[Jordan Fox 01.0 - 04.0] False Truth

by Diane Capri

  She descended the back stairwell to the parking garage under the building and pressed unlock. A vehicle to her right beeped. The big red News Channel 12 logo adorned the sides. She climbed into the driver’s seat and wrinkled her nose. The Jeep smelled like old French fries.

  “Doesn’t anyone ever clean this thing?” she said aloud. She sniffed again. “Clearly not.”

  As she strapped herself in, she suddenly felt much more grateful to have survived the budget cuts. She was driving one of the most respected vehicles in town: a News Channel 12 Jeep. Her title was merely intern, but she felt she was behind the wheel in more ways than one.

  They’d sent her on assignment alone. While she’d have enjoyed the company of a new colleague, at least this way she avoided the intern stigma. Some of the guys didn’t mind having slutty interns around. But otherwise, interns were viewed as a nuisance. Since Jordan didn’t fall into the ‘slutty’ category, this way she wouldn’t be burdening anyone by tagging along.

  Plus, the station sending her out alone was a huge sign of trust. Or maybe they were giving her enough rope to fail.

  Her college ex would have chastised her for her pessimism. Jordan preferred to think of it as realism. She also preferred to not think of Paul at all. She’d planned to be totally over him by now. She wasn’t, though. Fake it til you make it.

  Jordan focused on the task at hand: safe driving. The vision of wrecking the Jeep on her first assignment flashed through her mind and she shuddered. Her life would be over. Completely over.

  Along the short drive to the Florida Casino—practically around the corner, but one-way streets doubled travel time—she made a quick mental plan of attack. Get a good parking spot, find a unique angle to the story that no other station will have, and look for opportunities to make friends with the competition. The last thing she needed in this internship was somebody actively working to sabotage her.

  If she could transform her story from one mocked in the Afternoon Meeting to one that impressed the entire newsroom, her first day would become a big win. She needed a win. A big win would be even better.

  Like most of her classmates, Jordan had been to the privately-owned Florida Casino a few times since her twenty-first birthday last year. She ran through the few facts she already knew about the place. Nestled next door to the cruise terminal, the casino distracted tourists before the ships sailed. Locals hung out there, too. There was a busy hotel inside the casino, mostly filled to capacity every night by gamblers, conventioneers and cruisers who wanted one more night in Tampa before flying home.

  Jordan remembered the interior well. In addition to a huge floor full of slot machines and poker tables, the Florida Casino featured a few event rooms like the one for Sal’s reception today. The Aquarium Room boasted a spectacular floor-to-ceiling five-hundred-thousand gallon saltwater aquarium where rare fish, colorful coral, eels, and more were on display. She’d been to several events there before. But today, the aquarium would provide stunning backgrounds for pictures and video that Jordan couldn’t wait to bring back to the newsroom.

  Jordan passed palm trees and parking garages as she approached the front of the casino. Time check? Five o’clock on the dot. Later than she’d meant to be after the equipment delay, but still okay because the award presentation was planned for 5:30. If she only got one picture, that was the one she needed. The money shot.

  She pulled into the circular drive toward press parking. Problem: no news trucks. Not one. No one from the competition had bothered to show up. Arrogant Creep and his pals were right. This story wasn’t newsworthy at all.

  Her stomach flipped and her spirits deflated like a helium balloon with a leak in it. She really had been sent out to fail. Someone push reset on this wretched day, please. What the hell was she supposed to do now?

  CHAPTER 2

  Jordan felt like you do in that moment when you arrive at a party fashionably late and there’s only one other person in attendance and you realize if anyone else was coming they’d be here by now…and the next three hours are going to be painfully embarrassing and you want to run out the door and escape but it’s too late now and you’re going to have to figure out some way to suck it up and get through it.

  What was she thinking? Some guy gets an award for being a good citizen. That’s a one-liner. A caption to a picture, maybe. Not a News Channel 12-worthy story. Derisive laughter during the afternoon meeting replayed in her head. When she returned to the station, the laughs would be even louder.

