“Listen, Tim. I’m gonna take care of this, but do you have anywhere you can go for a couple of nights?”
“Go?” He gapes at me for a full thirty seconds before snapping his jaw shut. The shell-shocked glaze to his eyes fades, and he shakes his head. “Uh…most of my friends are back in Dallas. But…”
Shit. The poor kid’s starting to spiral. I barely remember being that naive. That unwilling to believe the world is as fucked up as it really is. Defeat has him taking a step back with a heavy sigh.
“We need to get a mold specialist in here in case whatever up and died in this piece of shit has spread. Stay in a hotel for a couple of nights. The owner will comp your rent while the apartment’s being inspected and we make sure it’s still safe. It’ll be enough for one of those extended stay places with a little kitchen, at least. Pack a bag and get the heck out of here. I’ll call you when I know how long we’ll need.”
Thankfully, the kid doesn’t argue. Just heads for his bedroom, and I hear the distinct sound of a suitcase being unzipped. Rick runs a good complex, despite the age of the building. Clean, solid, up to code. He doesn’t skimp on his residents’ safety. But damn. If Tim hadn’t called when he did...this could have been a lot worse.
Two hours later, Tim’s got a hotel room a couple of miles away, and the apartment windows are wide open while the mold inspector does his thing.
“You’re lucky. The only bad spots are around the window. You’ll get by with a Level II cleaning. Takes about four hours.” He taps his phone screen a couple times. “I can fit you in tomorrow at noon. That work?”
“Yep. I’m in Unit 301. Stop there first and I’ll let you in.”
It takes me another few hours to make sure we have a replacement heating unit ready to go, file my incident report, and finish the paperwork Rick needs to reimburse Tim for his hotel room. By 10:00 p.m., all I want is the rest of that beer and my bed.
But the Shiner is warm and flat. The pain has gone from a dull ache to electro-shock therapy. I give up on any hope of sleep. Settling back into my recliner with a fresh, cold bottle, I take a swig. If I’m lucky, unmitigated exhaustion will eventually carry me away. If not…it’s gonna be a long ass night.
Emi
I pace, willing the phone to ring with every fiber of my being. The carpet is still damp from cleaning, boxes are piled on the credenza and the only thing on my desk besides my laptop is the photo of me and my grandmother from my college graduation.
It’s only been two days since I moved my things from a cubicle in the station’s noisy bullpen. I taped a piece of paper over Danny Riscaldo’s nameplate this morning. Calling Miss Up-And-Coming Austin “a pretty little thing” on air—to her face—was the final straw for the station. They fired him last week. Half the women working here had a party the day he left. This wasn’t the way I wanted the cushy corner office with its big windows and room for a couch, but I sure as hell ain’t gonna turn it down.
Three brisk raps on the door stop me in my tracks. Nelson, my news director, pokes his head in a second later. “Got a minute?”
Sweeping a lock of hair behind my ear, I frown and sink down into my chair. “Not much more than one or two. I have the Eugene Fowler interview on Monday. He’s the owner of Consolidated Investment Group. They’ve built huge hotel and convention complexes all over the place in the past ten years. Chicago, Detroit, Atlanta, Dallas, and now, Austin. The Empress Hotel.”
“So, he’s a developer. He probably goes where the money is. Austin’s growing. Big time. What’s the story here?” Nelson asks. “Please tell me you’re not doing a softball piece on the Empress. It’s a waste of your time and talent, Emi. This office—the prime spot at six o’clock—viewers trust you to bring them the big news.”
I shoot Nelson a sideways glance. “Do you think I’d lock myself in any office—even this one—for a week straight working on something that wasn’t hard-hitting news? Fowler and CIG are dirty, Nelson. My sources are close to giving me evidence of bribes—lots of them—Fowler’s paid. More than two million over the past ten years. He takes run-down properties with high value to the community, has them condemned, and buys them for pennies on the dollar. But there’s more. His mega-hotel in Chicago has been rumored to be a meeting place for the Rossi Crime Family.”
Nelson whistles and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Shit, Emi. You’d better have evidence to back that up. If you even mention the mob, you’re asking for trouble—and a visit from the FBI. Plus, Fowler will come after you—the whole station—with lawsuits faster than a jackrabbit on a caffeine bender.”
My heart rate ticks up. I think my mouth even waters a little. That’s exactly what I hope will happen. FBI involvement will practically guarantee the story goes national. “I’ve been doing this job a long time, Nelson, and I’m damn good at it. I know how to dot my i’s and cross my t’s.”
He tosses his hands up in mock surrender. “I know that. But I wouldn’t be doin’ my job if I didn’t ask. This is big. So much bigger than the drive-by shootings outside the Shop-N-Go you covered last month. How many nights do you think this’ll run?”
“Three. At least. Maybe more. I sent you the rundown an hour ago. Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday nights are a given. Thursday hinges on what happens after the interview.”
Visions of a two-week series float through my head. All the big networks clamoring for an exclusive.
“Emi?” Nelson waves his hand in front of my face. “Did you hear me?”
“God, I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. What’d I miss?” Sending him my best “forgive me” smile, I dig my fingers into my thigh under the desk to pull a fraction of my focus back to our conversation.
“I’ll give you the three nights. After you run down your evidence with me. Does 4:00 p.m. work?”
I don’t have much choice but to agree. Nelson’s a good guy. A little too cautious, but then again, he’s the one the execs will come down on first if Channel 5 gets sued. Still, once in a while, he tries to flex his “I’m the boss” muscles a little too much for my tastes. I’m almost ten years older than he is, and I’ve been working in TV news since he was knee-high to a grasshopper.
“So, what else did you need?” I ask. “You didn’t come in here for my rundown. If I only have another two hours to get my presentation together before the pitch meeting, I gotta get going on it.” I run a hand through my long brown hair, fingers tangling in the strands halfway down. Too many hours at my desk twirling a lock around my thumb over and over again.
Nelson shakes his head slightly, a sure sign I’m not going to like this. “Noelle Johnson came down with the flu. She’s supposed to be covering the Rangers’ Boots and Bling Charity Ball tomorrow night.”
“No.” Before he can protest, I narrow my eyes at him and double down. “Absolutely not, Nelson. I haven’t taken on a lifestyle piece in ten years. Get Christy to handle it.”
“Christy is handling it. But it’s her first time on a gig like this alone. There’s gonna be some important people there, and I need someone to back her up so she doesn’t get in over her head. You’re always saying your mentor taught you everything you know. Return the favor. Help Christy through this.”
