2 If It Bleeds, It Leads Read online

  “Why is this place different than Detroit?” I interrupted. I couldn’t help myself. It wasn’t proper etiquette, but I love annoying Tad.

  Tad stared back at me blankly. “If I can continued?”

  “No, I’m curious. Why do you expect this in Detroit?”

  “Because of the economic problems in the city,” he answered tersely.

  “We have economic problems, too. Our problems are just as bad as theirs, in fact, I’m just curious as what you see as the biggest difference?”

  Tad tried to ignore me, but like vultures the other reporters in the group started asking the same question I had just asked.

  Tad glared at me. “Can we get back on task here?”

  “I think it’s because they’re black.” Honestly, I don’t know why I said it. Okay, I did know, I was fishing. I had a feeling I was on the right track, though. Tad came from one of those families that claimed they weren’t racist. They just claimed it a little too loudly. They had friends that were black. They did. We just never saw them.

  “Are you saying that drugs are a black thing?” I couldn’t tell which one of the television reporters had asked this but I had to fight from laughing out loud.

  “Of course not,” Tad protested.

  “Commissioner Ludington, what are you saying? Why is it okay for the teenagers in Detroit to use drugs and not the teenagers out here?”

  I’d officially managed to derail Tad’s press conference.

  “I didn’t say it was okay for teenagers in Detroit to use drugs. I was just saying that those people are used to it.”

  “Those people?” I raised my eyebrows. If Tad were a super hero I’d be dead from his laser eyes.

  “When you say those people, are you referring to black people?” That was the Channel 4 reporter – who just happened to be black.

  “No, I’m referring to people in Detroit.”

  “Well, since the population of Detroit is predominantly black, you must be referring to black people then. Right?” I was trying to be helpful.

  “No, Avery, I was not.”

  “So who are those people you’re speaking about?”

  “We’re here to talk about our teenagers. Not the teenagers in Detroit. We’re here to help our teenagers. Not the teenagers in Detroit.”

  “So you’re saying, since they’re black, the teenagers in Detroit don’t deserve help. I mean, our population is only 10 percent black, so this program is essentially to help white teenagers.” I smiled sweetly at Tad.

  “No!”

  “Well that’s what it sounds like to me.” The Channel 4 reporter again. Well, I think my work here is done.

  It took Tad a full 20 minutes to get his press conference back on track. It didn’t matter, though. The better story was racism in the suburbs. It was a regular theme in this area. The residents of Detroit constantly screamed “white flight” about the suburban denizens, and half of the suburbs were racist. This really couldn’t have gone any better for me.

  After the press conference, I was trying to slip out of the room without Tad tracking me down and causing a scene. Per usual, the best intentions always get waylaid in my world. Tad caught me before I made it to the elevator.

  He grabbed my elbow and dragged me into one of the private office rooms in the hallway, slamming the door behind him. He was obviously livid.

  “Are you happy? You ruined my press conference.”

  “I’m not unhappy.”

  “All the headlines tomorrow are going to read ‘Tad Ludington: Elected Racist’ and you know it!”

  “The editors write the headlines, not the reporters.”

  “You are going to pay for this.”

  “I’m not black; you should like me.”

  “This isn’t over.”

  “You are always so much fun.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I mean, you’re the only person I know who brings a briefcase to a college party. Ten years later, and nothing has changed. You’re still the biggest douche in the room. Of course, the problem is that you think you’re the coolest partygoer and everyone else is actually making fun of you.”

  Tad took a step towards me threateningly. “I will not let you get away with this just because you’re a bitter shrew. I broke up with you. Get over it.”

  “I was over it the minute it happened.” Not quite true. I cursed his name for two weeks afterwards. Then I did get over it, though. “It took me about as long to get over it as it took you to have an orgasm – thirty seconds if I remember right.”

  Well, that was it. I’d pushed him too far. Tad reached for me, trying to get a grip on my arm. I scrambled away, terrified for a second. Tad is one of those tightly wound guys who would could easily snap and kill someone. In my haste to get away from him, I accidentally knocked over a chair. Tad tripped over it, causing a loud ruckus as he did so. Unfortunately, I was now stuck. The door was behind him and it was the only way out of the conference room.

  To my relief, the door swung open behind Tad. It was Jake.

  “Everything okay in here?” I saw him eying the upended chair.

  “It’s fine,” Tad responded with thinly veiled rage.

  Jake clearly didn’t believe him.

  “Avery?”

  I met Jake’s gaze evenly. “We were just discussing the press conference.”

  “Yeah, I saw that on TV.”

  “What do you mean you saw it on TV?” Tad sounded shrill.

  Jake turned to smile at me at this point. “Yeah, after the press conference took its turn, a couple of the television networks cut in live. You being a racist is big news apparently. I’ve known it for awhile, though.”

  “I am not a racist!”

  Tad stalked out of the room. He had some image repair to get started on. Jake turned to me.

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “No. I think he was going to try, but he never got that far. How did you know I was here?”

  “I saw the coverage. I saw your part of it. Call it a hunch, but I figured things might get rough.”

