by William Gray
“A favor?” Devin asked, his tone rising incredulously. “What is this? A stick-up? A favor? When have I EVER given you the idea that I like ANYONE enough to start doling out favors? I give you a favor, I gotta give everyone else a favor. Pretty soon, everyone mistakes me for their friend. People start wanting to hang out for drinks after work- as if our work ever actually ends. They start inquiring about whether or not I got laid… to my face. Caleb, I don’t mean any offense, but I’m too old and cynical to be anyone’s friend. My only friends are good, honest reporting and advertising dollars, when we can actually scrounge any up. Which, by the way, isn’t often, when I’ve got people like you persistently stirring up the shit,” he said.
Tapping one foot furiously on the floor, Caleb remained silent for several seconds, trying to gather his wits. He needed to find an angle. Some way to justify the story to Devin. And it would have to be good. Because an investigative piece of this* depth and complexity would require a substantial amount of time and resources.
“You still there?” Devin asked.
Clearing his throat again, Caleb smiled and nodded. Then he chuckled at himself. “Yeah, I’m here,” he said.
“Okay, well, mind telling me what’s so funny? Caleb, I’ll be honest. And I think you already know what I’m about to say. Anyway, I wouldn’t even be on the line this long, but for the fact you just won a frickin’ Pulitzer. A Pulitzer. I would’ve given my left nut AND a kidney for one of those. I probably still would, but my organs aren’t worth much, anymore,” Devin said.
Caleb frowned, resisting the tangent that threatened to kidnap his focus. He shook his head. “Devin, I appreciate the time. And I’ll be into the office soon. I promise. But, uh, well, something came up. There’s a great story I need to pursue,” he said.
“NEED is a strong word,” Devin said, interrupting. “I don’t like need. Not at all. We strive to be objective journalists here, Caleb. That’s kind of our schtick, if you don’t recall. Our niche is honest, unbiased investigative reporting. Now, riddle me this: how can we do unbiased if we start off a pitch with the word need?” he asked.
Grunting, Caleb threw up his hands in disgust. “I wish you didn’t have a point right now,” he said.
“Get on with it. I can tell you the answer is no. But it sounds like you need me to hear you out first. Bills are piling up, Caleb. Time is money. Come on with it,” Devin said.
“Fu… Okay, fine. So, my grandma, she’s over a hundred. She’s in a nursing home. And, well, she’s got cancer. Her dying wish is that I help expose abuse that’s going on in the facility,” Caleb said.
“So, the angle is what? Nursing home abuse? It’s interesting. What kind of goods you got? Seems like sourcing that would be a minefield. And legal would have an absolute heyday with that one. But I’m listening,” Devin said.
Caleb grunted again. He took a deep breath before plowing ahead. “Um, well, that’s the thing. I need to do more research. I am an investigative journalist. Part of that entails, you know, investigating,” he said.
‘Okay, well, the answer is no. Not even close to a yes. Like, on the spectrum of nos, this one is WAY DOWN THERE ON THE EXTREME END OF HELL NO. Why would you even waste my time with this, Caleb? Look, find something good in the next day or so and pitch it, or else I’ll be assigning something to you. Senior writer generally means you earned your chops and now get to do the puff pieces and click bait for our sister site. You know, the one that actually earns us all a living. Can’t sustain a media outlet on donor support alone, Caleb. And you can’t get ad dollars when you actually investigate issues or tell the truth. Not in this day and age. You want our office to get blown up? You want to start carrying a sword everywhere you go? Because we can’t afford private security for you and background checks in this part of Oregon are taking a really long time to clear,” Devin said.
“So, now that I’m a senior writer, I can do the quizzes on what type of breakfast cereal people would be? Maybe a quiz on what type of zombie a person would be in some secret medical prison? What would they even call such a prison? Unit 9?” Caleb asked, smiling despite the circumstances.
“Yes, Caleb. You may soon be relegated to top-ten lists and pop culture quizzes. Congrats on the promotion. Now get your ass into the office,” Devin said. Then he promptly hung up.
Chapter 7
“Shit,” Caleb said.
