[Jordan Fox 01.0 - 04.0] False Truth

by Diane Capri

  Sal turned his gaze from admiring Power Paxton on the field and looked at them, beaming. When neither Claire nor Jordan beamed back, his quizzical expression was almost funny. “You two have no clue what I’m talking about, do you?”

  “Sorry, Sweetie,” Claire said.

  “It’s early for flu season,” Jordan said. “What’s the problem?”

  “Who knows,” Sal said, returning to his seat long after everyone else in their section had already calmed down from the big play. “Several of the guys have had breathing problems, vomiting, one even passed out last game. It’s been crazy.”

  Jordan almost felt her reporter nose twitching. She recognized a good story when she heard one, even if she didn’t know a thing about soccer.

  “Could be food poisoning. Do the players eat at a separate facility from the rest of the students?” Jordan asked.

  “They can, but most of them don’t. Maybe they’re staying out too late and partying. Coaches usually won’t put up with that at the college level, though.” Sal sounded very worried now. More worried than he’d sounded when Jordan’s house was bombed. “Whatever it is, hopefully they shape up and get it figured out by next game.”

  “It’s really just a game, Sal,” Jordan said. How could he be so concerned about soccer players and so clueless about his own issues?

  “I don’t think you understand.” Sal gazed at her and patiently explained. “Plant University could lose its shot at the Conference Championship if they don’t win.”

  Jordan lifted both shoulders and flashed him a quizzical look.

  “That would weaken Tampa’s upcoming bid for the World Cup.” His tone implied the word duh.

  “Too bad for Tampa, but what does Plant U care?”

  Sal shook his head as if he couldn’t believe her ignorance of the monumental importance of the soccer world. “If Tampa gets the World Cup,” he said very slowly, “it means Plant University would get an incredible, very expensive upgrade for the World Cup athletes to use as their practice facilities.”

  Jordan tried to look like a light bulb had gone off in her brain. She widened her eyes. “Really?”

  “I know, right? Think of the economic impact to all of Tampa,” Sal said, as if a very dim student had finally figured out that the earth was not flat. “Plus, right now Plant U has a grant from the state funding the school’s soccer program in hopes of strengthening Tampa’s World Cup bid. If Tampa gets the bid, the state could continue to fund the soccer team for the next ten years. We need a winning season to have a prayer of getting all that. See?”

  She did see. A little. Maybe. At least, she understood the belief that major sports events held in Tampa seemed to bring a shot in the arm to the local economy. She wasn’t all that sure about soccer. She didn’t know much about soccer at all except that it wasn’t as popular as, say, baseball or football with the locals.

  At the last second, the Winter Park Whitecaps scored, winning the game.

  Sal stood up with about ten thousand other fans and booed. “Power Paxton Party Animal!” he screamed out. “You SUCK!”

  Jordan kept her mouth shut. For now. But what about all those sick players? Party animals? Or was there something more to that story? Could be a follow up plan if Dominique’s feature wasn’t enough to keep Jordan out of Jacksonville. And sports stories seemed to get a lot of attention at Channel 12.

  CHAPTER 8

  Jordan left Claire to deal with a very frustrated Salvador, and headed straight to work without another sighting of Dominique. It was Saturday, so there’d be no Afternoon Meeting, and she didn’t have to show up with a pitch. That was one nice thing about working weekends.

  While the facts were still fresh in her mind, and to put off the IPS assignment as long as possible, Jordan walked down the hall from the newsroom to the sports cave. Miles Pike, the weekend sports reporter, should have some insight about the soccer team’s illnesses.

  She’d never actually been into the sports cave before and when she opened the door she walked into a dark, dimly lit room. The floor space was crowded. Four desks, two couches, an armchair, and multiple TVs and monitors filled every inch. Sports reporting awards and signed sports balls adorned the desks and walls.

