Scoop (17 page)

“Don’t you understand that I’m trying to help you?”

She glared through the dark room. “You’re trying to help yourself.”

“I’m trying to help both of us.”

Gilda wiped her tears and tried to regain her composure.

“Take it,” he said, and walked toward her, his arm outstretched, holding an overstuffed white envelope.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me his name? You knew and didn’t tell me.”

“Because, Gilda, you wanted answers. I wanted to keep everything afloat. And at the time, it just wasn’t a story that was going to keep us from sinking.”

“But it had the potential to be an important story!”

“You had all the information I had. You didn’t find his name. What can I say? You should stick to anchoring.”

“Do you know how many years I’ve worked in this business?” Gilda asked, refusing to reach for the envelope. “Do you know how hard I’ve worked to get where I am?”

“Nobody is disputing that. You have a chance to make things right.”

“I didn’t make anything wrong! You did!”

“Gilda, it’s just an unfortunate circumstance. It’s nobody’s fault. Unless you want to blame God. I suppose he has some responsibility in the matter.” He shoved the envelope into her hand. “There’s no other way. I’m done with this conversation.”

“You’ll pay for this!” Gilda yelled at him.

He turned, his eyes fierce. “As far as I can tell, Gilda, I already have.”

Ray sat at the police station, flipping through a few notes he jotted down. Beaker was setting up the camera for an interview with Captain Wynn. Ray told Beaker that he needed some time to figure out how he wanted the interview to go.

But in reality, he just had to get out of there. Even Beaker, who normally was oblivious to anybody’s troubles but his own, noticed Ray was out of sorts. Ray said he would be back in about ten minutes, when the captain was ready for his interview.

In the hallway near the bathrooms, Ray tried to gain his composure. He couldn’t remember feeling so frustrated. He tried telling himself this wasn’t the end of the world, but it definitely felt like the end of his career. It was as if Hugo had lost confidence in him, yet everything that had happened was completely out of his control.

Ray told himself to do his best on this story. There was a day when this business was a thrill, and every story marked a new and exciting adventure. What had changed? All he wanted now was to move ahead, to be the best, to take another step up the career ladder.

To make matters worse, he still hadn’t asked Hayden out. He kept wondering what it was about her that made it so important. The truth was she made him feel uncomfortable. So what kept drawing him back to her

“Ray?”

Ray looked up to find Tanya Secrist standing above him. He stood. “Hi.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

Ray pitched a thumb toward the captain’s office. “Interviewing Wynn about the Green incident.”

She noticed his forehead. “I saw that on the news. Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

She looked around then said, “I need to talk to you.” She steered him around a corner to a long hallway, which led, as far as Ray remembered, to the mechanical room and some janitor closets. Tanya had been Ray’s source at the police department for two years. They’d dated briefly and broken up somewhat amicably, but Tanya still enjoyed leaking information to Ray now and then. He thought it was sort of a power-play thing, but nevertheless, it was how he got some of his best information. “It’s about the sewage plant.”

Ray glanced over his shoulder. “I’m…I’m not covering the story.”

Tanya frowned. “Why not? It’s the biggest story in town.”

“Hugo thought this was…you know, a big story too.”

Tanya frowned again. “Okay…”

Ray bit his lip. Tanya always had good information. How could he let this opportunity pass him by?

“Tell me,” he said.

Tanya hesitated. “I don’t want to waste good information.”

“It won’t be wasted.”

Tanya didn’t look convinced, but she leaned closer and said, “The director of the plant is a man named Howard Crumm. He has a criminal record. He was charged with embezzlement sixteen years ago.”

Ray jotted down the information.

“I have to go. Dont let this go to waste. You know I’ve got other options.” By other options, Tanya meant she could go to other news stations. She’d threatened Ray with this before, but he knew she just liked to see him squirm. So he tried to look worried.

She touched his arm. “But I know I can count on you.” She walked away, and he leaned against the wall. He had the information. Now what was he supposed to do with it? He pressed his fingers against his forehead, trying to figure this all out when he heard his name being called.

When he rounded the corner, Beaker was headed in the opposite direction.

“Over here,” Ray said.

Beaker spun around and threw up his hands. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Just, um, going for some coffee.”

“Well, the captain’s ready.”

“Okay.” Ray’s head pounded. Never in his life had he felt so conflicted. The thing he knew he should do was the thing he least wanted to do in the whole world.

“What’s the problem?” Beaker asked.

Ray glanced at his watch. “Give me a minute, okay?”

“We need to shoot this now. The captain’s waiting.”

Ray walked back to Beaker and in a low voice said, “You and I both know that he will wait around to see his mug on television. I just need a minute, okay?”

“For what?”

“Coffee.”

Ray found a side exit and walked out. It was very cold and he noticed snowflakes falling, which was odd. He didn’t remember that in the forecast. Glancing around to make sure he was alone, he called Jill’s cell.

“Hello?”

“Jill, it’s Ray.”

“Hi, Ray. How are you?”

“Fine.”

“And to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

Ray paused. Jill was acting a little strangely.

“It’s about the sewage plant story. One of my sources has given me some information about the director of the plant.”

Jill was silent for a moment. Then she started laughing. “So this is it, huh? I knew you would somehow try to ambush me. You’re going to have me chasing rabbits, aren’t you?”

“Jill, for crying out loud, of course I’m not trying to ambush you.” He sighed. They’d been rivals for a long time, but it surprised him that Jill was this suspicious of him. “I’m trying to
help
you.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

Ray held the phone close to his ear, trying to figure out what to say. It wasn’t really in his nature to be argumentative with people. It wasn’t that he couldn’t be. He’d done plenty of investigative stories through the years where he had to shove a microphone in someone’s face and demand answers. But at the end of the day, he wasn’t one to go out looking for a boat to rock.

