The Last Reporter

by Michael Winerip

  And that made him think of his old bike being stolen.

  And that made him think of the story the Slash had done on bike thieves.

  And all at once he knew exactly what he had to do to finish his profile of Shadow, and he raised his cattail high and let out a mighty war whoop.

  On Thursday, they had a half day of school. In the afternoon, instead of regular classes, there were extra-help sessions for final exams.

  Adam told his parents he planned to go, and technically this was true.

  He did plan to go. He definitely had the evidence of planning to go; it was there in black and white, right on his To-Do list. At breakfast, he just happened to leave the list out on the kitchen table while having a bowl of that cereal with the dried strawberries that brighten up when you pour milk on them.

  And his dad just happened to notice the list while Adam was hurrying to get his stuff together for the bike ride to school:

  “Adam, you forgot this,” said his dad, who was standing by the front door to say good-bye. “You know, you’re really growing up. I’m very proud of you. We used to have to remind you of everything. Come here, big guy.”

  “I have to go, Dad,” Adam said. “I’m biking. It’s getting late.”

  “Oh, Adam,” said his dad. “Life is short. There is always time for a hug.” He grabbed Adam and gave him a real big squisher.

  “Have a great day,” his father said.

  “Right, Dad.”

  Adam loved his dad, he really did, and he probably should have just told him the truth. There was nothing terrible. It was just — the truth took so much time, there were so many factual pieces to it, and you really could wear yourself out making sure everything got in there where it was supposed to go. Plus, if you didn’t say it exactly right, if you forgot one little stupid fact, your parents could start yelling and ordering you around, and then you were in actual trouble for no good reason.

  He got home around noon.

  It was fun being alone in the house so early in the day.

  He got the phone number off the calendar in the kitchen. His dad had written it down and circled it in marker; he must have called two dozen times since the bike was stolen.

  It took Adam three tries.

  Twice, the man was on the other line. Adam left messages with his phone number. But Adam wasn’t going to wait forever. He couldn’t. He had to get this paper done. It was due tomorrow.

  The third time, Adam asked if he could just hold until the other call was finished.

  He kept watching the clock. It was more than five minutes; he worried that he had been hung up on, but the dial tone did not come on.

  “Yeah,” a voice said finally. “Detective Cole.”

  Adam explained that he was the one whose bike had been stolen.

  “Listen, kid, you got any idea how many —?”

  “By the grafitti boy,” said Adam. “My dad talked to you —”

  “Oh right, right,” said the detective. “That’s . . . let me see, I got the file . . . Canfield. I was at your house. River Path, right? Your dad and I talk a couple times a week. We’re getting to be great old buds. Very persistent, your father. Like I told him, I really got nada until we go to court. That’s about a month —”

  “No,” said Adam. “That’s not why I’m calling. I’ve got a problem and I didn’t really know — actually I thought you might know.”

  “Kid, if this ain’t an open case, I really don’t got time. I’m on the clock.”

  “It’s just — I remember you said, like, twenty-five years you’re a detective,” said Adam. “And it’s this old case, I think it was pretty famous — I need to know what happened.”

  “Hell, kid, you going to ask me about a bike stolen twenty-five years ago?”

  “No, no,” said Adam. “It’s not a bike. It’s a baby. Well, it was a baby. A baby left in the trash at a diner . . . Big Frank’s —”

  There was quiet on the line, and for an instant, Adam feared they’d been disconnected. “Third precinct,” the detective said at last. “Out Route 197. Big Frank’s All-Nite. That was a huge stink. Lot of heat. Big stories. That’s a long time ago, kid — you probably wasn’t even born.”

  “Yeah,” said Adam, “just about.”

  “So what’s the deal here?” asked the detective. “You know something?”

  “I might,” said Adam.

  “You might?” said the detective.

  “Uh-huh,” said Adam.

  “This isn’t some joke?”

  “No,” said Adam.

  “Hold on, kid,” said the detective. “Just hold on a second. . . .” The phone went quiet again, then the detective asked, “You mind if I tape this, kid? Our conversation? You don’t care, do you?”

