Dead Shot (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 1)

Chapter 35

Chapter 35

Guy slammed his phone down and let out another string of expletives. Two hours until deadline and his two best newsroom personnel had vanished. Between Cal and Kelly's phones, Guy had left six messages and didn't get a single response. He even sent Mindy over to Cal's apartment to look for them, and he hadn't heard from her in nearly an hour. His newsroom was falling apart with two hours to go before deadline.

But Guy didn't really care about their big story, although he was sure their pursuit of it had something to do with all of Cal's recent questionable behavior. All he wanted were two warm bodies writing articles and editing photos. This legendary gunslinger in the newsroom was turning his back on his arch nemesis - hard news. He was too tired to fight political battles and public perception. He just hoped that if he turned his back, no shots would be fired. It was time to ride off into the sunset and be a good newspaper man for a small community paper, where scandals surface on the next-to-last page at the bottom in the briefs section-if at all.

The voices in his head fought courageously.

"What's your gut telling you, Guy?"

"It's telling me that I'm going to get another ulcer worrying about this story."

"Don't you want to know the truth."

"Sure, but nobody else here does. Why make any waves?"

"What's happened to you, man? You used to stand for something."

"I am standing for something-my sanity ... and my job. There's no need to mess with a good thing."

And Guy settled it-for now. Just get those trouble-making reporters back into the office and put this week's paper to bed. That would make this all go away right now. If only he knew where Cal and Kelly were, he would go get them himself.

Guy sat down at his desk, burying his head in his hands. He let out a long sigh. The powder keg was set to blow.

***

Joseph Mendoza looked across the office into The Register's newsroom from his publisher's perch-the only walled office in the building. He used to care about the truth at one point too. But not anymore. It didn't pay nearly as well as the lies.

His office phone buzzed. It was Gold.

"Hello, Mr. Mayor. Any news to report?"

"That's why I called you. Don't you run a little thing called the newspaper? Besides, it's your employees that are mucking everything up."

"They won't be employed here any longer. As soon as I find them, they're gone."

"Even your niece?"

"Especially her. She still thinks she's going to get this paper-and there's not a snowball's chance in hell that I would give it to her."

"Well, I applaud your resolve to do whatever it takes ..." Gold's voice trailed off. He paused. Then he restarted his sentence, pushing the limits of acceptable decibel levels. "... BUT IT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH! FIND YOUR EMPLOYEES OR ELSE SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES!"

Yelling rarely rattled Mendoza. For someone coming from a lineage of impassioned Basque people, yelling merely revealed that one was unsatisfied with something. It didn't usually convey the same urgency as someone outside his family might express. Gold was outside Mendoza's family.

Mendoza shook as he hung up the phone, thoroughly frightened at the way Gold was growing more paranoid by the hour. It was traumatic enough that Gold had lost his son two days before, but to have his very way of life threatened? He wasn't going to let this pass without doing some damage. Mendoza realized he wasn't collateral either-he would be in the crosshairs if things didn't go Gold's way. His reporters' whereabouts suddenly became his chief concern.

***

Still seething in his own right about the apparent abandonment of his two best news people, Guy might have accepted the order with welcome arms. Mendoza had just called him to say that Cal and Kelly were to be fired immediately-or whenever he saw them next.

Instead of gladly accepting this order to rid himself of the two biggest pains in his life over the past two days, Guy - the newspaper man gunslinger - stopped to think. Was his complicity in Statenville's secret going to result in the death of both a reporter and photographer he had grown fond of? Was a sack full of money on his back porch every month worth having their blood on his hands? He was unsure of what his next step should be, even though he knew which one he preferred to take.

Guy also knew diplomacy was the key to surviving long enough to deliver the final editorial blow, if that's the direction he decided to choose. In the meantime, he would have to seethe in private about granting permission to have his editorial power stripped.