“Jill, my source here tells me that Mr. Crumm has a criminal record and has been charged with embezzlement but never convicted.”

“Who is your source?
The National Enquirer?”
Ray suddenly realized what was so attractive about Hayden. She was the exact opposite of Jill.

“I have to go,” he said.

“Good, because as far as I can tell, you have your own story to cover.”

Ray ended the call. Both cheeks were stinging now, and though he had willed it in his heart to do the right thing concerning Jill, the unsettled angst swirling inside his heart afterward was glad he didn’t have a third cheek to offer.

He headed back inside the police station, fighting with Jill inside his head. Why did she always want to stay on the surface of a story? She was so content to do the fluff interviews. She was the queen of interviewing every person who could offer a wide-eyed account of something, but she never dug deeper, where the real story was.

By the time Ray was inside, he was marching straight toward the captain’s office. Beaker met him at the door with a not-so-subtle expression of weariness. “Wynn’s irritated,” he whispered. Ray stopped and looked over Beaker’s shoulder at Wynn, who sat behind his desk, dusting dandruff off his shoulder and rubbing his teeth with his forefinger.

“Pack up the stuff,” Ray said. “Were leaving.”

“What?!” Beaker cried.

Captain Wynn looked up, as did another officer who stood in his office.

Ray kept his voice low. “The story isn’t here.”

“What are you talking about? Have you lost your mind?”

“I’m thinking very clearly, Beaker. Hugo wants a human drama out of this, does he not?”

Beaker’s mouth was half open.

“Then let’s get the real story. Let’s dig deep.” He patted the cameraman’s arm. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

Beaker groaned. “Fine. But you’re handling Wynn.”

Ray nodded and looked at the police captain, who was now combing his hair to the side.

R
onny Bode stood in Hugo’s office, his hands folded outward in his perpetual state of explanation. But it wasn’t Ronny’s hands that Hugo couldn’t stop looking at. In fact, it was the red, oozing sores all over the top of his head.

“I wasn’t supposed to be on air until Sunday,” Ronny said. “They told me I just needed a day to heal. But it’s been, well, a couple or three days now…”

Hugo had never seen anything like it. It was worse than a toupee.

“Ronny,” Hugo said, his voice cracking like he was about to cry, which maybe he was. “Hair plugs?”

Ronny’s embarrassment was evident. “Hair
inserts.
We ran that segment, you know? The one Trent did? And, well, it looked like a viable option for me. I mean, it’s no secret what’s been happening to my hairline.”

“But…but…,” Hugo stammered as vivid memories flashed through his mind. Ten years ago they’d had a fiftyish sportscaster, Monty Parker, who had worn a toupee since his midthirties. During some kind of midlife crisis, Monty decided that he was no longer going to wear his toupee and that he was going to face the world “as the man he really was.” There had been a big uproar about it because, without his toupee, Monty was completely bald. Monty said that he would lay his career on the line, but that he was tired of hiding behind his wig.

With great trepidation, management decided to let him do it. It was a jaw-dropping moment for everyone, because to Monty’s credit, his toupee looked very much like real hair. The glare on his scalp was so intense they had to put special filters on the lights. And for the next two
weeks, they had to assure viewers that Monty wasn’t ill or insane. Six weeks later, Monty resigned. Last Hugo had heard, he was selling cars somewhere north of town. Ever since then, they’d included a clause in the anchors’ contracts that they could not drastically change their hair or appearance without written consent from the station.

“I thought this would be a good thing,” Ronny said meekly. “I know it bothers everyone that I’ve been losing my hair. It bothers me too. I thought I’d just get a few pieces, then add some here and there, real subtle.”

“Didn’t you think even a few pieces would’ve been noticeable?”

“If it hadn’t gotten infected, nobody would’ve noticed it. They might’ve thought something looked slightly different about me, but nobody would’ve guessed it was my hair.”

Hugo looked down at his desk, trying to find some kind of compassion for the man. “Well, um, do they have you on antibiotics?”

Ronny nodded. “A ten-day round.”

“It looks painful.”

Ronny put on a brave face. “Oh, it’s not too bad. It itches like crazy and feels like someone’s sewn grass through my scalp, but I’m sure that’s going to go away with time.”

“Well,” Hugo said, trying to smile, “I’m sure it will look…uh, more natural…once the antibiotics kick in.”

“I did it for the station, Mr. Talley. I don’t want to be the weekend anchor forever. I know Tate’s young and good-looking, but I’ve got good attributes too,
and
I can anchor alone.”

Hugo nodded. “Why don’t you go home and get some rest.”

Ronny looked like he was about to burst into tears. He quickly left the office. Hugo ran his fingers through his own thinning hair, gray thanks to years in the news business. He decided, against his better judgment, to see how Tate was doing taping the teaser. Since Gilda had yet to arrive, they had to do something, and Tate was really their only option.

As he headed toward editing bay one, he noticed Hayden walking briskly toward him. His chest constricted. It didn’t look to be good news.

“What’s wrong?” he asked while she was a good ways away.

“Mr. Talley, must something always be wrong?” she said with a grin.

“Nothing’s wrong?”

“Yeah, something’s wrong. But you shouldn’t always assume something’s wrong. It’s not good for your health.”

Hugo groaned. “What is it now?”

“Well, it’s—”

“Wait.”

“What?”

“Hayden, you seem to be in good with God. Tell me, does God hate me?”

“Mr. Talley, of course God doesn’t hate you.”

“You don’t know that for sure. Have you asked? Specifically about me?”

Hayden folded her arms together and her angelic face suddenly turned stern. “Mr. Talley, are you saying you haven’t been praying?”