  Adam didn’t. But this was weird. Why would anyone want to tape him?

  He asked Adam to state his first and last names slowly and spell them, just so they’d have it for the record.

  “OK, Canfield, what do you know?”

  Adam explained he had this school project to do a profile. And he had to go to the library and read the microfilm, and he’d gone back to that date —

  “Look, Canfield, can we get to the point?” said the detective. “You know something about this case?”

  “I might,” said Adam.

  “You might?” said the detective.

  “I might,” said Adam. “I’m not sure.”

  “You going to tell me?” asked the detective. “This ain’t a guessing game, Canfield. We ain’t playing twenty questions. I deal in information. Solid information. I think I mentioned I’m on the clock. You got a name for the mother?”

  “It might be Cox,” said Adam. “See, there’s this kid —”

  “That’s C-o-x?” asked the detective. “OK, good. This is unbelievable. Now we’re getting someplace. So how do you know this?”

  “Well,” said Adam. “I know the birth date of the kid. And this kid has the same birth date.”

  “Wait now, Canfield. So this Cox lady had a baby on the same date that the baby was found in the diner bathroom? At the All-Nite?”

  “Exactly,” said Adam. “That’s why I think it’s him.”

  “Geez,” said the detective. “My God. This could be it. Well, where do we find this Cox woman? We’d love to . . . you know . . . talk to her. . . .”

  “Oh, I don’t have a clue,” said Adam.

  “OK,” said the detective. “Let’s see — do you know someone who does?”

  “I thought you might,” said Adam. “That’s why I was calling. I thought maybe you found her. Not you exactly. The police. And you’d know about it. And might be able to tell me.”

  “Oh, no, Canfield,” said the detective. “Why do you think I’m asking you all these questions? We’d love to find her. So, how do you know it’s her? Who told you?”

  “No one told me,” said Adam. “I just figured it out myself.”

  “Geez, kid . . . you figured it out yourself? But no one told you? . . . You’re not hearing voices or nothing are you, Canfield? Look, I seen your house, I met your folks. They seemed pretty stable. Didn’t seem like they’d have a wack-job kid.”

  “Not me,” said Adam. “I’m not the wack job. It’s Shadow — Theodore Cox. Actually, he’s not a wack job, either. He’s just . . . kind of different, you know? I don’t know exactly what it is, but he’s in Special Ed classes, 107A, like he might be a little developmentally disabled . . .”

  “Canfield, I’m thinking of coming over there and arresting you for harassing a police officer — namely me,” said the detective. “This ain’t no joke. This case has been in our cold case file — it’s one of the biggest unsolved crimes in Tremble history. You better not be making this stuff up.”

  “No,” said Adam. “I swear. I’d never do that — did you say unsolved?”

  “I did,” said the detective. “Unsolved. We never found the woman who left that baby. You didn’t know that?”

  “Never found her?”
asked Adam.

  “No,” said the detective. “Why do you think I’m asking her name?”

  “You’re asking me?” said Adam. “I was asking you. I know the kid. Not the mother.”

  Adam heard a loud bang and without thinking screamed, “Don’t shoot!”

  The detective laughed. “That’s funny,” he said. “I was just testing to see how hard I could bang the phone on the desk and not break it — they make ’em pretty good. Look, Canfield, I’m at the point, I don’t have a freakin’ clue what we’re talking about anymore. Why don’t you back up and tell me exactly what you know about this case and why you’re calling. Go ahead. Nice and slow. I promise not to get upset.”

  “Should I go back to the school project part?” asked Adam.

  “You go back to wherever you need to go,” said the detective.

  So he did. Adam explained about Mrs. Stanky’s project profiling a kid, about the microfilm, and about seeing the page-one story on the baby found in the diner bathroom. “The story said a baby left like that could suffer brain damage and stuff,” said Adam. “And this boy I’m writing about — Theodore Cox — his nickname is Shadow, that’s what everyone calls him — like I explained, he’s in Special Ed. And he lives in foster care. He doesn’t have any parents. And I figured, if a mother did that to her baby, they’d take the baby away and put him in foster care. So I thought maybe that baby had grown up to be Shadow — born on the same day and everything. And really, that’s what I wanted to know. Is that baby in the story my friend Shadow? That’s all. I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to bother anybody. I just wanted to . . . you know . . . find the truth . . . I didn’t mean to upset you, especially when you’re on the clock and everything.”

