by Diane Capri
Richard Grady, the News Director, told her two days ago that Drew was a better job candidate because he supported the newsroom team and Jordan was always going off on her own, not completing her assignments, not getting her work done on time. She needed to prove that she was on Channel 12’s side or his vote would have to go for Drew.
Fair enough. Could she do that? Prove she was on Channel 12’s side? She had to admit she’d given him no reason to believe so, even after he’d warned her. Until last night.
Last night, she’d scooped the competition. She’d found Maria Ortiz. She’d called 911. She’d stood in that parking lot at The Grove during the FBI raid before any media or flashing lights arrived. She reported while Theresa shot video until every last minute was recorded. Channel 12 had the story first, more of it, and better than the competition.
If that didn’t prove she was on Channel 12’s side, she didn’t know what would.
She walked into the newsroom seeing the fresh workday as a fresh opportunity to win. After all, she was still alive, and the big bruise around her waist that hurt every time she moved proved staying alive was something she couldn’t take for granted anymore.
And so far, even after all the times she’d dropped the ball, she was still employed. The equipment, the talent, even the location here at Channel 12 was a long-held dream come true. She was lucky to be working here.
So why couldn’t she do more of what she’d done last night with Theresa instead of getting off course?
Theresa! She should have checked in with Theresa hours ago. She should have followed up with Patricia already, too. She’d never called in last night, either. The bosses might not even know they had the footage for the story.
Jordan Fox, where is your head?
She ran her hands through her hair and clucked at her own lack of focus. Get it together, Jordan. Do you want this job or not?
Her buzzing cell phone snapped her back to reality as she dropped her bag at a desk near Theresa’s. It was Richard Grady. He didn’t work weekends, so he must have been calling from home, which was never a good thing.
“You went to the port this morning?” He jumped before she’d said hello. He sounded annoyed, at the very least. “Are you planning to package that story for the five o’clock?”
Jordan looked at the floor and bit her lip. Truth was, she hadn’t given it a moment’s thought. How did he even find out?
“We had no idea you were working on the human trafficking investigation since we pulled you off the Maria Ortiz connection.” He didn’t sound the least bit happy or pleased with her going off the reservation again. This wasn’t good. “Yet, you went with police on the ship they busted this morning? Without a camera?”
He meant she should have called for a station camera, meaning she should have asked for support so they had a chance at a story, at the very least.
Except she didn’t actually go on the bust. And honestly, reporting the story was the last thing on her mind when Detective Grey called her to the port at 5:03 a.m. She was half asleep, and she was more concerned with Maria and trying to help.
But Richard was right. She’d screwed up. Again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have much time to think about it. I should have let you know and asked to take a camera. The good news is that I learned about a new piece of evidence.”
Was she allowed to tell him about the bottles on the ship or the fish hook symbol? Or even about Maria’s freak out? She wasn’t sure.
“I really would like to consider you for the reporter position.” She could hear the frustration in his tone before he lowered his voice. “You show a ton of initiative. Which I love. But I’ve gotta see that coming through on air. Otherwise, you’re not getting anything useful accomplished. We can’t afford to keep an intern who doesn’t get the job done.”
She believed him. He would love it if she translated her initiative into packages and reports on the breaking news stories-of-the-day. Frankly, so would she.
But her best efforts always seemed to be trumped by risky behavior or sidetracks, often relating to her mother’s murder, which no one at work knew she was investigating and wouldn’t authorize if they knew. Just the opposite, probably. If Richard knew she’d been chasing her mom’s killers, she’d have been fired already.
“Yeah. No, I get it. I do. I really am sorry.” She meant it, too. “I didn’t think you’d be interested in the ship video this morning because that wasn’t my assignment. And I was trying to stick to my assignments so that I can get stuff on air. You know?”
She realized how hard she’d made it for him to choose her over Drew. In a way, she’d been trying to leapfrog the job of general assignment reporter and go straight to investigative reporter. But she was too young and too inexperienced and too low on the ladder to pick and choose her assignments. She needed to embrace whatever assignments would most help the team. She had a lot to learn. She knew that.
Knew it, but couldn’t do it.
Richard had given her second, third, and fourth chances. He had a good heart, and a generous one. He was doing his best to be her manager and run interference with Patricia—a job she admittedly made difficult for him every day.
She heard background noises. He was distracted. Already moving on.
“Wait. Richard.” He needed ammunition if he was going to defend her behavior. “To clarify, I didn’t actually go down there this morning on my own. A detective I met at the scene last night called me because he knew I was the one who called in the 911 tip on Maria’s location—”
“That was you? You were there? Last night? At The Grove?” He seemed unable to wrap his mind around that one.
She cringed. She thought he knew. But how would he have known? She didn’t tell him and Theresa hadn’t had a chance, either. He was home long before the raid took place. He was a news manager, not a clairvoyant.
CHAPTER 12
Richard sighed heavily. “Drew didn’t mention that. I knew we sent him to the scene but I didn’t realize you were there, too.”
