“And you can’t come into my house and shout and scream. If you don’t listen to what I’m saying then I promise you, Akbar and I will never let you come into this house again.” Hyder made sure to include his brother’s name. His brother was a doctor, and this had made their entire family respect him for what he had accomplished. Hyder himself had accomplished much with all the major stories he had written for the Daily Times. This gave both of them more clout in the family. “I don’t care if Ammi likes this or not,” he continued. “We are not children anymore, we are men. So I am asking you as a man: Uncle, please, let’s go outside, I need to speak to you.”
Mr. Akram looked over at his sister, hoping she would reprimand her son for his behavior, but when she didn’t, he slowly nodded and went outside.
Hyde gave his mom and his aunt a thumbs-up, as if to say, “Don’t worry, I’ll sort this out.”
Out on the porch, Hyder said, “Uncle, Naveed is under a lot of stress. Do you know he’s doing all this for you?”
“For me?” Mr. Akram was incredulous. “He is doing this so that he can have a better life. Back in Pakistan I had a very good and respectable job. I had a big house, maids, a driver, everything. I left it all to come to America so that my children could have a better education. For the last twenty years, I’ve done menial jobs. I’ve worked as a security guard, a gas station attendant, a pizza delivery man; I have even cleaned toilets for businesses.” There were tears in his eyes. “I have done all that for my children.”
“I know, Uncle.” Hyder replied. “I know the sacrifice you have made, but Naveed is falling apart behind your back. He is lost and confused. Right now he needs your love and support.”
“I have tried to talk to him, but every time I do, we fight,” Mr. Akram explained. “You don’t know anything about a father and son relationship.”
“You're right, I don’t,” Hyder conceded.
Mr. Akram realized what he had just said, “Hyder, I’m sorry... I didn’t mean…”
“It’s okay. My father was gone before I got to know him, but I’m sure if he were still alive, I would be doing the exact same thing that Naveed is doing. I would be fighting with him, too. But you know what? I don’t have the opportunity to ever know that now, do I?”
Mr. Akram said nothing.
“Uncle, you have a son, and he has a father. I wish I had that.”
Mr. Akram looked at Hyder and then nodded. He wiped tears from his eyes.
“I’m sorry for talking to you like that, Uncle.” Hyder apologized.
Mr. Akram managed a smile. “As you get older, you sound more and more like your father. I thought I was listening to Karim speak. I miss your father too. It was a loss for our whole family.”
“I know,” Hyder said. “Now, let’s go inside.”
As they went in, Mr. Akram said, “If Naveed wants to stay here for a couple of days, I don’t mind, but can I still get chai?”
“I’ll put the water on to boil,” Mrs. Ali said.
Mr. Akram turned to his wife. “Naveed will be fine,” he assured her.
“Will you be fine?” she asked.
“I think I will be.” He looked over at Hyder, who gave him a smile.
FORTY-FIVE
Night had fallen and the streets were empty when Nolan decided to go for a walk. Normally, he would have spent the evening at Damian’s bar, getting drunk out of his mind, but today that was not an option.
He was thirsty and parched. He knew if he went to the bar, he would surely give in to temptation.
There were only so many times Damian would refuse to serve him. Eventually he would give in to his best customer’s wishes. Nolan didn’t want that to happen, and he knew neither did Damian or Boris.
So it was better to go for a walk to clear his head instead.
The alcohol withdrawal was worse than he had imagined. He was getting severe headaches and had even begun to experience memory loss. Just the day before he decided to go pick up something for dinner, but when he got there he realized he was standing in front of Damian’s bar.
He feared this could affect his ability to perform as a detective. It was bad enough his drinking had nearly cost him his badge. And if he lost his job because of him not drinking, it would not only be tragic but ironic as well.
He was agitated. He could snap at any minute. He took a deep breath and tried to control his emotions.
It was all in his head, he told himself. He was stronger than this. He wouldn’t let the bottle destroy everything he was working towards.
He had it good now. He’d been able to solve some important profile cases, and he was in a meaningful relationship.
Things were looking up. After his wife’s death, he was surrounded by darkness and despair, and he was content and willing to let it swallow him whole.
Not anymore, though. There was a light at the end of the tunnel and it came in the form of his work and his new relationship.
He swallowed. His mouth was dry. He needed a drink. But not just any drink, the ones that would give him the buzz he needed.
He stopped by the side of the road. He felt sick. He wanted to throw up.
A few passersby looked in his direction, but he refused to make eye contact.
They wouldn’t understand, he thought. They would think he was just some drunk who was too weak to give up his vices.
He had to get home, he knew. Once there, he would formulate a plan. If he needed to enter himself into rehab, he would.
He was wrong to think he could do this alone. He needed help. He needed support. He needed guidance.
The darkness was beginning to envelop him again. If he didn’t stop it now, it would take him back to a place where all he wanted was to die.
He hurried down the street.
He reached the front door. When he pulled the screen portion open, he found something wedged in between it and the main door.
He leaned down and picked it up. It was a package.
He checked to see who had sent it.
