Frontline

by Warren Hately

  The young redhead knew which way the wind was blowing. She offered a charming smile and enthusiastically nodded with sudden enthusiasm.

  “I’ll get onto it now,” she said. “I’ll get it done before I have my meeting with Mr Fitzwilliams.”

  “You have a meeting with Gus?”

  Anna raised a polite eyebrow at Charlotte while tapping at her keyboard and then also collecting her files for her meeting with Lenore.

  “Yes, he likes me to check in every day around this time.”

  The bullpen was practically empty. Anna caught Demien Christopher’s furtive look, the first she’d seen of the Gazette’s rampant bitterness in the pudgy reporter’s face. He distracted himself realigning the spray bottles of disinfectant on his desk.

  Charlotte kept her eyes fixed on Anna as if daring any further feedback.

  “That’s a little unusual, isn’t it?” Anna said anyway.

  “Is it?”

  “Why do you … meet with him?”

  “He likes to stay in the loop about what’s going on in the newsroom.”

  Charlotte said it brightly, without a hint of obvious guile.

  “Mr Fitzwilliams said because I’m new, he really valued my ‘fresh perspective’,” she said.

  “Nice,” Anna replied, despite thinking anything but.

  While giving her instructions to Charlotte, she’d summoned Google to help navigate her way to the Illinois Governor’s media contact details – but that would have to wait too. Precious few packages had rolled over unused from yesterday’s edition, and Anna opened a shockingly dull article Charlotte had packaged up about a vegan café quitting all disposable waste for good. It seemed absurd to run it online now, when the city itself was in the grip of a much bigger story.

  Distracted seeing all the problems inside other problems, Anna studied Charlotte’s profile as the reporter dug into her review of reader comments, and

  Anna’s thoughts flowed back to Demien’s remark about local TV crews out on the street. As she stood and gathered her files, Anna’s scan of the near-empty newsroom showed they were pitifully low on available staff.

  And covering the news wasn’t her first priority here anyway.

  She headed to Lenore Barrett’s office.

  LENORE’S DOOR WAS already open, across the hall from Gus Fitzwilliams’ closed office. The well-dressed editor sat behind a significant oak desk, room enough in her office for a separate leather sofa and stylish coffee table. The bookcase running along the back wall would’ve been more impressive if it had actual books in it. Instead, numerous bundles of documents and loose papers were stacked as if there were some kind of system to the madness on display. A few framed photographs ran along the top shelf, and the dusty images of two young children and their older teenage selves had slipped a little in their frames so the figures looked out crookedly onto the room.

  The editor had a phone wedged beneath her ear as she typed.

  “Just give me a second,” Lenore said to Anna. “Have a seat.”

  Two armchairs fronted the desk. Anna sat in the one she’d taken before the morning news conference.

  Lenore typed like a drummer who’d learnt to use the minimal amount of movement necessary to generate an even more fierce attack, and the editor’s long lacquered nails only added to the blitzkrieg staccato. It was only a few seconds and the other woman smashed the send button on her fortieth email of the day, calmly finished her call, and turned a replica tight smile on her newest recruit.

  “How are you getting on in there?”

  “It’s OK,” Anna said and shrugged. “Local TV crews are at three different scenes and I don’t know who we can spare to get out there and amongst it.”

  “Well, that’s my job … isn’t it?”

  Barrett delivered the line with a smile, squinting slightly at the obviousness of her own subtext as if self-conscious, which was only another part of her act. Anna found it best to reply with a nod, words only likely to add to the shit sandwich.

  Lenore’d noticeably soured since Anna dared speak about the Thing That Should Not Be – namely, her obvious, yet somewhat inexplicable liaison with Gus Fitzwilliams.

  Anna’d always played it nice in job interviews. Her disastrous experience with Tom years back taught her well, or left her scarred – as if those weren’t the same thing. Since then, she hadn’t found it paid to let potential employers know she had a backbone and fierce ethics, not to mention a mouth that sometimes got her in trouble.