“Yes, I was there with Theresa.” She didn’t say more because she was way too excited that Drew’s lack of honesty might have just cost him a point in The Great Intern Competition.
“Way to go. That’s the kind of assertive attitude I’m looking for. Give me something I can use on air today, okay? And Jordan?” He paused. “Keep it up and you might pull this one out yet.”
Yes! Finally, she’d done something right. She resisted the urge to fist-pump the air.
The moment she hung up with Richard, Theresa was leaning in toward her desk. “So, you heard the news, right?”
About what? Did Theresa know about the ship, too? Jordan creased her forehead. “What news?”
“Heather is moving to Dallas.” Theresa all but disappeared behind a smile wider than her face.
Heather was a weekday general assignment reporter. Jordan felt a lightness in her chest she identified as hope she hadn’t felt in a while.
Theresa raised her eyebrows, waiting for Jordan to guess who would replace Heather.
“You?” Jordan wasn’t as thrilled by the possibility as she should have been. Theresa was her only real friend here. She wanted Theresa to stay nightside. “Will they move you from weekend nights to weekdays?”
Theresa shrugged, still happy. “I’m cool with whatever. Regardless, it means they’ll need to hire a reporter. This is your chance.” She paused and nodded her chin to point over Jordan’s shoulder. “Or Drew’s.”
Drew sauntered by, both hands resting in his pockets. He and Jordan locked gazes, sizing each other up.
He grinned and broke the ice. “Should we arm wrestle for it?”
Jordan smiled back, but she had a feeling he was half serious. The resolve she’d walked into the newsroom with bumped way up.
She did care about Channel 12. The channel she grew up with and the one her mother loved. She deserved a spot on the team and she was here to prove it.
“Jordan! Drew! Theresa!” Patricia eyed t
hem from across the newsroom. “You guys gonna join us, or what?”
They hustled over and grabbed empty seats around the conference table before Jordan had a chance to ask Theresa what happened to last night’s video. At this point, Patricia probably didn’t even know they’d been at the raid, unless Richard had called her in the past two minutes.
Patricia commanded attention like the casual meeting had gained new importance. “I want to thank Drew for staying late at the condo scene where Maria Ortiz and the other victims were rescued. He went out there after midnight and stayed into the wee hours of the morning to cover the FBI raid and the arrests. Way to be a team player, Drew.”
Patricia’s affection for Drew was officially over the top. Jordan looked at Drew out of the corner of her eye, an eye roll in disguise. Drew was beaming, of course. Even Antonio looked proud. He was pretty sure he’d given birth to a Winner. Jordan clamped her lips tight to hold back spewing negativity.
Theresa piped right up, enthusiastic as always. “It was great to have the backup, Drew. Thanks for coming out to help Jordan and me. Way to go!” She flashed him two thumbs up.
Patricia glared at Theresa. Jordan covered her laugh with a quick cough. And Drew had the sense to say a weak, “It was my pleasure.”
This day was looking better already.
Patricia pushed on. The big story of the day was a police officer involved in a hit-and-run car crash a couple hours before. He was okay, but the car had flipped and suspicious circumstances surrounded the crash. A dayside crew was already at the scene. Drew and Antonio were assigned to cover the investigation as it developed late in the afternoon and as the search for the driver possibly seeped into early evening.
Theresa said she’d get last night’s FBI raid package ready for the eleven o’clock and she’d need Jordan because of the volume and importance of the story.
Patricia gave in, but grudgingly. “That shouldn’t take all day. What else have you got, Jordan?”
She could’ve pitched the morning boat bust story. She was at the scene before sunrise, while police lights were still flashing. But she wouldn’t admit she had no video. And she’d promised Detective Grey she’d keep everything she’d learned off the record.
“I’m ready for whatever you’ve got for me.” She tried not to cringe when she offered.
Patricia thumbed through her notes. “I’m going to send you to this juvenile detention center in Pearl County.”
Pearl County was at least an hour’s drive. Crews were only sent there from Tampa if the story was really huge, or simply for busy work. Jordan knew which one this story was. Patricia wouldn’t send Jordan to a huge story if Jordan threatened to set her hair on fire.
“There’s a new incentive program out there and the powers that be are excited about it.” Patricia mumbled through the notes. “A ropes course on campus, whatever that is. It goes from building to building or something. Do you want a photographer with you?”
“Thanks for asking, but that won’t be necessary.” Jordan felt like an afterthought, a castaway. Sent to a location with maximum security. A story she couldn’t screw up or get herself in trouble with because the story was unnecessary. If she failed to deliver, nothing lost on Channel 12’s end.
On the other hand, she’d let Patricia down before. Why would she rely on Jordan?
Suck it up, Jordan. Show what you can do. Make this a front-page-worthy feature story. Give Richard a reason to support you.
When the meeting broke up, Theresa walked with her. “I’ll get our video sorted out while you’re gone to Pearl County and start on the writing. We’ll finish up the package when you get back and submit for the eleven o’clock. How’s that?”