Looking at Hunter, Caleb idly scratched the cat’s back as he fought with the anger inside. “I NEED to tell this story, Hunter. Need to. And his telling me no only makes me want to do it more. Devin might be a genius. Might be, Hunter. Might be. But he really doesn’t seem to understand human psychology very much. Which, honestly, seems a bit odd, since he’s the editor of an investigative journalism site. Seriously, cat. You’d think someone whose job depended on an acute understanding of humanity would exhibit a little more empathy and understanding,” he said.
“Meow,” Hunter responded.
“Yeah, well, I’m glad you agree. Say, what do you think about some chicken, huh? You want some chicken?” Caleb asked.
Hunter jumped up, excited at the prospect of a meal. He purred and rubbed up against Caleb, trying to win points through flattery.
Caleb smiled and pushed the cat’s tail out of his face. “You just want me for my food,” he said. Then he shook his head at the crude joke that suddenly popped into his mind. Something involving being used for his chicken. “Come on, puss. Let’s go have a snack. But you gotta promise me something, okay? You have to promise to eat that damn bird if he gets out of line. Okay? We have a deal?” Caleb asked.
“Meow,” Hunter said, hopping down and trotting off toward the door, glancing back to make sure Caleb was following.
“You know, you’ve got it pretty good, cat. Seriously. Do I own you or do you own me? You sleep all day, then make me feed you at your leisure and clean up your nasty little shits. Maybe I need to try to come back as you in the next life, if such a thing exists,” Caleb said, grunting as he stood up and moved toward the door. He frowned as Hunter meowed at him, urging him to hurry up. “I know, I know. I’m coming. I’m coming. Why’d I have to say the magic word again?” he asked, sighing.
It didn’t take long to arrive in his smallish kitchen. There, he opened up a can of Hunter’s preferred brand of cat food and deposited it unceremoniously on the floor. Then Caleb grabbed a half-empty can of yerba matte from the fridge, downing it in a few gulps. Tossing the container in the recycling, he heard it clink against its companions. “Be good, kitty. And, remember, we have a deal,” Caleb said, wagging a finger at the feline. “You eat Monty if he starts acting too crazy,” he said.
Then Caleb returned to his bedroom, where he quickly finished dressing.
However, just as he was about to leave, he caught a glimpse of his open laptop on his desk. Pausing, Caleb stared at the device. Suddenly recalling the obscene, garish images he’d seen on display in the hinterlands of the digital realm, he shivered. How am I supposed to forget that, he wondered. Slowly, he took the few steps to the old metal* desk and closed the computer. He looked down at the logo atop the slim metal* piece of technology. Frowning, he shook his head, disgusted by everything that branding represented. Yes, the tool had enabled him to earn a living and pursue redemption. It’d allowed him to expose corruption and hold officials’ feet to the proverbial fire. But, yet, it’d also afforded some of the world’s worst creatures the opportunity to indulge their nefarious passions.
And, of course, the logo served as a subtle-but-clear reminder of Devin’s admonitions. It told him that every tool in the world would eventually come to serve in the High Church of Commerce. Or else it would be sacrificed at the altar of vacuous consumption.
Gritting his teeth, Caleb pivoted sharply and headed toward the door. He ignored Monty as he slammed it shut and headed down to his bike.
As he rode through the unusually quiet streets, a cool breeze swirling around him, Caleb’s anger quick
ly dissipated. However, he resisted the urge to forget it. Instead, he allowed it to sink into the sediment of his mind, where he’d dredge it up as needed. He would need that sense of righteous indignation to help sustain him in the long days ahead. But, as he arrived at the small office located near downtown, Caleb felt happy that he’d been able to abandon the passionate emotion, even if temporarily. Looking at the dirty river flowing under the immense bridge nearby and the large brick buildings that looked over the body of water, Caleb remembered where he was. And why he was there. He knew he needed to put on a happy face for his fellow employees.
After all, someone had gone to the trouble and expense of buying him a cake.
A cake that served as a congratulations for his recent success.
