NO ONE IN the station seemed to know about the big interview scheduled for Wednesday afternoon. Milt had obviously wanted to keep his scoop private…from everyone. But Jeremy and Brooke were ready. When they met Kirby Davis, they would lead with some general questions and then move in with the ones that should get to the bottom of whatever corruption was going on in the city center.
Jeremy arrived in a spectacular dark blue suit that fit him perfectly. His white shirt and red-and-blue tie gave him an all-American look that would do well on camera. Plus, he told Brooke he’d been practicing his voice modulation.
As time approached for the small crew of three to leave for city hall, Cissy swept into Brooke’s office. “What’s going on?” she asked, her antennae focused, as usual, on any hints of private maneuvering.
“Nothing,” Brooke replied, glancing at her watch. “Today has been as blessedly quiet as possible.”
Cissy shook her head, narrowed her eyes. “Okay. So why is Legs dressed to kill? Why is your desk clean at two thirty in the afternoon? Why has Milt kept to his office all day?”
“I can’t answer all your questions, Cissy, but as for me, I have an appointment this afternoon and have to leave early. And regarding Jeremy, maybe he just wants to look more the part of an anchor, so he’s dressing up a bit.”
Cissy sputtered an uncomplimentary laugh. “As if a new set of clothes will help. He still stinks on camera.”
Brooke had had it with Cissy’s constant demeaning of Jeremy’s efforts. “Speaking of that,” she said. “I didn’t appreciate you showing the tape to Milt.”
Cissy pretended a wounded expression. “It wasn’t a secret, was it? I mean, everything Jeremy does reflects on all of us. Milt should know where his golden boy stands as an anchor for WJQC.”
“He knows,” Brooke said. “And your going to him in private with that tape only undercut Jeremy’s attempts to do a good job. He was still untrained and raw on that tape. It was just to be a learning tool.”
Cissy cupped her hand over her mouth and stared hard at Brooke before she said, “Something’s going on with you, Brooke. I thought we agreed that one of us should be WJQC’s new anchor? Have you completely forgotten about that?”
“We never did agree, Cissy. I’m happy as producer.”
“Well, I’m not happy as a lowly copywriter, and I still believe that auditions should have been open to all long-standing employees at the station.” She plopped into a chair even though Brooke was clearly giving signs that she had to leave. “I don’t kid myself, Brooke,” she said. “I know you would make a better anchor than I would. You deserve it. You know more. You’ve been here longer. I appreciate the ethics of working up the ladder.”
Brooke sighed. “Being here isn’t the main qualification for anchor, Cissy. I could have been here fifty years, but it wouldn’t mean that I would connect with the viewing audience.”
“Of course you would,” Cissy insisted. “I know you don’t like it when I flatter you—”
No, I don’t.
“—but we’re friends. And hey, look in a mirror. That blond hair, those intense, honest blue eyes, that figure meant for a marble statue.” Cissy chuckled. “Why, the good ol’ boys in Charleston would be missing their early-bird dinners just to see the five o’clock news. And I’d be right beside you on the road to the top.”
“Stop it, Cissy,” Brooke said. “Jeremy is going to be our anchor. Deal with it.”
Cissy shook her head. “Seems like I want what’s good for you even if you don’t. Who knows where we—I mean you—could end up if you used WJQC as a stepping stone. You could go on to any of the big cable networks. Let me tell you—” she stopped long enough to take a breath “—I wouldn’t turn down a chance to be famous.”
“Good, then go be famous. I just don’t see it happening at WJQC.” Brooke stood, grabbed her briefcase and jacket. “I’ve got to leave now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay. Hope your appointment isn’t anything serious. Are you going to a doctor?”
Brooke did a quick ten count in her head. “No, I’m fine. This has nothing to do with doctors. Please close my office door when you leave.”
She hurried past Jeremy’s office, stuck her head inside and said, “Leave a few minutes after me. I’ll meet you in the garage.”
He smiled. “Why? Are we being stalked?”
“Something like that.”
* * *
NERVES FINALLY CAUGHT UP with Jeremy on the ride to city hall. Despite playing pro football for a decade, he wasn’t a confrontational person on any other level. But he’d always thought of himself as a moral one, and if deeds in the city center needed to be exposed, he wasn’t opposed to being the one to do it.
“Last check,” Brooke said as they pulled into the city hall’s parking garage. “You have your questions?”
“You know I do. I have a little cheat sheet, and besides, I’ve memorized them. Start with the friendly stuff first and then go in for the hit.” He hoped the smile he gave her was full of confidence. “By the time we get to the nitty-gritty, Mr. Davis and I should be good buddies.”