  In the suffocating dark closeness, Jordan couldn’t see whether Miles was present or not. “Miles?” No answer. She looked at a digital clock on the cave wall. Two-forty-four. He should be there. But he wasn’t.

  Jordan walked back to the newsroom, open-air with wall-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Hills River that seemed like a completely different world. She joined the two reporters working the weekend nightside shift. After a casual conversation in the middle of the newsroom, they agreed that Antonio would handle a heartbreaking murder-suicide witnessed by a child last night. Of course, Drew offered to tag along.

  Theresa, the other weekend nightside reporter, would pursue an escaped convict. After Antonio and Drew left, Theresa said, “Jordan, you coming with me on this one? Come help me find the escapee. I need you.”

  Jordan sighed. “As unappealing as that sounds, I’d actually rather do that than what I have to do here.”

  “They’re making you stay here?” Theresa asked. “What for?”

  Because Jordan was told to keep her assignment on the down-low, she said, “I have to prepare for some stupid human interest story I’m doing next week.”

  “All right. When I get kidnapped by the escaped convict, I’m blaming you for not being there to back me up.” Theresa flashed a sneaky grin on her way out the door.

  Jordan returned to the edit bay and continued the work she’d started Friday, which involved listening to the worst version of Blondie’s “One Way or Another” she’d ever heard. Ever.

  After two hours of sampling audition tapes, Jordan’s ears felt like they might fall off. She needed a break. She stood, stretched, and moved into the newsroom. Ah, the glorious absence of terrible music.

  Jordan spotted Drew in the empty conference room watching TV. She meandered over to him. “I thought you left.”

  He didn’t look up from the screen. “Nah, we’ve been making calls and doing research. Our interview isn’t ’til six.”

  “You got an interview? That’s impressive.”

  “Yep. With the shooter’s brother.”

  “How’d you score that? I thought no family members were talking.”

  Drew propped his feet up on another chair and flipped through the channels. “I know a guy who knows a guy.”

  Drew was a local, just like Jordan. Of course, he had contacts he could exploit. That interview was sure to impress her bosses on Monday morning. They wouldn’t find out until then. Jordan had learned very quickly that the weekend stories are invisible to anyone from the station who doesn’t work them.

  Antonio poked his head into the conference room. “Ready man? We better get going.”

  Drew hopped up. “Let’s do this thing.”

  As Jordan headed back to her edit bay, the heavy metal stairwell door clicked open and closed. She walked toward the sports cave and spotted Miles approaching from the opposite direction.

  “Miles Pike,” she said, filing into the cave behind him.

  “Jordan Fox. What’s up?” He set his briefcase down by his desk, draped his suit jacket over the back of his chair, shook his mouse to wake up his computer, and sat down at his desk. He turned his chair and he faced the room’s center where Jordan awkwardly stood.

  “Couple questions about the Plant University soccer team,” she said.

  He gestured to the black leather couch opposite him. “Take a seat.”

  Miles had sandy blonde hair, gelled in the front, and was sturdy and tall. He possessed an air of confidence as if he was an actual professional national athlete. Yet he managed to pull this off without seeming particularly cocky. It was difficult to guess his age because he wore makeup on air and he had a baby face, but she’d guess thirty-six, thirty-seven.

  As he reclined in his seat and put his arms be
hind his head, she suddenly felt intimidated. Probably something about the Sports Cave Factor. She didn’t belong here. She’d ask her questions and scram.

  “Yeah so, have you heard anything about the soccer players getting sick?”

  “It’s not just the soccer players. It’s a handful of guys from just about every team.” He spoke loudly, as if he were on air.

  “Just guys?”

  “I don’t know about the girls. But I gotta say man,” he shook his head, “I think it’s MRSA.”

  “What’s MRSA?”

  “You’ve never heard of MRSA?”

  Her face instantly warmed. She was supposed to know what MRSA was, right? Was it some kind of sexually transmitted disease?

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he said.

  Great. So he could tell she was blushing. Even worse.