  “Good call.”

  “Yeah, I can see that.” Jake righted the chair. “I’ll walk you out.”

  We made our way out of the building in relative silence. Once outside, I turned back to Jake.

  “So, any news?”

  “On what?”

  “On anything?”

  “Well, I think the person who broke into your house also broke into your grandparents’ house, if that’s what you mean?”

  It wasn’t.

  “I mean, anything on Kevin Walker?”

  “No, he made bail and that’s the last we heard of him. He has a court date in two weeks but you know how court works, it will be postponed ten times.”

  “You’re not following him?”

  “We need a warrant for that and more manpower.”

  “Well, that’s just great.”

  “Well, if you don’t like it, why don’t you get us more funding for more deputies?”

  “What about Javon?”

  “Who?”

  “Lexie’s boyfriend.”

  “He couldn’t make bail. Have you heard from Lexie?”

  “No.”

  “When you do, I expect you to call me.”

  “Fine.”

  “I’m not joking.”

  “I know you’re not.”

  “When she calls you, I want you to call me personally right away. Not Eliot. Me.” Was this about Eliot or me?

  “I said fine.”

  “Yes, but fine with you means only if you feel like it or if it benefits you.”

  “Jake, I said I would call you, what more do you want from me?” That was the ultimate question, wasn’t it?

  “It’s not always about you, Avery.”

  So I’ve been told.

  Eighteen

  When I returned to the office, I was still giddy from dismantling Tad’s press conference. I know it seems evil, but yes, sometimes I get off on the misfortune o
f others, especially douche bags like Tad. Sue me. I never said I was a nice person.

  After I returned, I filled Fish in on what had happened at the press conference. I left out the part about me instigating the turn of events – but it seems everyone had seen the story go live on the local affiliate and already knew I had caused it.

  “I knew sending you to that press conference was a stupid idea,” Fish lamented.

  “It wasn’t my fault,” I argued vehemently.

  “It never is.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s just that where you go, destruction seems to follow.”

  Personally, I didn’t think that was a fair assessment, but I let it go. I had other things to worry about. Besides, I thought he should be happy. I had turned a story that would have been buried on the bottom of Page Three into the banner headline on the front.

  I returned to my desk and wrote up my story. I felt it was fair and truthful to the events and the way they had transpired. I had no doubt Tad would be calling the editors to complain tomorrow. I couldn’t muster up a lot of sympathy for him.

  I went to tell Fish my story had been filed. In a story that essentially refers to a politician as a racist, you want as many editors as possible to sign off on its contents. This covers everyone’s asses.

  When I rounded the corner, I froze in place. Crap, Gertrude was back. I’d forgotten she’d been invited back to work.

  “Avery,” she greeted me in a voice that was akin to nails on a chalkboard.

  “Gertrude.” Please don’t say any more, I thought. I’d rather bathe with acid than listen to the sound of her voice.

  “Aren’t you going to welcome me back?”

  I considered telling her that I didn’t find her return a welcome development, but wisely considered that statement might cause more problems than I currently was equipped to deal with.

  “I’m sure everyone welcomed you back, didn’t they?” The fact that I want to deflect a question like this doesn’t reflect on my intelligence level. I just don’t want to lie unless I absolutely have to – or it benefits me.

  “Yes, everyone was very happy to have me back . . . cat got your tongue . . . but I was expecting more.”

  The Tourette’s again. “What were you expecting? A parade?” That actually wouldn’t surprise me.

  “No, but maybe a cake.”

  “You were gone like three days.”

  “I was gone almost two weeks.”

  “That’s still nothing in the grand scheme of things.”

  “Maybe it’s nothing to you, but for someone like me, someone who is so important to the day-to-day operations of the paper; this is a very big deal. Things practically fell apart without me around.”

  I hadn’t noticed anything running any differently. In fact, truth be told, the only thing I’d noticed is that the room had been a lot quieter. The fact that no one was flossing their teeth in the middle of the room for everyone to see was just an added bonus.

  “Right, I forgot things almost fell apart.” I was hoping this would placate her so she would leave me alone.

  “They did,” she’d turned shrill. “I just got off the phone with a lady who was so mad about me not being here to handle the obituaries that she used language that just about curled my hair.”

  Since her hair was already curly – Nellie Oleson curly, mind you – I was hoping that was the Tourette’s. The more I thought about it, though, I realized it wasn’t.

  “Huh.” Really, what do you say to that? There’s nothing worse than someone with an inflated sense of ego like Gertrude. I think the reason that she and Duncan didn’t get along is because they were actually a lot alike. They both thought they were better than they were. They can both comb their mustaches, too. They would make actually kind of a cute couple.

  “Listen, I get that you think you’re some big shot here at the paper but you should hear what everyone says about you behind your back?”

  Was she talking to me? “What?”

  “People, they talk behind your back . . . what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger . . . they think you’re self-absorbed and shallow.”

  “I am.”

  “You are what?”

  “Self-absorbed and shallow.”

  “I know, that’s what I said . . . if God leads you to it he will lead you through it . . . I don’t think you understand what I’m saying, though. People talk about you behind your back.”

