“Kemosabe? Am I the Lone Ranger now?” She smirked before continuing, “We’re going to go talk to my editor, Perry. We’ll lay this out, and” - she checked her watch - “with any luck we’ll hit the ten o’clock news as well as get it on the front-page tomorrow all across the nation.” She smirked. “My articles have pull like that.”
“I’m not saying I don’t doubt what you’re saying, but this is Vegas, not Los Angeles or New York. Are you sure anyone is going to care what you or Perry says this time of night?” It was just after nine thirty.
“Oh, trust me. This is a big deal. We’re gonna make Pharmabro look like he was stealing candy from a baby by comparison.” She gave me a confident nod. “Once Perry Black gets on the phone with New York and Cali, they’re gonna fold like card tables and get this out.”
“Good.” I nodded, feeling excited myself because her confidence was practically infectious. After all, I could do a lot with my pen, but influencing the entire country was something I couldn’t really do very well. I mean, okay, I’d never tried to do a lot when it came to persuading giant swaths of people with my pen barring that one time I’d tried to back Firefly. Those words had disappeared faster than a leaf on the wind.
“What you should be thinking about, Roger, is what we’re going to do to celebrate this douchebag’s demise.” She smiled at me as she flashed her badge at the security guard sitting in his station by the desk. He seemed to have already recognized her and barely looked up from his crossword as she flashed her badge on the scanner, causing the little bars blocking entry to slide out of the way. As they did, she turned and smiled at the guard. “Got some people to meet with Perry.”
“I could care less, but it’d be hard.” The guard chewed on his pen. “Say, what’s a four-letter word for explosive?”
“Bomb,” I replied without thinking, and he looked at me with a smirk.
“I really need to try that in an airport.” He turned back to his puzzle, clearly amused, and when I gave Missy a questioning look, she just rolled her eyes.
“Come on, Roger.” She headed toward a rather normal looking elevator beside a small black marquee that listed the floors and what businesses were on which. The mundanity of it made me nearly sigh. To think we were going to take down one of the most powerful businessmen in America from here was astounding.
“Right,” I said as she depressed the button for the doors, causing them to swing open immediately. I gestured for Franklin to go ahead of me. “After you, dirtbag.”
“You know, I really do feel terrible,” Franklin said, not making eye contact as he hustled into the small steel box.
“Not nearly enough.” I made my voice into a mocking impression of his own. “Oh, I feel so bad I surround myself with coke and strippers to dull the pain of my life.” I snorted. “Please, you never cared for even a split second until I burst into your stupid life.”
I could tell he wanted to lie and say it wasn’t true, but since he was actually incapable of doing so now, his mouth just opened and closed like he was a fish gasping for breath before he wisely just put his head down in shame.
“So, when we get up there, let me do the talking, okay?” Missy put a hand on my arm as we climbed into the elevator after Franklin and let it linger there a moment longer than was truly necessary. “Perry won’t take you seriously.”
“Somehow, I doubt that will be the case, but okay.” I smiled. “We can play it your way.”
“Thanks.” She gave me a look that made me think she actually respected me, which was weird because she’d never looked at me that way before. No, before it’d always been like I was a strange animal she wanted to dissect. “I’m glad you’re following my advice instead of trying to He-man your way through this. News is delicate.”
“Hey, I don’t mind letting you swing your dick around as long as it works.” I smirked. “If it doesn’t though, I’ll have to take things into my greedy little chipmunk paws.” I held up my hands. “They just can’t be trusted.”
She laughed as the elevator dinged and the doors opened, revealing a news floor that was bustling despite the late hour. That was probably because everyone was preparing for the nightly news, so I guess it made sense. Why that was in the same place as the newspaper seemed odd, except that they were both owned by the same parent company, of which I also had a stake via Modi, albeit a tiny one. Man, that guy really had his fingers in a lot of pies.
“It’s your show.” I gestured through the opened door at the sea of people milling about. “Because I have no idea where to go.” I glanced at Franklin who was trying to look as unassuming as possible. “Do you?”