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to smile. Locking his bike up, Caleb put himself in the proper mindset. He needed to deal well with his peers. Be humble but appreciative, he told himself as he strode forward. As he walked across the street, vaguely aware of the sounds of the city in the background, he couldn’t help but experience a sudden wave of elation at the thought of his newfound status. Instead of being an underpaid reporter or just another felon, Caleb was now part of an elite club. He’d been elevated into the rarified realm of Pulitzer winners. A rare breed, he could go anywhere in the world and expect adulation from others in the industry that’d adopted him.
But I’ve got more in me, Caleb thought. And, even if he could subsist on the sinecures his newfound status would allow him to enjoy, he knew he wouldn’t. Because he COULDN’T. The drive that’d impelled him to push past the fear in pursuit of the cartel story was such that it wouldn’t dare stop once things got comfortable. Mere recognition alone could never trample the part of his being that craved adventure and redemption.
Plus, his grandma had been right. Caleb valued his word. Perhaps unlike most of his peers, Caleb possessed integrity. And it was that sense of purpose that ultimately was what helped him excel where others could or would not. He’d made a promise to the only woman in the world who mattered to him. The one soul on the planet who’d been there when he’d needed help the most.
No amount of praise or money could alleviate the burdens that would come from not keeping that promise.
As soon as he opened the door, Caleb heard a loud pop. Jumping, he paused before cautiously proceeding into the office. However, all fear evaporated as soon as he saw his co-workers all gathered together, wearing smiles and cheap multi-colored party hats. They broke into exuberant song in unison, rushing forward to grab a hold of Caleb, as if desperately hoping some of his success would rub off on them by mere touch alone. The smell of singed candles and bad booze filled the large space. The word congratulations was spelled in glittery silver letters haphazardly hung from the ceiling tiles.
Beaming as he allowed himself to be led forward, Caleb looked around at the assembled crowd. He noticed Maria, far off in the corner, watching the spectacle with a sly smirk adorning her pretty young face. Her brown eyes showcased a certain sense of wry amusement as she watched Caleb being dragged toward the covered table containing his expensive cake. Beside him, holding his arm above the elbow, was Jenny, a lithe, pleasant girl with long blonde hair who still wore braces, despite being 25. Despite her frail frame, she possessed a surprising physical strength, which was evidenced in the firm grip she deployed on Caleb. The two gals comprised the only group of people in the office that he actually trusted, and he felt glad they were both there.
“Did you buy the cake?” Caleb asked, bending over and whispering in Jenny’s ear.
“What?” she asked, her voice raised to be heard above the raucous din.
Shaking his head, Caleb gave up on trying to have any sort of conversation. Instead, he surrendered himself to the moment.
It didn’t take long for the famed cake to become visible. Resting on a card table covered in thick white lustrous cloth, the decadent dessert reflected the light from the fluorescent lights above. A dusting of sugar added a pop of color to the shiny brown surface of the cake. On a green napkin next to the celebratory staple, there rested a cake cutter with a triangular blade. Taking it, aware of the attentive hush that’d descended over the office, Caleb slowly cut into the moist cake. Depositing a small slice on a paper plate, he took a plastic fork and moved along.
“What? You guys waiting for permission? Go ahead. Eat,” he said, blushing. He smiled as the room erupted in applause. Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long for the attention to die down.
And, when it did, he retreated into the corner next to Maria.
“Who planned this? Hopefully it wasn’t you,” Caleb said. He took a bite of his cake and groaned. Nodding his head, he motioned toward the wedge of sweetness on his plate with his chocolate-stained fork. “Mmmm, THAT is good,” he said. He smiled. “I’m not too made about the cake. But I could still do without the office drama. How’d everyone figure it out, anyway?” he asked.
“Good morning to you, too, sir. Should I address you as Senior Writer Caleb Conway now? Or is there a trademarked title exclusive to those in the Pulitzer club?” she asked, smirking.
“Cut it out. You’re just jealous I don’t have to put up with as much of Devin’s shit,” Caleb said. He wolfed down another bite, resisting the urge to groan in ecstasy.
“Oh, I think you’ll have to deal with more of his shit now, my friend. For sure. Word on the street is, all you fancy senior writers get to write the top-ten lists and clickbait. I’m actually looking forward to having you fine-tune all my headlines,” Maria said.
“What crawled into your Cheerios and died? Jesus, Maria. You want the award? You want the promotion?” Caleb asked, staring at her.
