“So, you found out he was lying.” It wasn’t a question, and I made sure it sounded like a statement of fact. I knew it was a fact, but Wes had cut me off so quickly there had been no time to prove it; someone else had obviously done the job for me. My guess is it was one of the fact-checkers who so often bump heads with investigative reporters. One of the best fact-checkers on the staff was Jennifer Ridge. I would have bet my last dollar Jennifer was the one who found out the truth about the lying CEO.
“Near as I can tell, the man has no idea what the truth looks like.” Wes shook his head sadly. He hated retractions.
“Jennifer?”
Wes nodded. “It took her longer than Carter wanted, so he pressured her to sign off on his story. You know how Carter can be.”
I nodded. Jennifer was so good at her job our editors actually invented editorial marks to include her. If an editor was unsure of the fact, she would write AJ in the margin which stood for Ask Jennifer.
“Well, now that we’ve covered that, let’s get down to business. I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, Branson, but I am a man who owns his own mistakes. It’s not easy, mind you, but you don’t get to be in a position of power without taking responsibility for both the good decisions and the bad. Under the circumstances, I was wrong to fire you. I assumed Carter’s story had checked out and you had not only been unprofessional, but had made him look bad. Wrong on both counts. I would like to right those wrongs.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“I would like to offer you your job back.”
The beauties of my gift are the subtleties of emotions peeking around the obvious ones so I get a clearer picture of what’s going on with the person. Wes was offering me my job back, hoping I would accept it without playing hardball.
Unfortunately for him, hardball is my specialty. What little I remember of my childhood, I did not grow up in a warm and loving environment. I did not grow up in a soft cushy life. I grew up moving from one home to another in the ghettos of Oakland, California. You don’t last there as a white kid if you can’t hit a fastball, and I was one hell of a hardball player. I knew I had been unjustly fired, but the problem with my power is it’s impossible to explain without uncovering exactly what I am. Few people in my life know what I am. I wasn’t about to unveil that part of me to anyone other than my closest friends. So no, I wasn’t going to make this easy on him. “I appreciate your offer, Wes, but the police beat isn’t really for me. I came here with the idea of being a journalist. I have the drive, the talent and the instincts for it. I think I would rather wait until a real offer comes along.” I rose and extended my hand. “But thank you. I do appreciate knowing I was right about Glasco.”
Wes quickly rose and scooted around the enormous desk. “Well then, consider yourself offered a real position here. I like your style, Branson. You don’t miss a beat, you’re quite astute, and you don’t mince your words. You’re right about those instincts, too. All of those are essential ingredients in being a top-notch reporter working for me.”
The swing and a miss sound you heard was my bat whiffing at the curveball Wes just threw past me. I was so stunned I barely knew what to say. “Reporter?”
Wes nodded. “Liz Pensky is going to the Post, so I need a new IR. The job is yours if you want a shot at it.”
Now that was a job offer…and one I wasn’t expecting. I could tell by the look in his eyes he enjoyed the surprise. I blinked several times and thought carefully about my response. I could be a good investigative reporter; a really good one. I wanted to use my expensive Mills College education for something other than running around collecting short pieces for the Police Beat. This was my chance.
“What about Carter? Won’t he have something to say about this?”
Wes got all puffed up. “I run this paper and I make the decisions around here. I gave him what he wanted when I thought he was right. He wasn’t. I checked on his source and the guy was looking for a better business advantage. He was willing to use my paper to get it, the little prick. Ellsworth should have dug deeper.”
“Can we recover from it?”
“Oh hell yes. The little worm isn’t going to put us in any trouble. Glasco has waved a slander suit in my face, but all they really want now is positive PR, which I willingly give them. Don’t worry. I’ve handled worse threats. So, do you want the job or not?”
“I accept.” I reached out and shook his hand. “When do I start?”
“How does tomorrow morning sound?”
“I’ll be here.”