“Thank you.” Jordan squeezed Theresa’s arm. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“No problem.” Theresa clacked off to the edit bay, high heels pounding her usual staccato rhythm.
Jordan gathered her stuff and dashed out to collect a Jeep, making her plan as she moved. She’d complete the field work on the rope course story and get back by six o’clock. After that, she and Theresa would put together not one, but two dynamite packages for the eleven o’clock.
Patricia would be too embarrassed not to approve both stories after she’d slobbered all over Drew in the meeting and been caught out. Maybe.
“Or maybe she’ll torpedo you even worse. Just do what she asked you to do. And do it well. And on time. You can get out of your own way, can’t you?” She asked herself aloud.
Jordan wrinkled her nose. “Hey, if I’m going down anyway, might as well make a big splash when I hit the water.”
CHAPTER 13
The trip to the detention center was interstate all the way. Very light Saturday afternoon traffic. An easy but boring drive for a woman operating on caffeine and nerves and less than three hours sleep.
She should have accepted Patricia’s offer to send along a photographer. At least she’d have had someone to interrupt the boredom.
“Okay, just talk to yourself, then. You do that all the time anyway and at least no one is sitting here to call you crazy. Maybe you can find a fresh angle on the ropes course story.”
She wrinkled her nose and drove a few more minutes in peaceful silence.
A blaring horn passing in the left lane startled her. She jumped and snapped to attention. The driver shook his fist has he went by and blasted the horn a few more times for emphasis.
“What is your problem, buddy?”
Another car passed on the left. More horns. More angry fist-shaking.
She glanced into the rear view mirror and saw a line of traffic behind her.
“What the hell?”
She glanced down at the speedometer. The Jeep was traveling forty miles an hour. She’d zoned out. Lost track of her driving.
“Oh my god!” She punched the accelerator. Two more vehicles passed while the Jeep leapt up to the seventy-mile-per-hour speed limit again.
The distance between her Jeep and the vehicles behind her increased. She set the cruise control at seventy and put both hands on the wheel.
Sternly, she said, “Start talking. Maybe you are crazy, but you can’t talk and fall asleep at the wheel at the same time.”
She inhaled deeply and felt the soreness around her waist again. But shallow breathing would cause her to nod off again.
“Okay. So this place is nothing more than a holding tank for teenaged miscreants. Young killers-in-waiting. Just like Aaron Robinson and Mark Gifford. They start young and they escalate. Why would anybody care about incentives for these criminals?”
“Your mom didn’t think like that. She wouldn’t give up on a fourteen-year-old boy. She believed youngsters could be saved and it was worth trying. She testified in support of Aaron Robinson at his manslaughter trial, remember?”
“Yeah, and look where that got her.” An unpleasant wave of nausea rocked her stomach.
Okay. Not helping. She sipped from the water bottle she’d grabbed on the way out and repositioned her hand on the wheel. The mile marker coming up showed she was still twenty mesmerizing highway miles away. Nothing but pasture land dotted here and there with cows as far as she could see.
Try a different tack.
“You’re a journalist. Be objective. This is your chance to shine. Make something out of this assignment. Your competition is fierce. Drew’s story will be branded something dramatic, something eye- and ear-catching like Developing Story.”
Better. She was stronger with pep talks than arguments.
“You’ve got to compensate with stunning visuals and sound bites. Otherwise, your story will be tucked between two lame commercials. Worse, it’ll air when the producers know viewers won’t pay any attention at all.”
She saw her exit up ahead. An easy right. Five more miles and she reached the driveway. Finally.
The detention center was a maze of concrete blocks and slabs of cement in the middle of nowhere. Acres of flat, dry grass were dying as winter’s spell crept
closer. If the juveniles needed an incentive program, maybe a painting project and some landscaping would be a good place to start. This place was drabber than some adult prisons she’d seen during college internship assignments.
She parked, collected her gear, and walked into the building marked Entrance. The man at the front desk gave her a visitor’s pass. A media representative helped her identify places to shoot the best video of the ropes course while rattling off the program’s supposed highlights.
Jordan found the ropes course complicated and hard to fathom. Swell. Not only was the story a waste of time, it wouldn’t be even remotely interesting to Channel 12 viewers.
She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead, as if her third eye would open some channel in her brain and reveal a magic way to save her assignment.
No such luck.
Jordan’s spirits lifted slightly when she actually saw the ropes course in action. A challenging series of rope ladders, tunnels, and various obstacles were strung thirty feet in the air from pole to pole. Juveniles could only conquer the course through teamwork and trust, both of which were in short supply for most delinquents housed here awaiting court dates or residential facilities after trial.
Could a ropes course like this get delinquents back on a socially acceptable track after detention? If so, this ropes course was a winner. Maybe that could be her winning approach, too.
Jordan set up and captured well-lit shots of the ropes course from creative angles. She grabbed ear-catching sound bites from school officials who were on hand and willing to field questions. She collected almost all the makings of a great package.
If the story had been infused with meaning, like if they had let her highlight one juvenile’s successful journey through the program to achieve a normal productive life, she could’ve made the story even better.