“Of course, I don’t. I wouldn’t mind the check. But, hey. No, seriously, though. I know you earned it. And I’m not crazy enough to do what you did. Pulling those stunts in Guadalajara?” Maria raised an eyebrow. “My dad emigrated from Tepito. He’d probably kill me himself if I decided to try something like that,” she said.
Caleb nodded. “El Menche is no joke. But, you know, he’s also not nearly as bad as a lot of people make him out to be. Sure, he’s a killer. And he’s ordered some crazy shit. CJNG, they’re not a joke. They even take on the authorities down there. And win,” he said, shuddering.
“But you were saying he’s not such a bad guy, after all. Just misunderstood,” Maria said. She winked. “We’re supposed to be objective journalists, Caleb. Might want to rethink that trip to North Korea until after the acceptance speech. Get the money in the bank before you start telling the world Kim Jong Un is really a victim.”
Despite himself, Caleb laughed. “You really are on one today. Oh, well. Anyway, as I was saying, El Menche could be a good thing, in the broader scheme of things. At least, that’s what a lot of smart people in Mexico were saying. See, El Menche, he’s got the police background. He’s disciplined. His men are disciplined. And very well-trained and organized. Unfortunately, they’re also better equipped than most of the Mexican military. So, it’s considerably more complicated than just having a deep visceral reaction. That’s how wars get started, Maria. And it’s mostly poor, innocent civilians who get hurt and killed in those wars. It’s tragic, but it’s real. Everyone knows you can’t get rid of the cartels. All you can do is hope to manage them, somehow,” he said.
“So, the theory is that IF CJNG stops the violence, they’ll just, what, calm things down?” Maria asked, the skepticism evident in her face.
Caleb nodded. “Yep. Pretty much,” he said. “That’s the story of modern Mexico, Maria. All the government ever does is hope and pray the dominant cartel will stop making headlines and making new mass graves to dig up. Of course, the DEA keeps going in and creating power vacuums. And there are always government officials willing to help, because the dominant cartels are the ones who can afford not to pay up as much. It’s a sick web of treachery,” he said.
“And you survived to tell the story,” Maria sa
id.
“Hey, guys, what’s up?” Jenny asked, her tone bubbly as she crowded in on Caleb.
“’Hey, guys, what’s up?’” Maria said, her tone mocking. “You two want to get a room?” she asked, blowing out an exasperated breath of air.
“Maria’s jealous. But I was just telling her about how I might be giving TED Talks and getting six figures to advise the government. I might even get my security clearances now. Felons get them all the time, these days,” Caleb said, winking at Maria.
“Well, I’m really happy for you Caleb,” Jenny said, snorting. She wrinkled her nose up as she turned to smile at him. “You were very brave. You deserve this,” she said.
“Oh, god. I can’t even with you two anymore. Caleb, she’s got a crush on you. Me? I just like you for your brains, homie. Plus, you’re the only one in all of Portland who didn’t just immediately see me and start fawning over my brown skin and trying to talk in broken Spanish, as if I need some white savior to swoop in and help me. It’s not much, but it’s nice to have someone actually tolerate me for me,” Maria said. “I’m going to go grab me a slice of that cake.”
“Use a condom,” she said, mouthing the words as she walked away.
Clearing his throat, Caleb was left with an awkward silence between himself and Jenny. He filled it by stuffing cake into his mouth.
“Did, uh, did you, uh… Well, I’m going to go talk with HR about my pay. I had a mix-up when I was out doing that story on the wolves in eastern Oregon. They were supposed to reimburse me for six days and some other stuff. But I only got five. So, uh, with all the… Anyway, yeah, congratulations,” Jenny said. And, with that, she immediately disappeared into the pockets of people, casually conversating over their decadent dessert.
“Hey, if it isn’t the glory boy himself. Why are you all alone? I figured everyone would be fawning over you,” Devin said, suddenly appearing as if on-cue.
Frowning, Caleb resisted the urge to lash out at the toxic man. He reminded himself that Devin remained his boss. “Hey, just so you know, I am NOT going to write the cheesy clickbait. I got hired to do real journalism. And that’s what I intend to do,” he said.