“Yes.” He hung his head. “I’ve spoken with Perry many times.”
I wanted to ask him more about that, but before I could, Missy took my hand and led me from the elevator.
“Come on,” she said, giving me a confident smile as we moved through the crowded newsroom. “It’s this way.”
“That’s a heck of a door,” I said as we arrived in front of Perry Black’s office. It was all frosted glass with his name in big black letters stenciled across it. “I feel like it should say ‘Sam Spade Detective.’”
“Yeah, it’s right out of an old Dashiell Hammett novel,” Missy said with a smirk. “He gets that a lot.” She tapped her temple knowingly. “I’m starting to think it might be on purpose.”
“I feel like I should walk in dressed like a mysterious woman who got poured into her outfit.” I frowned slightly. “Though, will you think less of me if I admit I didn’t really like The Maltese Falcon? I much preferred The Thin Man.”
“I think that’s fair. No one, even Sam Spade can out drink Nick Charles, though to be fair, if I had a wife as prone to hysterics as Nora, I might begin my day with a scotch and soda too.” She smiled at me, and I was immediately amazed at her knowledge of early noir detective novels because damn.
“Damn, next you’re going to tell me Philip Marlowe is a hack,” I said with a laugh, and as I did, she raised an eyebrow at me.
“I would never. Humphrey Bogart is my spirit animal.” She smiled and shook her head. “And as much as I’d love to stay here debating old movies with you, well, we need to talk to Perry.” With that, she opened the door without so much as a how do you do.
Perry looked up from his scotch at our intrusion, and his cigar twitched in his lips as he looked at us with piercing blue eyes. The sight of him sort of reminded me of J. Jonah Jameson from the Spider-man comics what with his dark on top hair and white sideburns, and I could easily imagine him demanding pictures of the wall-crawling menace.
“Well, if it isn’t my most valuable pain in the ass,” he said, taking a long drag on his cigar before leaning back in his leather chair and blowing the smoke into the Purifan smoke removal system on the ceiling.
“Perry, I have something big.” She turned as she spoke, and Perry’s eyes darted from me to Franklin and back to me before settling on Missy.
“Lay it on me, doll.” He settled forward on his elbows and picked up his scotch with one hand, and as he went to drink some, he stopped. “Sorry, where are my manners? If you have your own scotch, you may drink some.” Then he took a large swallow of the amber liquid.
“If we have our own scotch?” I said, suddenly confused and Missy gave me a wave of our head.
“My boss, here, thinks he’s hilarious. As though someone would come into a meeting with their own scotch.” She rolled her eyes. “How many times has that ever happened?”
“Six.” He rolled up his sleeve, exposing a flask. “A real man is never without.” His eyes flicked to me. “Are you a real man, son?”
“So, just to be clear, being a real man just requires that I have scotch on me? Say in the flask I keep strapped to my leg?” I asked as I reached into my pants and pulled out my new emergency flask. “Because I’d say I passed.” I waggled it in front of me.
“What is it?”
“This flask is filled with Glenfiddich 21.” I offered it to him
. “Would you like some?”
“Is that the rum cask finish?” he asked, suddenly very interested in me, and as I moved the flask back and forth slightly, he watched it like a dog eyeing a bone.
“It is, and you can have some.” I smirked and popped the top on my flask before taking a long swallow, allowing the amber liquid to melt across my tongue in the most pleasurable way possible. Then I offered it to him.
“If you’re fucking with me, I’ll know.” He eyed me carefully before smelling the scotch. “It smells really good, like vanilla and sweet cream.” He took a small swallow, letting it roll across his tongue. Then he grinned. “You’re all right, boy.” He offered me the flask back. “Makes my Macallan 12 seem downright sad now.” He glanced at his glass and sighed before turning his gaze back to Missy. “And that is why you always ask.”
