Dead Shot (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 1)

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

When Cal and Kelly returned to The Register, the newsroom was still full of faithful staff, preparing as much of the paper as they could for that week's edition slated to go to press Tuesday night. Cal's deadline was more than 24 hours away, but he still needed to do some of his other mundane duties before he called it a day.

Cal could sense Guy's growing angst as the day progressed, but by 5:30 in the evening, angst had given way to dirty office politics and the abuse of power. By the way Guy was acting on the phone, Cal guessed Guy hadn't even stepped outside The Register's office all day for anything other than a smoke break. But Cal never would've guessed what came out of Guys' mouth next.

"I hope you've got something for a reaction piece cause this is all you're writing, understand?" Guy bellowed from behind his desk.

A reaction piece? In the journalism world, a reaction piece is slightly above a man-on-the-street poll. It's a story that just about any numbskull can write without screwing up. You talk to people about a certain topic or issue or event. You quote them. They are the story. The "reporter" more or less transcribed an interview. Even a high school intern could do it.

With that re-assignment, Cal's spirit was crushed. Pulitzer award-winning story? Gone. Strong article for the clip file? Doubtful. Cal's Monday started with so much promise, but hope for a positive conclusion was fleeting faster than William Hung's 15 minutes of fame.

He almost took it without a word. Almost.

"Seriously, Guy? A reaction piece? I've been tracking down this story all day long and there's more to it than three teens overdosing on drugs-that much I'm sure of."

"In case you've forgotten, this is Mayberry, not New York City. Sensationalizing the unfortunate death of these kids is not something that people here want to read. So, unless you've got something other than the off-the-record whispers and innuendos you mentioned earlier, I'm not interested."

"But, boss-"

"Are you that slow, Cal? We're not doing a triple deck murder story headline, especially when there wasn't a murder. Now go get me a cutline for that board of education meeting you covered last Thursday and get out of here."

The problem with protesting one of Guy's decisions in The Register's tiny office was that everyone heard him dressing you down. Cal took Guy's rare tirades better than most, a sure sign that he might make it at a large daily metro. But today wasn't one of those days. Cal left Guy's office red-faced, thoroughly eviscerated professionally.

Cal began wondering what happened to Guy. Was that serious newspaper editor once known as Guy Thompson really left for dead in Utah? As a newspaper man, there wasn't one ounce of curious intrigue into the previous 24 hours' strange happenings? Cal had more questions than answers at this point, but he found it odd that his editor was more concerned with his whereabouts than his findings.

Cal sat down at his desk and obliged Guy. He pounded out the cutline and filed it. He spent the next hour working on some re-writes Terry requested for Wednesday's edition. Most days, Cal didn't mind Terry's editing, but Cal was in a mood, thanks to Guy. Must he make my report on the Rotary Club meeting sound like an act from a Shakespeare play?

"Thy edits are complete, my Lordship," Cal said to Terry in a mocking tone.

Terry furrowed his brow and squinted. The context of Cal's medieval language was obviously lost on him. He grunted a "thanks" and looked back at his computer screen. But such interactions weren't unusual for The Register newsroom, known for attracting more oddball personalities than a traveling circus.

By 6:30, Cal began gathering his notes and stuffing them into his briefcase, willing to follow up with some phone calls from home. He hoped to bring something substantial into the office to change Guy's mind.

He glanced back at Kelly, who was preparing to leave as well. At least the day wasn't a total waste. Spending it with her and all her spunk made everything else palatable.

Cal broke the silence.

"Ready to do it again tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Today was fun, wasn't it? But I don't see how tomorrow could be any more interesting than today."

Cal then noticed Kelly sliding a small piece of paper with a note scrawled on it.

"Call my cell when you get in your car."

Cal slid the note off her desk and into his pocket. Maybe I won't be making some extra phone calls tonight.

The two walked in silence through the alley and into the employee parking lot located behind The Register's office building.

Cal threw his briefcase on the passenger side floorboard and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed Kelly's number.

"OK, so we know some crazy stuff is going on and Guy is acting weird, right?" Kelly began.

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, get this. I went to the break room to buy a soda and I saw the door to the outside was cracked. I went over to shut it when I heard Guy talking on his cell phone in a hushed voice."

"What did he say?"

"I didn't catch the whole thing, but I did hear him say, 'Don't worry. I've got those two under control.'"

"You think he was talking about us?"

"Who else would he be talking about?"

"It could be two of anything that he has under control."

"Yeah, but saying that and talking in a hushed tone so no one could hear him? Plus he was on his personal cell phone standing outside. It was not typical behavior for Guy."

"That might explain why he's been acting the way he has toward us. He certainly seems hell-bent on helping us avoid proper treatment of this story."

"Well, something is up and I don't like it. I'm starting to get a strange feeling about this whole thing, like we're rattling the closet door to some big skeletons. And I feel uneasy about what might happen to us."

"Seriously? Are you scared, Kelly?"

"A little, maybe. I sure would like to have a drink and throw darts at The Mill about right now. You up for joining me?"

Whoa! Is Kelly asking me out on a date? It sure sounds like it.

"Uh, sure. I want to run home and change first and then I'll meet you there in say, 30 minutes?"

"Sounds like a date."

Sounds like a date, indeed! Cal thought.

Cal and Kelly headed home in opposite directions to prepare for a rare post-work rendezvous. That is if Cal meeting Kelly once at the gas station McDonald's near the I-84 exit one night counted as a rendezvous. Otherwise, it was a first.

The F-250 followed Cal.