  Somehow, failing as an intern felt much more pathetic than failing as an MMJ. Jordan couldn’t allow herself to reach that level. She had to make this cringe-worthy situation a win. Sure. And for her next trick, she’d make an elephant appear out of thin air.

  She parked her Jeep as close to the door as possible. She slapped the press parking pass on the dash, grabbed her cross-body sling bag, and quickly captured a few feet of establishing video with her new smartphone before she hustled inside. Not as good as a ten-thousand dollar Market 13 video camera, but it would have to do. The top-of-the-line smartphone was leaps and bounds better than her personal phone, which was practically an antique. Her personal phone could barely even take a picture. But it made phone calls and it kept the bills at a minimum.

  Inside the casino, pasty-faced tourists wearing shorts and flip flops or diamonds and skirts shouted at each other across the crowded lobby like college kids on spring break. Jordan had noticed a couple of big tour busses in the parking lot. These folks were probably here for the day from one of the bigger hotels over on the beach.

  Jordan’s heart pounded too fast and her breathing was shallow. She’d never do a good job if she fell into a panic. Aloud, she took three deep breaths and repeated something her mom used to say, “She believed she could, so she did.”

  She corralled her breathing back to a normal level. Claire would be here. That would help with moral support, at least. One more deep breath and then, “Onward.”

  When she stepped into the Aquarium Room, she stuttered to a stop and allowed herself a moment to stare at the gigantic aquarium wall. She’d seen it before, but it was still mesmerizing. An aquamarine glow bathed the dimly lit room. Round high-tops covered in white tablecloths dotted the carpet. Elegant hors d’oeuvres were displayed along one wall and the fully stocked bar was directly opposite. The podium and microphone rested directly in front of the aquarium.

  Jordan snapped a picture of the majestic scene. She’d been told the SkySpace feature on her phone would automatically transmit the image to the newsroom instantly after she snapped it. Theoretically, it could be live on Channel 12’s website within five minutes. And then, she’d be able to show her dad her first big publication. Making him proud was one of her biggest ambitions these days. She loved to see him happy and the sight was all too rare.

  At ten minutes after five, all the tables were occupied and a line formed at the bar. Claire and Sal should be arriving at any moment. Instinctively, Jordan reached into her sling-bag to grab her ancient phone to text Claire. She stopped mid-reach, remembering her new personal policy not to mix business and personal life.

  She snapped a few more photos of the setting. When the award presentation started, she would switch to video. But Channel 12’s web department required still photos, and Jordan had a good eye for composition.

  Intently focused on sending her latest picture flying through SkySpace, Jordan jumped when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

  She whipped around. “Claire!”

  Claire’s brightly patterned strapless dress was as sunny as her personality. Always one step ahead of the fashion curve, Claire’s dress was fancier than a sundress but not too formal and predictably perfect for a 5 p.m. event. Blond curls bobbed just above her bare shoulders.

  Jordan hugged her long-time pal. “You look beautiful!”

  She looked down at her own royal blue blouse. She’d chosen it for her first day because it accentuated her deep blue eyes, which she knew were her best feat
ure. But now, Jordan suddenly felt as average as her plain brown hair. Not unusual when she was in Claire’s presence.

  “Really, you look stunning,” Jordan said, nothing but the truth. “Where’s the man of the hour?”

  Claire turned to pull him away from a couple of guys who were laughing, patting him on the back and shaking his hand.

  “Salvador? Salvador, honey.” Claire smiled sweetly at the guys and tugged Sal’s arm, gently moving him into conversation with Jordan. “You remember Jordan Fox?”

  Jordan had met Sal only once before. Claire had been consumed by him all summer. They seemed like a good match. She was sophisticated and displayed impeccable taste. And Salvador Caster was the type of classy older man that suited her perfectly.

  Sal replied, “How could I forget your best friend?”