It was from Devon Pharma.
Why did I get this? He thought.
He opened the package. Inside was a small strip, sealed in clear plastic.
It then dawned on him that it was the drug he had asked Dr. St. Claire for. Maybe she had changed her mind and had decided to send it to him.
Whatever the reason, he was now holding it in his hands.
He put it aside.
He would examine it in the morning, when his head wasn’t hurting.
He decided to go to bed.
For the next hour, he tossed and turned but he didn’t fall asleep. The pain had gotten worse. It felt like a million tiny ants were crawling under his skin. He scratched at them, but they wouldn’t go away.
He got up and went to the bathroom. He poured cold water over his face. In the mirror, his eyes were tired and red.
He needed a drink, and quickly.
One sip, he told himself. How bad could it be?
He searched the house and realized he had emptied it of all alcohol the moment he’d decided to stop drinking.
He cursed himself. Then a light went off in his head.
He still had a bottle stashed somewhere in case of emergency.
He went into the kitchen. From underneath the sink, he began pulling out all items. His eyes lit up when he spotted it. It was in the back.
He leaned in and pulled it out.
The bottle of scotch felt good in his hand. He unscrewed the cap and smelled it. It felt like he was with an old friend again.
He filled the glass and put it to his lips.
But something stopped him. His hands began to tremble. He was having a nervous breakdown.
His mind and his body were locked in an epic battle. The body wanted him to drink, but the mind was telling him otherwise.
He felt a full-blown panic attack coming on.
His eye caught the patch on the dining table. It lay there as if it were waiting for him.
He rushed over and removed it f
rom the plastic seal. He then pulled up his sleeve and placed it over his skin.
He waited, hoping for a rush of joy to flood him.
But nothing came.
He curled up on the sofa and closed his eyes. He didn’t know when, but eventually he fell asleep.
FORTY-SIX
Nolan woke up. Immediately he felt better.
Normally, his head would be pounding, he would be disoriented and, in general, be in a bad mood.
But not right now. He felt rested and energized, something he hadn’t felt in years.
What’s going on? He wondered. He remembered the horrible night he’d had, but then what changed?
His hand instantly moved up his arm. He felt the patch on his skin.
Had the drug worked?
He couldn’t confirm it, but he couldn’t deny it either.
He looked around. Everything looked sharper. The sun hit his skin more intensely. The birds chirped more crisply. The air smelled fresher.
He stood up and stretched his arms. He felt refreshed.
There was a knock at the door. He opened it in an instant.
Lopez stood there, holding breakfast.
Before she could say something, he grabbed her and kissed her.
“Um… what’s going on?” she asked, confused.
“It’s just that I’m so happy to see you,” he said.
“Wow, I can see that.” She smiled, but then made a face. “Have you started drinking again?”
“No, I swear.”
She went inside, saw the bottle of scotch on the kitchen counter with a glass next to it. She sighed. “Tom, you don’t have to lie to me.”
“No, look,” he went over and picked up the bottle. “I thought about it, but I never drank from it.”
She saw that the glass was full and the amount in the bottle indicated it had only been poured once.
“Okay, I believe you, but why the jolly mood?”
“Um… I actually went for a walk yesterday,” he said. “And… um… when I returned I felt much better.” He neglected to tell her that, upon his return, he had no choice but to administer the drug on himself.
“Well then, I guess you should go for more walks,” she said with a smile.
“I should.”
She placed breakfast on the kitchen table and then pulled out the morning’s newspaper and handed it to him. “Hyder’s article made the front page,” she said. “You should read it.”
Nolan looked at it and his heart sank. Hyder had written about the side effects of prescription medication. Nolan swallowed, pulled his shirt sleeve lower. He didn’t want Lopez catching him wearing the patch.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she said. “Maybe today would be a good day to meet my sister.”
“Um… I still don’t think it’s a good idea,” he protested.
“Nonsense,” she said. “In fact, I’ve already booked a restaurant.”
“You have?” His mouth went dry.
She went over and kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t worry, I know she’ll love you like I do. Now go wash up and I’ll set up the table.”
Nolan went into the bathroom and shut the door. He pulled up his sleeve and was ready to pull off the patch, but then he hesitated. Lopez was right, he was feeling better. Plus, the headaches were gone and his mind was much clearer.
Maybe he could leave the patch on for a little while longer. What’s the harm? He thought.
He washed up and went out to have breakfast.
FORTY-SEVEN
When Hyder reached his cubicle at the Daily Times, he found Veronica waiting for him.
“Good morning, Hyder,” she said with a smile.
Hyder knew why she was happy. He had seen the morning’s paper and his article on the front page.
“We’ve been swamped with people calling about the side effects they’ve suffered from their prescription medication,” Veronica continued. “Our lines are so busy that I’ve brought in more people to handle the calls.”
“Wow,” was all Hyder could say.
“Your article has got people talking, so much so that Julie wants to meet you.”
“Really?” Hyder was surprised. Ever since Julie Trevalley became the publisher of the Daily Times, he had not met her once. This was unusual, as Hyder was one of the paper’s biggest stars.