  The line was quiet.

  “Detective Cole,” Adam said. “Is it him?”

  “No, it’s not,” said the detective.

  Adam waited, but the detective was quiet.

  “How do you know?” asked Adam.

  “I just know. Your friend is not that baby.”

  “I’m really sorry,” said Adam. “Someone else told me the same thing — I’d just like to know, for my own mind, how you know? Please.”

  “It’s just not,” said the detective.

  “Do you know the real kid?” asked Adam. “I’m not asking his name. I just kind of wonder — you know, what he’s like. Did he turn out to be normal and everything?”

  “No, he didn’t,” said the detective.

  “Well, what’s he like?” asked Adam.

  “He’s not like anything,” said the detective. “That baby died.”

  “They want to meet us by the boys’ baseball field,” said Jennifer.

  “Way over there?” said Adam. “That’s where they want to do the interview? Great.”

  “It’s not like that,” said Jennifer.

  “Oh, yes, it is,” said Adam. “They must know. They have to know. Otherwise why would they? Have you ever done an interview for the Slash out in back of the school?”

  “Sure,” said Jennifer, “when I interviewed the seventh-grade softball coach —”

  “When you weren’t covering sports?” Adam asked.

  Jennifer seemed to be racking her brain, but Adam wasn’t buying it.

  “You meet someone out back if you’re going to fight,” said Adam. “Not when you’re looking for a friendly exchange of ideas.”

  “We’re going to be fine,” said Jennifer. “Give me a little credit.”

  “Fine,” said Adam.

  “Fine,” repeated Jennifer. “Really.”

  Adam nodded, but he didn’t mean it. Jennifer didn’t get how vicious boys could be. Most girls didn’t. She’d never been punched in the nose hard by someone who really meant it. The hurting wasn’t the worst part. It was feeling like you were going to throw up and the tears coming into your eyes and you couldn’t even see straight to smack the jerk back.

  They’d been waiting by the backstop about ten minutes when they saw two boys walking across the fields.

  “Who’s the other one?” asked Adam. “Billy Cutty? The campaign manager?”

  Jennifer nodded.

  This was great. He was bigger, too.

  “So, Big Adam,” said Stub, “how’s it going? Ever get your bike back? I’ve been keeping my eyes open.”

  “Not yet,” said Adam, “but thanks.” Adam felt uneasy; he hadn’t expected Stub to be nice.

  “Heard you wanted to see us,” said Stub. “Something about a story on the election. That right, Billy?”

  “That’s it, Stub,” said Billy. “That’s what Jennifer told me.”

  “Hey, I don’t know you,” Stub said to Jennifer, and he held out his hand to shake hers. “Wow. I always thought kids on the student paper, were, you know, kind of nerdy — no offense, but boy, I was wrong. You’ll want one of these.” He motioned for Billy to give Jennifer a Prez Stub button.

  Oh, God, Adam could feel it; he was blushing again. Why wouldn’t his body just do the normal stuff and leave him alone? Why was his blood in such a hurry to rush to his face? Why couldn’t it stay under his neck where it belonged, slosh around in his chest like everyone else’s?

  He had a terrible thought — if he got a bloody nose, would the extra blood make it bloodier?

  “You OK, Big Adam?” said Stub. “You’re looking a little tomatoey over there. You two aren’t . . . Hey, I’m sorry . . . I’m certainly not . . .”

  “Stub’s just friendly with everybody,” said Billy Cutty. “It’s nothing personal. Just turning on his campaign face.”

  “That’s it,” said Stub. “Got to shine it on everyone. Everyone’s a vote. Tuesday’s the biggie.”

  They all nodded.

