner accolades for a minute before entering the bar. Since Marvin is often late, too, I hoped I wouldn’t have to wait a long time for his arrival. I doubted an Oxy addict without a job paid close attention to rendezvous times.

  The facility had been known as something of a theme bar for the past few years – they just never stuck with one theme. It had been a vampire bar, a singles bar and even a pirate bar. Right now, it was just your standard dark and dreary bar with a handful of regulars and $1 pitcher specials on sports nights. That was fine with me; I wasn’t in the mood for running into anyone I knew -- right now anyway.

  When I entered the dim environment, it took my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dark interior. Luckily, I noticed Marvin and the girl who must be Tina sitting at a table in the back. They looked deep in conversation. I bet they were talking about world events and politics – which for them meant professional wrestling and ‘Glee’ I was sure. Unfortunately, two tables in front of them something caught my attention. It was Eliot (my heart started to beat a little faster) with . . . a date (my heart dropped to my stomach). This was just too much – not that I really cared mind you. I was just interested for professional reasons. Honest.