“Excellent. Then stop by HR before I saddle you with a pro. You’ll be working with someone until you get the hang of it.”
Nodding, I opened the door to his office. “I appreciate the opportunity, Wes. I swear you won’t regret it.”
Wes stepped so close to me I could smell the coffee he had had for breakfast. “How did you know?”
“That Glasco was lying?”
“Yes. Carter said you sounded so cocksure of yourself. How could you have been so sure?”
Grinning, I stood on tiptoe and whispered, “Like you said, I have great instincts. Would you believe me if I told you I read his emotions?”
Wes pulled away and eyed me once again. “Read? Like telepathically?”
I nodded. “Yep. I looked at him and knew he was lying. It’s a gift I have.”
Wes tossed his head back and laughed, as I knew he would. “You know, Branson, I like your style. You can read my mind any day.”
I already had.
When I finished up with Mrs. Malone at Luigi’s Bakery, I grabbed the day olds and took a hard left to the stairway leading up to my apartment.
Luigi’s Bakery had been in the same place for sixty years. His father, Luigi Sr., opened it shortly after landing in San Francisco, when Luigi was about eight. I managed to get the apartment when Luigi’s mother passed away and he inherited her house on Nob Hill. He rented it to me for a song because he didn’t need the money and because I do errands for him. I also covered whenever he needed a break to go to the bank or the store. Anyone who thinks running a bakery sounds easy is a fool. It’s hard work and a labor of love that is quite physically demanding. Since I moved in several years ago, shortly after my graduation from Mills, Luigi and I have looked after each other.
Opening my front door, I was greeted, as I always am, by my Siamese cat, Tripod.
“Hey cutie,” I said, kneeling down to scritch his ears.
I rose and checked my messages. There was one from Danica, still my best friend, and two from telemarketers. As I erased the messages, Tripod rubbed up against my legs as best he could. Tripod, as his name suggests, only has three legs. He lost his back leg to a rare form of cancer. The vet recommended I put him down, but for reasons I couldn’t explain to her, I was going to give him a chance. I had found him on the bakery doorsteps, cold, wet and dehydrated one foggy morning. Luigi said I could keep him if I had him checked out by a vet. So, I bundled him up and took him to Dr. Elaine for a full battery of tests. When he lived through the amputation, she told me that everything in her was against trying to save him.
She had mad skills as a surgeon. I have mad skills as an empath. Two years later, Tripod is cancer free and manages quite nicely with three legs. As a result of keeping him alive, he has been the best pet in the world even if he is addicted to catnip.
Picking up my phone, I called Danica’s office. Her secretary put me right through as she always does.
“Hey there unemployed chick. How’s the job hunting going? Any bites?”
“I bagged one; a really good one, too.”
“Excellent! Do tell.”
So I did. Danica was truly delighted. After five years together at Mills, we both had decided to stay in the Bay Area and make our fortunes. So far, Danica was the only one of us who understood how to actually do that.
After graduating with a Master’s degree in computer science, Danica opened her own software firm and it took off like th
e proverbial rocket. She had created a program which instantly alerted a company whenever someone was trying to break through a firewall or other security system. Unlike other programs, hers alerted via audio as well as video before slamming a wall around all files. The program was aptly named The Echo after me. She didn’t name it after me because I was her best friend; but because when I had finally learned how to shield myself from the onslaught of emotions from people near me, she thought it was pretty cool. The Echo was patented, Danica had made a bundle, and now she was the sole owner and CEO of Savvy Software, an up-and-coming company beginning to be noticed by the likes of Apple, Microsoft and Wired magazine.
“I can’t believe old man Bentley admitted he made a mistake,” Danica said, crunching something in my ear.
“Carrot?”
“Bingo.”
“Diet?” Danica had tried every diet on record, not because she needed to, but because her geek squad of computer programmers were working on a dietary software program even the biggest diet imbecile could use.
“Not this time. So, when do you go to work, Clark?”