  There was an awkward quiet.

  “You know, I’ve got a question,” said Stub. “A little confusion is what it is. Billy tells me you’re doing a story — I thought the Sash —”

  “Slash,” said Jennifer.

  “Right, right, the Slatch — I thought it got shut down or something. By the principal? Quigs did the dirty I heard. That right? You guys got in some trouble or some deal?”

  “Something like that,” said Jennifer. “But we figured how to keep it going. It’s definitely coming out. Last week of school.”

  “Cool,” said Stub. “When I win, I’ll give you guys a nice interview. Fill you in on my plans for next year. Ice-cream parlor in the cafeteria. McDonald’s for lunch. New skateboard park. Make a nice front-page story. ‘PREZ STUB SAYS BIG CHANGES COMING!’”

  “That’s great,” said Jennifer. “It’s good to have all that in the paper, for the record, so when we really do get the stuff, people will know whose idea it was.”

  “Prez Stub,” said Stub.

  Right, thought Adam.

  Adam was especially looking forward to the roller coaster in the boys’ bathroom.

  “That cover it?” asked Stub. “We got stuff to do. Election’s coming fast. Can’t let up. Never can get enough votes, hey, Billy?”

  Billy Cutty nodded.

  “We’re trying for a shutout,” said Stub. “Heh, heh. Anyway, nice talking. Don’t forget, Prez Stub!”

  “Ah, Stub,” said Jennifer. “We have a few questions —”

  “Sorry, Jan,” Stub said. “GTG. We’ll do it after the election. Date?” And he turned to leave.

  “Stub,” called Jennifer, but he kept walking.

  “Ah, Stub,” said Billy Cutty, “I told Jennifer we’d do this. I think she has something else.”

  Stub looked at Billy. “You think she has something else?” said Stub. “Did I hear that? You think she has something else? You’re telling me? If I remember, I’m the one running for president. Do I have that right?”

  “Stub, take it easy,” said Billy. “Jennifer’s cool. She’s in my math class. I just told her —”

  “Ahhhh,” said Stub. “Well, maybe you should have told me before you told her.”

  “What are you talking about?” said Billy. “You’re act
ing crazy.”

  “Oh, I’m acting crazy?” said Stub. “This isn’t even a school paper anymore. They got shut down. Lying or stealing or something, for all I know. None of this counts. I don’t got to talk to them.”

  He turned to walk off, and Billy grabbed his arm.

  “Drop dead, asshole,” said Stub, and he pushed Billy hard to the ground.

  Adam stood frozen in place while Jennifer bent over to help Billy. “Are you all right?” she asked him. “Are you bleeding? You are. Your hand.”

  “I’m sorry,” Billy said.

  This was weird, thought Adam — there was definitely something big going on here, but he did not have time to sort it out. He had worked too hard on this story. He had planned everything down to the last second. He had figured how to get those kids to talk to him and tell him the truth about the downloads. Who else would have pulled that off? And the funny thing was — he didn’t even care about the stupid election. It wouldn’t make one bit of difference who was president — the grown-ups ran the school.

  The only way they were getting McDonald’s for lunch was if they skipped school and went to the drive-through.

  On the other hand, the principle of it pissed him off. Buying the stupid election? What a jerk.

  Adam ran after him. He was sure Stub knew what they were up to, but they hadn’t asked him a single question. They had to at least tell him what they were up to. They had to tell him what their investigation was about. They had to give him a chance to answer — those were the rules.

  Adam knew what was going to happen. He knew exactly what Stub’s answer would be. It didn’t matter.

  “Stub,” he said, catching up, “wait.”

  Stub kept walking fast.

  Adam fell into step beside him.

  Adam was sure of it: everything was about to explode. But in that last calm moment, he had the strangest thought. He knew Stub was about to beat the crap out of him, but for some ridiculous reason, he felt sorry for Stub. Walking straight ahead, pretending nothing was going on, when Stub knew full well that he was about to be called out for what he did. He couldn’t control it, and he was hoping he could make it all disappear by just walking fast and looking straight ahead.