But it wasn’t just Hyder she hadn’t met. It was most of the employees of the Daily Times as well.
There were many rumors about her. One in particular had taken a life of its own. This one involved her being hideously deformed and that she preferred to hide in her office above the Daily Times. Hyder knew this was a silly reference to a children’s book where an ogre was locked up in the dungeons of the castle and not allowed to leave for eternity.
He hoped Julie Trevalley was at least allowed to go home. He then shook his head at the absurd thought.
As he was making his way to the elevators, Lester grabbed him. “You are really going up there, bro?”
“You heard?”
“I think everyone on the floor heard you. So are you really?”
Hyder nodded.
“Do one thing for me,” he said.
“What?”
“Make sure to kiss her.”
“Shut up, Lester,” Hyder made a disgusted face.
“You might be the prince she’s been waiting for.”
Hyder quickly walked away, but once he was inside the elevator, he couldn’t help but laugh.
When he reached the top floor, he found his heart was beating faster than usual. The last time Hyder was here was to meet the Daily Times previous publisher, John Kroft Jr. Unfortunately, that visit wasn’t as pleasant as he had hoped for.
He was escorted into Julie’s office. The first thing Hyder noticed was that it hadn’t changed from his previous visit.
It was still massive and magnificent, and it still reminded him of offices from the 1940s. The furniture still looked like it was from a bygone era.
His eyes moved to the wall with the framed front pages of various editions of the Daily Times. There was one for the end of the Cold War. One for the fall of the Berlin Wall. One for Tiananmen Square. All the major events the Daily Times had covered over the years were there.
His mouth fell. At the end was a frame with the cover of the TriGate Scandal. It was his story.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” a voice said.
Instead of finding a deformed creature standing before him, he found a slim woman with round glasses and a bright smile.
“Hi, I’m Julie,” she said as she came over.
“Hyder.” He shook it.
“I know who you are,” she said. She looked at the last photo. “I put it up there. I thought it deserved a spot of its own.”
“I don’t know what to say… except thank you,” he said.
“You don’t have to thank me, I should be thanking you,” she said. “Without your stories who knows where we would be today. Come have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Uh, no, I’m fasting,” Hyder said, still not looking away from the photo.
“Oh, right,” she said. “Veronica mentioned it to me. How are you finding it during the summer?”
“The days are long and it doesn’t help that it’s been a very hot summer.”
“I’m sure it’ll be worth it in the end.”
“I hope so too.”
“I know you’re wondering like everyone else why I haven’t come down and spoken to the employees. There’s a simple answer for that: You don’t need me micromanaging you. My background is not in journalism or even print; my background is in marketing. It would’ve made sense to bring in someone with a certain pedigree in this position, but I guess management thought it was better to bring in someone who could make this business profitable.” She paused. “You already know the change this industry is going through. People don’t read the news just in print anymore. They read it on their computers, their tablets, and now even
their phones. My job is to make sure we can get our content—by that I mean, the Daily Times’ content—on as many platforms as possible. There’s no point in having a ground breaking story when no one reads it. So I thought it was best to leave the people who know what they are doing alone, and focus on what I do know and that’s monetizing ad space. Plus, I wanted to give my star employee his space to do his magic.” She smiled.
She was referring to him. Hyder smiled back.
She said, “I only called you up here to say, keep up the good work. We’re all counting on you.”
“Thank you,” Hyder finally said.
“Do you have anything you want to ask me?”
Hyder had still not recovered from seeing his front page on the wall, so he couldn’t think of anything worth asking. “Um… no, I’m good.”
“Thanks for coming, Hyder.”
When Hyder was back on the third floor, Lester grabbed him. “So, did you kiss her?”
“I don’t kiss and tell,” Hyder replied.
Lester looked at him, horrified. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”
Hyder laughed and told him exactly what transpired between him and Julie.
“Well, then,” Lester said. “This is a cause for celebration. Why don’t’ the three of us go for dinner tonight, my treat?”
“Three of us?” Hyder was confused.
“You, me and Bianca.”
“Who’s Bianca?”
“My girlfriend, remember?” He smiled. “She’s itching to meet you.”
Hyder looked at him, intrigued and bemused. “Who not,” he agreed.
FORTY-EIGHT
Nolan and Lopez were in the coroner’s office, waiting for Herb Lafferty to finish working on a cadaver.
Whenever Nolan came here, he found the coroner’s office dingy and suffocating. In medieval times this place would have been referred to as a “dungeon,” he thought. How Lafferty managed to come to work, day after day, and not be drinking regularly was beyond him. Nolan would have not only hit the bottle, he would have downed pills with it too.
Lopez, on the other hand, looked at ease. It was as if she was able to tune out her surroundings and just focus on the task at hand. It was her resolve and determination that he admired the most. She wouldn’t let anything, even her emotions, get in the way.
The Runaway Reporter (A Police Procedural Mystery Series of Crime and Suspense, Hyder Ali #3) Page 10