I grinned. Danica had been calling me Clark Kent ever since I was the editor of the newspaper at Mills College. She had always called my gift my superpowers and was somewhat enamored with them.
“Tomorrow morning. They’ll probably apprentice me with a seasoned veteran for a while until I learn the ropes. I am totally excited.”
“It’s what you’ve always wanted, Clark, though it’s beyond me what you get out of digging around in people’s dirty laundry. Quite frankly, I’ve never really understood the pull.”
“You just don’t have any appreciation for the press.”
Danica made a few derisive noises. “If I want the truth, the real truth, I sure as hell won’t get it from the news. Anyway, congratulations on your ladder climbing. It’s about time your superpowers gave you a leg up on the competition.”
“The last time I used my ability I got fired.”
“You got fired because Carter Ellsworth is a dick. Uh-oh, my red lights are blinking, so I better scoot along. A boss’s work is never done. The boys are all excited about our first role-playing game and they keep bombarding me with questions. You know how they are. I want them to focus on the diet program, and all they can talk about is some dumb role-playing game.”
The boys were a trio of Berkeley graduates who had been rejected by a number of top firms because they wanted to be hired as a package deal, unheard-of in the oversaturated computer nerd market of Silicon Valley. After being rejected by just about every major software company, they arrived on Danica’s doorstep. She took one look at their resumes and hired all three on the spot. In a way, they were to Danica the way Tripod was to me; grateful to have been given the opportunity to work together, they rewarded Savvy Software with some of the best programs on the market.
Now, the three of them shared an enormous office where they spent far more than the requisite forty hours developing programs that would put Savvy Software on a bigger technological map. Their office, nicknamed the Bat Cave, was a technological and electronic marvel. Danica gave them whatever they needed to get the job done which they did often and well.
“Let’s have dinner after your big day so you can tell me what it’s like to finally be on the A team.”
I didn’t know much about being on the A team, but I knew it was a long way from the D list.
Entering the Bat Cave was a little like entering the bedroom of triplets. There were electronic and digital toys everywhere, and three of everything; three remote-control cars, three robots, three Game Boys, three PlayStations, three Xboxes, three laptops, three computers, three plasma screen TVs, and, yes, there were even three virtual-reality stations complete with goggles and headphones. If it was electronic and had bright lights, they owned it. Like three little boys, they would take extended breaks in order to race their cars or play their video games. That was one of the reasons why their work week was well over seventy hours; the emphasis wasn’t ever on the work. Ever. The boys got their best ideas when they were either playing on the foosball table or beating each other up in some arcane video game.
They were well worth the hefty salaries Danica paid them. That was why they were my first stop. There wasn’t anything they couldn’t do with a computer.
“Hey, guys, Princess is here!” Roger said when I opened the door. They had no secretary, no reception area, nothing. They preferred to deal solely with their incredibly lenient boss, and unless otherwise bothered, they seldom left the Bat Cave.
“Hi Roger,” I said, shaking his clammy hand. Roger was the coolest of the geeks. He wore his hair in a brown ponytail and subsisted mainly on corn nuts and Diet Coke. There was a warmth about Roger that drew women to him, but he was uncomfortable around most females. I was an exception because I was not just Danica’s best friend, I was the Princess to her Queen. “What’s shakin’?”
Before he could answer, Franklin set the controls to his Xbox down in order to come greet me. “Princess! We’re working on a program that helps kids read better. What brings you to the Bat Cave?” Franklin pushed his black-rimmed glasses back up the bridge of his long nose. He had been wearing the same style of glasses since he was seven years old. I could only surmise how many times he had been beaten up as a kid. I imagined it was a lot.
“Here on business, Franklin, and I could use your help.”
“Fun business or adult business?” This came from Carl, who was still playing on the computer. His mop of red curly hair always looked like an oversized wig. When he rose, he unfolded like a cartoon paper doll. Carl ate all day long and never put an ounce on his six-foot-four inch frame.