  She found it strange how many middle managers tried to peddle wheelbarrows of their own in an industry based on calling out bullshit.

  The editor’s desk phone lit up again, the ringing muted. Lenore ignored it anyway, eyes like melted chocolate on Anna.

  “What would you like to discuss, then?” Anna asked.

  “I wanted to know how you’re getting on with the team,” Barrett said. “It was a little more tense in there this morning than I expected.”

  “Agreed,” Anna said, then added bluntly, “O’Dowd’s had everything his way for too long. He’s far too comfortable. Letting him run his mouth off and snipe at me didn’t help.”

  “Doug’s a very good reporter,” Lenore said with a shrug. “I appease him with a long leash because I can’t give him a promotion or a pay rise without giving him my job.”

  “I think that might be part of his problem.”

  “Yes,” Lenore agreed. “His problem, not mine.”

  “Is him hating my guts my problem, then?”

  Lenore laughed dismissively. “Give him a few days.”

  “There’s a lot going on out there,” Anna said, eyes meaningfully at the flashing phone as it cut out, steering the conversation back to the news without quite realizing she was doing it. “I’m feeling a little cooped up in here, like I can’t even hear any sirens.”

  “There’s sirens, alright,” Lenore said and chuckled grimly. “You’re not a wet-behind-the-ears cadet, Anna. If you’re going to get distracted every time there’s a big story… .”

  “I know what I’m here for,” Anna replied. “You don’t have to worry about that. But this sounds like … more than just a big story.”

  “The news in Springfield might surprise you,” Lenore said. “I know it’s not London, but the Gazette prides itself on breaking news. Plenty happens here.”

  Anna eased back in her seat, resisting the violent temptation to say anything.

  She wasn’t sure how the Gazette could break news without breaking a sweat. So she changed the subject again.

  “You said you were going to call the affiliates?”

  “Yes,” Lenore replied. “We’re going to have to do something about the volume of calls. Irene keeps putting them through. I’m sending through notes to Charlotte to collate – to add to that piece you just assigned her.”

  “Oh,” Anna said. “I was about to tell you about th–”

  “It’s fine,” Lenore said and waved any concerns away. “It was the right call. I haven’t had a chance to get onto our partners in Bloomington and Chicago yet, but I’ve sent texts and emails to some of our friendliest sources inside the Governor’s office. And … I also called the Mayor.”

  “And?”

  “Went straight to voice mail, of course,” Lenore said and shrugged. “Nick Hocking does that, switches his phone off when he knows we’ll be calling. It’s not the first time.”

  “Damn,” Anna said. “And the others?”

  “Oh, they’ve got our inquiries,” the editor said and laughed, again without much humor. “That’s what I mean about Doug: hell be hitting up anyone who’s anyone who might tell us what the hell’s going on inside the PD and Fire and Rescue.

  Melina too.”

  Lenore’s eyes flicked to the window in the slightest betrayal.

  “But?”

  Lenore shrugged and stared briefly out her window view – directly into the opposite mid-level high-rise instead of anything more scenic, and Anna was struck by the lac
k of enthusiasm in the older woman.

  “I’ve been told to expect a press conference,” Lenore shrugged.

  Now there was something in the editor’s tone. Anna squinted.

  “When?”

  “Right after we go to print.”

  THE TIMING OF the City press conference wasn’t a coincidence, obviously. With the Gazette’s robust history interrogating the City Council – which included a schools funding disaster less than a year back that helped lose a few Councilors their jobs at the recent election, including an important Hocking ally – the Mayor’s media office happily manipulated their manipulated replies to make life difficult for the Gazette more than any other media outlet in the City.

  That played right into the hands of the radio networks and TV, who were more than happy to report Hocking’s oft-stated view that “traditional print media was already extinct” and they just didn’t want to report it.