  “Nice to see you again,” Jordan said. “We’re all grateful for your generosity. The science center will really be a help to Ryburn Park.”

  When Claire started sounding so serious about him, Jordan had looked up his background. Sal came from a long line of good luck and business smarts, but not much philanthropy. She’d read that his great-grandfather joined the shrimping industry two decades before the industry boomed in Florida. By that time, his grandfather already captained a shrimp boat which led to an incredibly profitable fleet. Sal’s father managed to maintain the fleet despite significant challenges in the industry—that is, until he died unexpectedly last year.

  Now, Salvador owned Caster Shrimp Company and rumor mongers claimed he was looking for an heir. Jordan imagined Sal’s dark features and Claire’s baby blue eyes might combine to produce beautiful children someday. But not for a long, long time.

  Sal flashed a debonair smile but the microphone at the podium squealed silencing all conversation.

  He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “No pictures, Claire, okay? Jordan, I’ll make an exception for you.” He half-winked and threaded through the crowd to reach the front of the room.

  Jordan snapped a couple photos and then prepared her smartphone for video.

  Claire leaned over and whispered in Jordan’s ear. “Haven’t you always said you wanted to get married here?” She smiled slyly, like they were school girls again. “Someday, I mean.”

  Jordan’s stomach did a nauseating back flip whenever she even thought about getting married. But she didn’t want Claire to know that. She kept her focus on the podium partly so Claire couldn’t read her expression.

  “Are you crazy? Who’d get married at a casino?” Jordan laughed. “Rehearsal dinner in this room, maybe. Romantic yet whimsical.”

  “You know,” Claire said, “if it’s romance you’re looking for, you should meet a new guy here. Have you spotted any potential suitors?”

  Jordan scowled and checked the video settings on her phone again, stalling. She hated her ex fiancé a little less than she had three months ago, and she’d finally realized she’d dodged a bullet with Paul. For two years, she had believed she knew him, loved him. When her dad had the stroke, Paul had seemed devoted to her at a time when she really needed him. Every time she thought of him now she felt equal parts stupid and devastated and very, very lucky not to be tethered to him anymore.

  No, she didn’t plan to jump into any new relationships for a good long while. But she didn’t want to say that because Claire would take the news as a challenge. She wanted Jordan to get back into the dating scene again right now. And Claire could be really pushy when she wanted something badly enough.

  Before Jordan recorded the video, she needed facts to support the still photos she’d already sent. Without facts, her photos would be worthless. And this was new equipment for her. She wasn’t sure it worked. She’d tried shooting a couple of frames, but she must have done something wrong. She’d figure it out in a minute.

  Jordan dropped her smartphone into the outer pocket of her sling bag, and retrieved a pen and notepad. She scribbled notes as the speaker extoled Salvador Caster’s virtues.

  The speaker finally completed his prepared remarks. “And without further ado, I present this year’s Award for Scientific Philanthropy to—”

  An ear-piercing shriek emitted from a woman in the front of the room. The microphone amplified the sound to painful proportions.

  Jordan clamped her hands over her ears and her gaze darted from her notepad to the shrieker, a middle-aged woman facing the aquarium, transfixed.

  A panicked buzz rose from the people around her. Other members of the crowd were now pointing and staring, not at the woman, but at the aquarium. Jordan looked along with them.

  Behind the podium, amid the colorful collage of tropical fish, floated a man’s body…or what was left of it. The flesh was wrinkled, pale, and nude, topped by a stump where his head should’ve been.

  Jordan’s palm flew to her mouth. The scene was surreal. Maybe the body was a fake. A sick attempt at humor. She’d seen similar gruesome displays at Halloween events.

  She craned her neck to see above the spectators.

  The torso and four limbs drifted downward across on a wavy diagonal from the water’s surface toward the aquarium floor. The arms ended at the wrists. The hands had been sliced off. An eel slithered between the floating legs.