The cameraman chose a parking spot and got out to retrieve his equipment from the trunk. “This is it,” Brooke said. “You’re not nervous?”
Well, yeah, he was, but he said, “No. I’m fine. Quit worrying. Anyone would think Milt was grading you on this performance and not me.”
She gave him a strange look. “Don’t be silly. Why would Milt care about anyone but you?”
Jeremy shrugged and held the car door for her. The trio took the elevator to the third floor, where they were scheduled to meet with Kirby Davis. The room they entered was sparsely furnished with a couple of desks, a few straight-back chairs and some professional lighting. A typical interview room.
An efficient-looking middle-aged woman sat at a desk right inside the door. “You must be the WJQC crew,” she said. “We’re expecting you. Mr. Davis will be in shortly. He knows you’re coming.” Nodding to the cameraman, she said, “Why don’t you set up? You’re welcome to use any of our lights. Naturally, we want our personnel to look their best, and our lights are very flattering. Also, we generally use a backdrop of the cityscape for filming.”
Jeremy glanced at the large photograph of downtown Charleston on the wall. Viewers might think they were filming in front of a picture window, when really the photo captured the outside world. Smoke and mirrors, and air-conditioned comfort, he thought. Whatever worked.
The cameraman carried two chairs and placed them in front of the mural. “You’ll be here, Jeremy,” he said. “The mayor will sit opposite. We’ve always figured there was a position of power in being on the right side.”
“Anything you say, Nate.”
“We’re ready,” Nate told the woman at the desk. She picked up a phone and punched in a couple of numbers. A few minutes later a tall, formidable-looking man came into the room. His gray hair was neatly groomed. His face was tanned, as if he’d spent time in the sun. The three-piece suit he wore was stylish. However, from the expression on his face, it seemed like he was uncomfortable, and Jeremy felt a sudden pang of sympathy. Interviews could be difficult for some people, but if this guy was longing to be mayor, he’d better get used to them.
And then the man came closer, and Jeremy’s heart slammed against his chest. It couldn’t be. There was no mistaking the wrinkles around the eyes, the cool gray of his gaze, the firm set of his lips. This man, the second-most powerful guy in Charleston, was as familiar to Jeremy as he’d wished his own father had been.
“Tug? Is that you?” Jeremy said, his voice breathless, his words a hoarse whisper.
The man stared at Jeremy. “Crockett! I don’t believe what I’m seeing.” Davis shook Jeremy’s hand and brought him in for a hug. “Hot dang, son, aren’t you a sight for these sore eyes.”
Jeremy stepped back. “What’s going on, Tug? What are you doing in city hall?” And then he remembered Tug’s last name. Davis. No one at U of Bellingsworth had known him as anything other than Tug. “Get out of here, Tug. You’re the chief financial officer?”
Davis grinned. “Guilty as charged. Duly sworn in.” He smoothed his hands down his lapels. “Who woulda thought it, eh, boy? Looks like my accounting degree finally paid off.”
Certainly, Jeremy would never have thought he’d see Tug in such a position. He hadn’t seen Coach Tug Davis since his senior year at Bellingsworth. Back then, the two men had been as close as two fleas on a dog’s ear. In fact, Tug had gotten Jeremy his shot with the Wildcats, a deal that had paid off big-time. Tug and Jeremy had shared a bond that was legendary at Bellingsworth. No kid could have asked for a better offensive coach, and Tug swore no coach could have asked for a better protégé than Jeremy Crockett. The gratitude Jeremy had always felt for Tug was endless.
“Where have you been?” Jeremy asked his mentor. “I heard you left Bellingsworth after that first losing year. That had to be eight, nine years ago. Rumors were you tried to get a position in the Midwest, but I never knew where you went.” Jeremy suddenly felt guilty. He should have kept track of Tug. He’d meant to, but life… Well, no excuses. “Did you keep coaching?”
“Nah. Truthfully, I had a bit of trouble finding something. But it was probably time to move on.” Tug chuckled. “Getting gray and getting old. Not a good combination.”
“So now you’re a big deal here in Charleston. Incredible.”
Putting his hand on Jeremy’s arm, Tug led him to the pair of chairs set up for the interview. “Not so strange, really. I’ve always gotten along with people, always wanted them to do their best and been willing to help. Look at you and me…”
Jeremy sat in the chair Nate had picked out for him. “You and I are a special case, that’s for sure. But politics? How did that happen?”