“Right. Men and their dicks.” She rolled her eyes like it was an Olympic sport and she was trying to medal in it. “Err … drinks.” She waved her hands then, dismissing our conversation as Perry went back to sipping his scotch. I didn’t, I just pocketed mine which was sort of uncomfortable since it hadn’t existed ten seconds ago.
“So, what’s the scoop, Missy?” Perry drained his glass and looked solemnly at his cigar. It had gone out, and I could see him doing the mental math in his head over whether he wanted to re-light it. “It’d better be good because I’m about to head home for the night. I’ve got much better stuff at home, and something tells me I’m going to need it.”
“The pictures of McMahon are all real.” She pointed right at Franklin. “Tell him, Professor.”
“It’s true. They’re real. I lied before because he paid me a lot of money.” Professor Franklin looked at the floor. “The others lied too.”
“And before you ask …” Missy said, sliding a manila folder full of pictures across the desk toward her boss. “Yes, we talked to them all.”
“You got them all to give signed statements,” he said, clearly surprised as he stared at the papers inside the folder. “How?”
“I have a way with people.” I shrugged.
“And what do you expect me to do with this, Missy?” Perry closed the folder and looked up at her.
“Run the damned story. It’s in your email now.” She hit a button on her phone, and there was a ping from Perry’s computer. “I’m thinking front page news.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Hell, we could get it on the ten o’ clock. Really scoop everyone.”
“I … don’t think we can do either of those things.” He took a deep breath, and that’s when I realized something. He knew they were real.
“What’s McMahon have on you?” I asked, cutting right to the chase.
“He pays for my daughter’s expensive experimental drug treatments. It’s the only thing keeping Charlotte alive. If I run this, he’ll cut them off, and I can’t pay fifty grand for an injection every week.” He looked right at Missy. “I need you to drop this.”
“I’ll pay for it.” I waved a hand at him. “Hell, I’ll set up a blind trust to take care of it after my doctors check her out. That way you don’t have to worry about pissing me off.”
“Who are you again?” He looked at me like he was really seeing me now, and it was sort of sad because I could understand why he was doing what he was doing. Not that it was okay, but I at least understood.
“Roger Stevens. Billionaire.” I touched my chest with my thumb. “So, what’s it gonna be, Perry? Gonna be on the right side of this or the wrong side?”
26
“Horseshit!” Perry exclaimed as he slammed down his receiver more frustrated than ever. “No one is taking this seriously.” He smacked the manila folder on the table. “I can’t get approval to get this in the paper or the news.” His eyes flicked past me toward the door leading to the large newsroom.
“I’m guessing he has them all bought off.” I sighed, my gaze flicking to Missy who was trying to pace a hole in the damned floor. “No offense, Missy, but my girl found this after like a day. Other people had to have found this too.”
“I think he may be right,” Perry let out a heavy breath and eyed the bottle of scotch on his desk like it could cure all ills. “I tried calling in a favor with Duane, the station manager, and he was all ears until I said McMahon’s name. Then I would have had better luck trying to catch a flying brick with my nuts.”
“Where is the station manager?” I asked, moving to the door. “Is he here?”
“Maybe. He has the office across the way.” Perry shrugged. “But he probably is at home, why?”
“Who is in charge of what goes on out there?” I waved a hand toward the door. “Because I want to talk to them.” I paused a second. “Well, I want Missy to talk to them.”
“That’s not going to happen without Duane’s approval, Roger. And he didn’t answer when I called back after he hung up on me.” Perry rubbed his face with his hand. “I can try and go over him, but …”
“But the same thing will happen.” I shrugged. “It’s no biggie.” I pulled out my pen. “What’s Duane’s last name?”
“Samson.”
I wrote a quick line on my pad.
Duane Samson has a change of heart and calls Perry back to give the okay.
No sooner had I finished writing when the faux rotary phone on Perry’s desk began to ring. Perry looked at it like it’d bite him before grabbing it and putting it to his ear.
“This is Perry.” He paused, mouth falling open. “Thanks, Duane.” He hung up the phone, dumbstruck. “That was Duane … he changed his mind. He’s going to send the approvals …”
“Great,” I glanced at Missy. “You better get out there. Take Franklin with you.”