  “MRSA is a really stubborn…bacteria I guess? Causes an infection. Gives you sores on your skin and stuff. Finds its way into locker rooms and gets spread around through towels. And then if it gets in your bloodstream, it’s bad. Headaches, chest pain, rashes…all that stuff. Pretty nasty.”

  “Hm.” Five minutes in the sports cave had somehow rendered her speechless.

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” Miles continued, graciously picking up the conversational ball. “If it is MRSA, we can kiss Tampa’s shot at getting the World Cup goodbye. There’s no rebounding from a stigma that vicious. Anyway, why do you ask? You have a boyfriend on the soccer team?” He smiled as if she couldn’t possibly have any more serious reason for wanting to know.

  “I went to the game today and my friend was telling me a bunch of players have been sick. So I was just curious about what was going on.”

  Now that her eyes had adjusted to the dim lighting, she saw Miles sat big, taking up enough space for two people, eyeing her up and down. The sports cave was a man’s place. She didn’t belong here. And he didn’t know anything concrete anyway.

  “I’d better get back to work,” she said. “Thanks for the scoop. Hopefully it’s not MRSA. I know how badly Plant U needs to win.”

  She headed for the door.

  “Hey, you aren’t gonna report that, are you?” Miles called after her. “About the MRSA? You know it’s just speculation.”

  “Oh, I know.”

  He looked at her with approval. “Good. Keep it quiet. If you get any leads on this, come straight to me, okay? I want to break the story before it gets leaked all over town.”

  “I’ll let you know,” she said. Which was only a half truth. She’d let him know—but not before breaking the story herself. He’d do the same in her shoes.

  CHAPTER 9

  In an effort to spend more time with friends other than Claire, Jordan had bought two tickets to the play Dominique suggested for Tuesday night and invited her friend Amy Carpenter to come along.

  Jordan had been hoping to have an alternative to the Instant Pop Star story to suggest to Richard on Monday. After that, she was scheduled for two days off and wouldn’t be back to work until Thursday. She was supposed to leave for Jacksonville Friday morning. Not much time to get something else in place.

  But Monday came and went, and Instant Pop Star stuck to her like barnacles on Salvador Caster’s shrimp boats. She had several good leads, but nothing had panned out yet.

  The Dominique Wren story might still work, but so far she hadn’t come up with anything new or good enough on that story, either. Jordan had called Dr. Ross to follow up on her guesses about Dominique Wren and Estelle Marcon, but hadn’t connected with Dr. Ross, either.

  Jordan had two days off to find the right angle and get the pitch worked out. Action was required. Maybe she could shake something loose tonight.

  Amy picked Jordan up a few minutes late because of the traffic driving in from her home in North Tampa.

  “Oh my god, the place looks gorgeous.” Amy gaped at the Fox’s new porch. “Look at this.”

  “One of the many perks of working in the thrilling world of journalism,” Jordan slid into the passenger’s seat of Amy’s white SUV and buckled up. “Sometimes your house gets blown up and you get a new porch. New kitchen, too.”

  “At least your job has perks. All I get is a bunch of complainers every day.” Amy looked back over her shoulder before zipping out into the street.

  “I thought you loved being a social worker,” Jordan said.

  “I do. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to have some free home renovations.” Amy glanced over at Jordan. “I hope you don’t mind, I invited my friend Ruby to come to the show, too. I met her a couple years ago when I worked with her kids. Very nice. You’ll like her. She’s the head nurse at Plant University.”

  “At the school clinic?” Jordan asked, thinking about Dominique’s father.

  Amy looked at her again and she slipped into what Jordan called her social worker concern mode. “Does that bother you? Because of Nelson? I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

  “Not at all. Really. I’m the last person to object to any healthcare provider, Amy. I’m so grateful to you and to everyone who’s helped with Dad.” Jordan reached over and gave Amy’s hand a squeeze. “It’s just—small world. The singer we’re planning to see in the show tonight, her dad is a doctor at that clinic.”