  Some kind of disgusting joke, for sure. But why would anyone want to sabotage Salvador’s event? Not even remotely funny. Nothing could justify this frat boy prank. Sal was no college kid. Shouldn’t his friends be a little more sophisticated than this?

  Jordan stepped closer to the aquarium wall and peered through the thick Plexiglas. If the body was a mannequin, it was way too realistic. The longer she studied the body, the more she became convinced he was an all-too-human murder victim.

  The realization flipped a switch that made her stomach roil. Her heart pounded furiously. She clamped her hand over her mouth and concentrated hard to prevent herself from vomiting. But she couldn’t tear her gaze from the gently descending grisly male torso.

  Cries of “Oh my God!” “Is this real?” and “Somebody call 911!” echoed around the room, finally breaking through Jordan’s trance.

  She turned her back to the aquarium wall and forced herself to think practically instead of running as fast as possible from the horrific display.

  She was the first journalist on the scene. What would a more seasoned and experienced MMJ do? Call the station? Call police? Shoot video to preserve the scene for law enforcement and for the next news broadcast before evidence was destroyed?

  The last option seemed the most urgent. Where’d she stash her camera?

  Bodies pressed against her, pushing toward the exit, like a straitjacket around her. She struggled to free herself, but the crowd was too tight. They kept right on running to and through where she stood, carrying Claire along with them. Irrational panic erupted as if the body had broken through the thick Plexiglas and chased them.

  Jordan was pushed and shoved and almost knocked down a couple of times until she planted her feet firmly apart and stood stock still, concentrating on maintaining balance, waiting for the human wave to pass.

  When the space around her cleared enough to allow arm movement, she reached into the outer pocket of her bag. Her fingers flailed around. No phone. She glanced up.

  He continued to bob, slowly sinking lower and lower in the water. She needed a picture or video desperately.

  About half of the chaotic crowd had managed to exit. The others continued to push forward. Two children fell to the floor and a frightened mom stooped and grabbed them before the tide of people carried them forward once again.

  Jordan plunged her hand into the main compartment of her bag and dug frantically. There was nothing that felt remotely like her new smartphone.

  While her gaze was cast down, a large man jostled her roughly on his way past. She staggered and her bag fell out of her hands and spilled its contents onto the floor. Jordan squatted to scoop up her possessions.

  There among her lipsticks and pens was her new smartphone. On th
e floor. The screen was shattered.

  Before she could snatch it away, another foot trampled it. And another.

  Jordan darted her hand out, scooped up the phone and turned it over. The back of the phone was crunched, too. A big chunk had come off entirely, revealing the circuit board. She pressed the phone’s home button. Nothing happened.

  A careless woman knocked her off her feet, and she plopped down onto the floor on her butt.

  She pressed the phone’s home button again and again, harder. Still nothing. The phone was ruined. Unsalvageable.

  Dead.

  Like the guy in the tank.

  Like her career.

  “No. No. This can’t be happening.” She remained seated on the floor, shaking her head. She punched the home button repeatedly, desperate to revive the phone. No such luck.

  At least SkySpace already had all the still pictures she’d taken. She was sure of it. She’d watched them upload. That was something.

  But not enough.

  How would she explain to her bosses, face-to-face, that she’d failed so miserably? Again. And broken an expensive piece of equipment on top of it all.

  “Ma’am? Ma’am.” Jordan realized a man in a security uniform was talking to her, crouching to help her off the floor.

  She looked around. She was the only one left in the room.

  “We’re gonna have to ask you to leave now, ma’am.”

  She climbed up off the carpet, pulled out her press badge and showed it to him. “I’m from Channel 12. We need to cover this for tonight’s news.”

  “Sorry. This is an active crime scene now. Tampa Police are on the way.” He continued to usher her away from the aquarium, shaking his head. “The casino is private property and everyone is being removed for now. You can come back when we reopen.”

  Jordan stopped protesting and let him escort her away from the aquarium wall. He was right. The casino was private property, just as he said. She couldn’t remain here without permission. Every intern on the planet knew that. Journalism 101.