  Anna returned to the bullpen with a dour look, instantly conscious of Melina back at her desk shooting surreptitious glances Anna took as an invitation.

  Their desks were closest, but still far enough apart that the distance wasn’t discreet. It was nearly 4pm, and Anna felt a momentary flush of weakness, knowing she still hadn’t eaten. She beckoned Melina towards her and sank into one of the leather sofas as Charlotte’s phone started ringing again and the young redhead groaned. O’Dowd remained nowhere to be seen.

  “I don’t suppose anyone’s headed out for coffee?” Anna asked.

  “Er … I could do with something to eat,” Demien said.

  He arose from his work station twiddling a pencil in one hand.

  “Do you want me to get you something?”

  “Coffee would be … incredible,” Anna said, and the mere thought of it made her smile entirely warm and genuine. “If they had anything to eat on the go, a muffin, sushi, bagels – anything, really – I’d really appreciate it. I’ll give you some cash.”

  “You can have a line of credit with me,” Demien said.

  He dropped his eyes and covered a slight blush as he ambled from the room.

  Anna returned to confront Melina’s smirking amusement.

  “At least you’ve won someone over today,” she said.

  Anna only smiled tightly.

  “Great.”

  “I’m putting that interview package together, but I could do with some help,”

  Melina said. “I’m too slow … and I’m trying to write something for print as well as doing a complete video we can air, like, maybe on the Facebook page?”

  “No, we have to host it ourselves,” Anna said. “Not giving those fuckers our audience. We can link from there, bring them across to the landing page … Shame we couldn’t use the studio, really.”

  “You’ve really got a … a wide-on for that studio, huh?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Anna flushed and burst out laughing rather than take offense at Melina’s remark.

  “A ‘wide-on’?”

  “Yeah,” the other reporter said. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talkin’ about, white girl.”

  Anna sniggered.

  “‘White girl’.”

  Their eyes met again, Melina enjoying how well Anna took the gentle, inappropriate tease, and Anna just relieved to sense the easing off of tensions between them.

  “There’s going to be a hiccup with our coverage,” Anna said.

  “How so?”

  “Mr Freeman’s still front page, but the story’s gonna change almost as soon as we’ve gone to press,” Anna said. “This thing is … widespread … and the City’s holding a presser at seven.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Ass-hats,” Melina said. “Wait till you meet Wade Jenkins, the Mayor’s PR twerp. He’s a real piece of shit, and I don’t say that about that many people.”

  Anna chuckled gently.

  “Yes you do.”

  Melina smirked too.

  “Yeah, maybe, but Jenkins is some next-level shit.”

  “Fantastic,” Anna said. “I can’t wait to meet him … but it’s not going to be anytime soon.”

  “No?” Melina said more seriously. “We have to have someone at the conference.”

  “Agreed,” Anna said and motioned across to the desks of her personal domain.

  “And with a camera. But I have to be here. Iskov can help. We’ll live-stream the conference … give the TVs a run for their money … and I’ve got Charlotte filing social media reactions for online.”

  “The Ouroboros,” Melina said.

  She glanced at Anna, perhaps testing to see if she knew what the word meant, while Anna was equally surprised in turn – maybe even delighted, given her fascination with languages, to hear the casually erudite name-check.

  “The serpent swallowing its own tail,” Anna said. “That’s how you see social media?”

  Melina shrugged and suddenly grew tired as well.

  “Not exactly,” she said and sighed. “It’s a fine line.”

  “If the City won’t give up more details on what the fuck’s going on, we have to report from the streets,” Anna said.

  Her own statement made her growl.

  “And I guess if we can’t actually get to the fucking streets,” she added, “reporting on what everyone else is saying is about the best we can do.”

  She glanced across as Charlotte hung up from the latest call.

  “It’s not April First, right?”

  Anna and Melina shook their heads.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say someone’s pranking me,” the other reporter said. “Can we share out some of these calls? Between the phone and all Ms Barrett’s emails, I can’t get anything done.”