  “Tampa’s a smaller town than you realize.” Amy stopped at a red light. “Believe me, I’m a social worker. Around here, people are connected to each other in countless ways. Many of those connections are hidden, unless you know what to look for. But you’re better off assuming people are connected instead of that they aren’t.”

  Amy parked in the Plant University parking lot and they walked the few blocks to the theater. Ruby was waiting for them at the entrance.

  “Ruby, this is Jordan Fox. Jordan, Ruby Quinn,” Amy said, in the way of introductions. She hugged Ruby. “How are ya, dear?”

  “Exhausted.” They handed the attendant their show tickets and entered the large air-conditioned lobby. “Between students coming into the clinic all day and finding a last-minute babysitter for tonight, I’m ready to sit down and relax for a couple hours.”

  Ruby certainly didn’t look exhausted, and she definitely didn’t look old enough to have children. She had strawberry blonde hair and green eyes and a lively smile that lit up the entire room when she flashed it.

  “How many kids do you have?” Jordan asked.

  “A three-year-old and a five-year-old, both with energy to burn.”

  “Really?”

  “I know,” Ruby twirled around in her pink flared skirt. “I look twenty-one. I’m thirty. Can you believe it?”

  They walked across the glass-walled lobby that revealed a spectacular view of the Hills River.

  “Well, you look younger than me, that’s for sure.” Jordan handed two tickets to the usher and Ruby added hers. The usher led them to their seats in the huge theater, Balcony level, second row center. Not bad. “Amy tells me you’re the head nurse at the Plant University health clinic.”

  “That’s right. Tough job, but I love it.”

  “I heard a bunch of Plant athletes have been getting sick lately. So sick they can’t even take to the field. Do you think it could be MRSA?”

  Ruby shook her head. “No. It’s not MRSA.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  She shrugged. “Too many cases and the wrong symptoms. I think there’s some substance abuse going on.”

  “Like a performance enhancement drug with side effects or something?” Jordan asked. “Whatever this is seems to be hurting performance, not helping.”

  “Regular students are flooding the clinic, too. Not just athletes. We’re seeing abdominal cramps, tremors, confusion, rapid respiration, and worse.” Ruby hesitated half a moment, as if she was searching for the right words. “Let’s just say the school’s been tightening its academic standards lately. Some students are handling the new rules better than others.”

  “So you think it’s a study drug. Like Ad
derall?” Adderall use was rampant when Jordan was in college. It was an amphetamine-based prescription pharmaceutical used to treat attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, but it produced other results, too. Students used it to pull all-nighters and intensify focus. Adderall prescriptions were easy to get. Passing the drug around or selling it was easy, too.

  Ruby scrunched up one side of her face and held one hand palm out and wagged it back and forth. “Eh, not exactly. I’ve seen Adderall abuse and this is worse. This one is like a stronger knock-off. It’s probably synthetic, which means it’s illegal and unregulated. We can’t trace it like we can trace prescriptions. And it seems to be more effective as a study drug than Adderall. Which means more people are abusing it, leading to more sick students. Whatever it is, it’s scary.”

  “How long has this been going on?” Jordan naturally entered her reporter mode before she realized it.

  Ruby noticed, though. “Off the record, Jordan. I’m not coming forward on this. I need my job.”

  “Okay.” She didn’t like being off the record. It meant she’d need another source and she was not likely to find one before she got shipped off to Jacksonville.

  Ruby took a deep breath, maybe thinking about what she was about to reveal. “We’ve been seeing symptoms for a few months. I wish students understood these drugs can kill them, but they don’t get that. There’s no econ test worth dying for, you know? I try to explain that to the kids, but they don’t believe me. They’re determined to get those good grades, even if it kills them.”

  Jordan wondered how this situation could still be some sort of mystery. Why wouldn’t health officials have figured out what’s going on by now? Surely they would have launched a full-scale investigation if the consequences were as severe as Ruby said.