“I’ve never seen Duane change his mind about anything in the last twenty years.” Perry shook his head as Missy nodded, knowing when to not look a gift horse in the mouth. She grabbed up her findings and marched out the door with Franklin, leaving me with Perry.
“Yeah, who were the others you talked to? And the ones you haven’t talked to?” I flopped down in his chair. “I’m curious.”
“Um … people I haven’t talked to?” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure what you mean. I talked to everyone I could.”
“Ah.” I tapped my pen against the pad. “Give me their names.”
A few minutes later, I’d written several messages, only one of which, the one with the guy at the Boston Press, stayed solid and true. That one disappeared, but that was fine. Though it made me curious, and I made a note to have Skye look into it.
“You got this, Perry?” I asked when Perry’s phone began ringing off the goddamned hook, and he looked up at me, clearly in all work and no play mode. “Because if you do, I’ll leave you to it.”
“Yeah,” he said tersely before barking into his phone, clearly pleased by the sudden about-face of, well, nearly everyone.
“Great,” I said and moved to leave him to it. I exited the room and began heading toward the newsroom. Only, I’d barely taken six steps when the power to the building went out.
I stood there waiting for a couple minutes for emergency lighting to come on, but as it hit the five-minute mark and still nothing happened, I began to grow concerned. I waited another ten seconds before I decided to find out what the fuck was going on. Only before I’d made it more than a few steps to the newsroom, Perry burst out of his office like a raging bull.
“The damned power is out.” He shook one meaty fist. “That Chet McMahon is a menace!”
“What do you mean?” I turned, and as I did, I allowed my nanites to swarm into a pair of glasses so I could see in the dark.
“Chet cut the power off.” He shook his head.
“How did he even know?” I asked, suddenly confused. How the hell had Chet managed that?
“I called Duane. The feed for the news goes to a delaying station where they check for errors, curse words, that sort of thing. The moment the story hit there, the broadcast died. Then the power was cut off here.” Perry sma
cked his fist into his palm. “He must have people there too.”
“It seems likely.” I sighed. “Who runs the rebroadcast whatever thing?” I took a deep breath and made a quick note about the power.
“Jim Jimerson, but I think he might be on vacation.” Duane was rubbing his chin in thought as the lights and power came back on.
“Whatever,” I waved off his comment while making another note for them to continue with the broadcast like nothing had happened. “Just call someone there and give me the phone.” I made a shooing motion back to his office.
“Right!” He glanced around and grinned. “Guess Chet doesn’t have as much pull at the power company as he thinks.” He began humming as he pushed open the door. “Bastard is going down.”
A moment later, I was cradling his receiver and speaking to someone who probably didn’t matter. “I need you to broadcast the story coming from here across every available network right now.” I paused letting my words sink in.
“Sir, like I told Mr. Black, only Jim can make that kind of call, and he’s not here. He’s in Aruba.” He sighed. “All I know is the standing order that all stories on Chet McMahon need prior approval or they can’t get run. They are to be replaced with commercials.”
“Ah. Let me get ahold of Jim.” I wrote a quick note, and as I did, there was a panicked squeak from the other end of the phone.
“Wait, Jim is calling me … how?” There was a panicked rush of air from the other end of the phone. “I need to put you on hold.”
“Not a problem,” I said as the chipper voice of a lady telling me my call was very important filled my ears for about ten seconds or so, then the guy returned.
“Jim says to do everything you say, Mr. Stevens.” He swallowed hard. “So, what is it you want done?”
“I want the news story on every channel in a loop for the next half hour.”
27
“Okay, I think I need to go,” I said, smiling at Missy and Perry as we clinked our glasses of scotch. We were standing at the back of the newsroom, following the wildfire explosion of stories we’d generated and were having something of a small party. “Are you sure I can’t buy you guys dinner or something? As a way of saying thanks?”
To Vegas with love Page 13