“I’m afraid this is going to be dull adult business, guys.”
The three of them looked at each other. The word adult was like a swear word to them. “What do you need?”
Sighing, I told them about my plight. “I need a story. I need something big; something that—” All three jumped behind their computers, fingers flying at breakneck speed over their respective keyboards. “We’re all over it. You want something spectacular.” Carl explained that information was like a snowball; once they started it rolling, it not only picked up speed, but grew proportionately to what was out there.
“Give us a few, Princess, go bother the boss,” Carl said, pushing his glasses back up.
Turning to leave, I was almost out the door when Franklin called me back.
“There’s a lot that goes down in this city, hon. You want something dangerous? Something provocative, or both?”
“Sex sells, sistah,” Roger said, winking.
I turned slowly. “I want something that will prove to Wes Bentley he didn’t make a mistake in hiring me back.”
All three of them grinned. “Gotcha,” Roger said, returning his attention to his computer. “Then sex it is.”
I grinned back. “Knock yourselves out, guys. I’ll be back in a half an hour.”
As I left the Bat Cave, I made my way to Heidi’s desk. “Hey Heidi.”
“Oh, Echo. She’s in a meeting right now.”
“Let her know I am borrowing the boys for a little research project.”
Heidi shook her head, a slight smile playing at the corners of her newly collagened lips. She reminded me of every high school cheerleader I had ever met; all legs and teeth and perfect hair. She had been a great secretary to Danica, who was not an easy boss by any means. “You mean they’re actually working?” Heidi laughed. “She pays them a king’s ransom and all they do is sit around in there all day and play.”
“Well, just tell her that they’re screwing around for me.”
She nodded and checked her schedule. “Are you two still on for dinner?”
I nodded.
Heidi’s phone beeped. “That was fast. The boys beckon.”
In the short time I was gone, the boys had compiled over a hundred printed pages.
Carl was thumbing through them and talking without looking up
. “These are some of the issues happening right now. Some are seriously scary, others are like cold cases. Is that sorta what you were after?” He handed me a printout of strange stories around the globe.
I looked down at the paper and saw all sorts of headlines, and blogs and other articles about interesting cases and issues. “That was so fast.”
Carl shook his head as he pulled more paper from the printer. “Don’t forget who we are, Princess. We are the reason the Boss created the The Echo in the first place…well…guys like us. We can get through anything.”
“What about The Echo? Can you breach that?”
Franklin nodded. “Breach it, yes. Get away with breaching it, nope. The Boss designed a program that leaves hackers’ fingerprints, so to speak. Unless we tossed our machines, we’d be busted for sure. That’s the beauty of her program. You may get your info, but it’ll cost you your machine if we don’t catch you and your freedom if we do.”
I saw a couple of topics of interest, but nothing that reached out and grabbed me. “Good work, guys. I’m sure I can dig my teeth into some of these.”
“Be careful, Princess,” Carl admonished. “No snake likes to be poked in the eye.”
I nodded. “Gotcha.” Straightening my papers, I started for the door. “This is great. I owe you guys.”
Carl jumped up to get the door. Carl had a little crush on me that Danica thought was cute. “The Boss has been telling us ever since you got hired at the paper that you’re going to be a star reporter someday. Anything we can do to help that along…we’re here.”
“Want us to keep digging? See if any bodies come up?”
“I think you better get some real work done. Aren’t you developing a game or something?”
“Games, plural. Roger is working on a more accurate voice-to-text program that’s better than anything on the market. Franklin is working on an accounting program, and I am this close to finishing my latest RPG. That means role-playing game.”
“But aren’t there plenty of voice-to-text programs out there already?”
“Sure, but the Boss wants one that is voice activated for handicapped folks and has an accuracy rate of close to ninety-eight percent.”
More Than an Echo (Echo Branson Series) Page 13