  Anna nodded. In that moment of calm, muffled Chinese voices sounded from behind the wall dividing them from the rest of what would’ve otherwise been an empty newsroom – yet another reminder of how many reporters they’d lost.

  “Start taking names and numbers and tell them we’ll get right back,” Anna said to Charlotte. “And finish that piece. We still have a newspaper to publish.”

  Melina chuckled. Anna arched one manicured blonde brow again.

  “What?” she asked. “I didn’t get into this business to spend my days sitting on Facebook, no matter what you or Douglas O’Dowd might think.”

  Irritated, Anna got on her feet again wondering how far away Demien was with that damned coffee.

  AFTER COFFEE, SOMETHING to eat, and getting Charlotte’s reactions piece online, Anna felt utterly claustrophobic, trapped inside the Gazette building since midmorning and next to no access to natural light. With all the work still not yet done, the best she could manage was a slow walk to the front of the office.

  The receptionist Irene looked as if her moment had finally arrived. Mr Freeman was but a distant memory, and despite the constant buzz of the phone, no one else was around to take up Irene’s immediate attention. The fussy older black woman stood and trailed Anna walking to the lone outside window to gaze down onto the street.

  “Sounds like things are pretty hectic out there,” the woman said. “Lots of sirens, too. Fire trucks blew through just half-an-hour ago.”

  Anna gave up a smile and nodded beatifically.

  “Is that normal for Springfield?” she asked. “My first day on the job.”

  “Oh, it’s never quiet around here.”

  Irene smiled, the morgue-like reception area undermining her conviction. But she pitched her voice low then, as if giving up a long-held secret.

  “But I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  “The sirens?”

  “Not just the sirens, girl,” the receptionist said and laughed – perhaps at her.

  Irene walked back to her desk and motioned for Anna to follow as she brought up a hidden online feed.

  “Our phone won’t stop ringing,” she said. “I’m diverting phones to the night recording now just so I can get a bathroom break.
I don’t really know what to make of it all.”

  Curiosity got the better of Anna. For a woman in her late 50s, Mrs Mengele was a deft hand at Reddit. A new thread grouped posts from more than two hundred Springfield users under a hashtag marked with the day’s date.

  “What’s this?” Anna asked.

  “Look.”

  Irene started scrolling and pulled across a second vacant swivel chair.

  “Take Eleanor’s seat,” Irene said. “She isn’t using it anymore.”

  Anna’s eyes were glued to the screen.

  “OK,” she said distractedly. “What about important calls?”

  “They go through to Ms Barrett,” Irene said.

  Anna nodded slowly, eyes still unpicking what was on the screen.

  God bless the Redditors. The post featured phone photos and short videos, many already converted into streaming-friendly Gifs. Although the layout – with dozens upon dozens of sub-threads in each reply – was hard at first to parse, Mrs Mengele provided an expert commentary.

  “Some of the stories, I’m thinking people are making them up,” she said.

  “There’s a boy here who says has sister jumped out a second-floor window and just kept runnin’, even with blood all over her party dress. Another says her brother’s tied up in the basement until the police arrive. There’s delays all over the city. This one’s out in Pleasant Plains.”

  The photo showed people running from several members of a youth orchestra with their arms outstretched. A teenage boy with a tuba still around his arm led the way despite what looked unmistakably like a bullet wound to the chest of his white band jacket.

  “What the … fuck?”

  Irene only chuckled at the bad language. The next post was almost as bad. A hipster dad who worked in IT was outside his son’s primary school which was now shut down, surrounded by cops and worried parents, and no one was telling them anything. More photos told similar stories. Anna guessed at more than fifty active incidents across the city, once she included those already mentioned in Charlotte’s new report. Anna’s hand twitched for her missing iPad.

  “Springfield doesn’t have enough police for this,” she said.