  “Of course they do, we’re reporters. We’re generally a gossipy bunch. We talk about everyone.”

  “Everyone? Even me?”

  Now that was a loaded question. We didn’t really talk about Gertrude as much as we imitated her. She had to know she was often the butt of our jokes. Didn’t she? I decided to play it safe. “No, we make fun of everyone in the building but you.”

  I recognized the sarcasm in my own statement. It’s generally lost on Gertrude, though. She’s not exactly good at reading people.

  “Well, that’s good,” she sniffed. “I didn’t think there was possibly anything to say about me that could be construed as funny.”

  Just that statement, I thought.

  “I mean, gossiping about you is one thing, gossiping about me is something else . . . early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.”

  I started to wonder who she was talking to. It couldn’t be me.

  “I mean, look at the way you dress. You’re a grown woman and you dress in ‘Star Wars’ clothes.”

  Coming from the woman who seemed to have a never-ending collection of kitten sweatshirts with glitter accents, that was pretty rich.

  “I know, right.” I didn’t even know what I was saying at this point. I was just praying the ceiling would fall in and destroy me so I didn’t have to hear her prattle on.

  Thankfully for me, Fish had a question about my story. I answered it quickly, turning my back on Gertrude as I did so. I hoped she’d get the hint that I didn’t want to talk to her. I noticed – with a small smile that I couldn’t quite hide -- that she’d made her way to Duncan and was clearly complaining about something I said.

  Good, they could commiserate together.

  After answering Fish’s question, I made my way back to my desk. I was pretty much done for the day. I still hadn’t tracked down any fresh leads on Darby’s case. Of course, to be fair, I hadn’t really been extending that much effort. Given the direction the case was taking, I was kind of getting fearful of pushing it too much further. If Derrick was right, and my grandparents’ house was broken into because of something I did, I didn’t have a good feeling about continuing in the direction I had been going.

  Of course, I’m one of those people that can’t really let something go, either. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to stay away from the story for more than a day. I’m like a dog with a bone that way. Yes, I did just compare myself to a dog – I must be really off my game.

  When I got back to my desk, I noticed that Marvin was holding court amongst the other reporters. This should be good.

  “I’m not joking,” I heard him finish.

  “You’re not joking about what?”

  Marvin looked taken aback. Clearly he hadn’t realized I was in the office. Whatever he had told them was also something he hoped I wouldn’t find out about.

  I smiled warmly at him.

  He didn’t buy it.

  “I’m not falling for that.”

  “For what?”

  “You know what. I’m not falling for it. I’m not going to tell you because you’ll just make fun of me.” This was probably true. I still had to know.

  “Oh, come on, you know I won’t make fun of you.”

  “That’s what you said when I told you I thought I had Toxic Shock Syndrome.”

  “I didn’t make fun of you.” I actually did. I had to show him the insert in my box of tampons to get him to believe me.

  “You did, too. How about the time I told you that I thought I ha
d a future as a country music guitar player?”

  Since he’d only been playing the guitar for three months, I had shot down that idea. I thought I was being kind, not cruel.

  “I just didn’t want you to embarrass yourself.”

  “Yeah, but you took joy in telling me I sucked.” I didn’t actually take joy in it. For some reason, though, I did have trouble containing my laughter.

  “None of that is the worst, though,” he said.

  “What’s the worst?”

  “When you made fun of the fact that I was going to have an art showing.”

  “Aw, come on, you can’t have an art showing when your art consists of cutting pictures out of magazines and making collages – like it’s elementary school or something.”

  “You always have to belittle and make fun of me.”

  I wanted to argue this, but I had a sneaking suspicion he might be right. Suddenly I felt guilty. I vowed then and there to take his feelings into consideration – even when he said something that was downright outrageous or stupid.

  “I promise I won’t make fun of you.”

  Marvin eyed me warily, and then launched into his story. “I’m being haunted by a star.”

  Why did he make things so hard? “I’m sorry, you’re what?”

  “I’m being haunted by a star. Wherever I go, it follows me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you think I mean?”

  “I’m really not sure.”

  “Whenever I go outside, whatever time, the star is always there.”

  “Even during the day?”

  “No, only at night.”

  “What do you think it wants?”

  Now it was Marvin’s turn to be puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, is it like a ghost. Is it haunting you for some particular reason? Does it want you to avenge the death of someone or something?” He’d made assertions that were a lot more ridiculous than this one in the past; trust me.

  “No, it’s just following me.”

  I was lost again. “I don’t understand why.”

  “I don’t understand why, either.”

  This was getting us nowhere. Hey, at least I hadn’t made fun of him.

  I went and sat back down at my desk. I figured, with the hour I had left of my shift, I could get some quality online shopping done. I was in the middle of checking out Adidas’ new Christmas ‘Star Wars’ line when I heard Marvin getting worked up in the cubicle next to me. I couldn’t help but wonder if the star was making appearances indoors now. I had a feeling that had more to do with pot than astrology – but I really didn’t think I was going to lose a lot of sleep over it either way.