Tug briefly explained how he moved to Charleston six years before and got involved in local politics. “My wife wanted to live here to be near her sister, so here we are. Got a nice house in the historic district. I ran for a few local offices and finally hit the big time when this mayor got elected.” Tug sat back in his chair and sighed. “You’re looking at a happy man, a lucky man, Jeremy. Now tell me about you. Why did you quit the pros?”
Jeremy summarized the last two years of his life as quickly as he could. “After Lynette died, I had to raise my kids. Got them both living with me now and a house in Hidden Oaks. And hopefully a career in broadcasting.”
“Woo-hoo, Hidden Oaks,” Tug said.
“It’s nice there.” Mentioning his career brought Jeremy’s focus back where it should be—on the upcoming interview. He looked across the room where Brooke was watching, waiting. She motioned in a get-on-with-it gesture. Since Jeremy figured she hadn’t heard anything of his conversation with Tug, she couldn’t know what a momentous occasion this was.
“That’s my news producer over there,” Jeremy said. “I think she wants us to get started.”
“All right then. Let’s talk,” Tug agreed. “Imagine you as a TV personality, though I’m not surprised. I always figured you’d succeed at whatever you tried in life.”
“That makes one of us,” Jeremy said. “Truth is, when I met you, I was wild and undisciplined. I didn’t have much hope in succeeding at anything.”
Jeremy took out his notes, though he didn’t think he’d need them now. This was Tug. Good ol’ Tug. One of the best men Jeremy had ever known. If anyone would be honest in politics, it was “Tug” Davis. There probably wouldn’t even be a story here. He smiled to himself. He’d never known Tug’s real name was Kirby. Jeremy relaxed. He’d ask a few leading questions, anyway, and get Tug on the air. Might help the guy’s chances to be elected mayor someday. It was the least he could do for his former mentor.
The interview went as expected for the first ten minutes. Tug talked about his rise to his current position, his plans for the city, specifically the refurbishing of old bridges across the Yaloosee River. “Some of those bridges are approaching sixty years old,” he said. “We’ve got contractors lined up to begin work on them. Gonna use cement to look like the old limestone compounds they used two hundred years ago. I don’t want to spare any expense to beautify this city and keep it historically accurate.”
For the first time since sitting down with Tug, Jeremy experienced a moment of unease. Tug’s plans for the city were lofty, extravagant even. “I’m surprised there’s enough money in the budget to accomplish all these projects,” he finally said.
Tug gave him a conspiratorial kind of smile. “Always a means to find money, son. Just gotta look in the right places.”
Jeremy glanced at Brooke, who’d moved close enough to hear the interview. She gave him a wide-eyed go-ahead look as if to say this was his chance to get to the meaty questions about budgets and bids and accountability. Jeremy tucked his notes into his jacket pocket and folded his hands on his lap. If only to convince himself that Tug was an honest man, a good man, he had to at least ask him some hardball questions. But they wouldn’t come from his prepared notes. They would come from his heart. He asked the cameraman to pause shooting.
“Tug,” he began, “I’ve got to tell you something.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“There are rumors going around about your office.”
“What kind of rumors?”
Jeremy tried to phrase his concern without an accusatory tone. “The usual ones, Tug. Contractors, city projects, special favors. You know the kind of thing I’m talking about. That’s why I’m here today. The evidence we dug up is pretty sound, and my job was to get you to slip up and admit to possible wrongdoing. Of course, now that I’m sitting face-to-face with you, I don’t want to believe any of it.”
“Are you calling me a crook, Jeremy? Are you saying I’m playing with the city’s money?”
“No, that’s a little harsh.”
“And it’s all nonsense. I’ve got accountants breathing down my back. I work in a building full of lawyers. I couldn’t get away with anything—”
“I’m not accusing Tug Davis of being a crook,” Jeremy said. “I’ve only been in this town a little over a year. I studied the hierarchy of Charleston politics, but no way did I ever imagine you would be part of it. I guess, when it comes right down to it, I’m asking if the CFO, this new guy I’m just meeting, could be liable in any wrongdoing.”
Tug’s cheeks reddened. He turned to Nate. “Don’t turn that camera back on,” he said. “Interview’s over.”
And all at once, Jeremy knew. His old friend, the man he’d most admired in his life, the man he’d trusted, was hiding something and it was big. Jeremy looked at Nate, who had a puzzled look on his face. “Do as he says,” Jeremy said softly.
Brooke came closer. “Why did we stop?”
Jeremy held up a hand. Turning back to Tug, he said, “You can tell me what’s going on or you can send me away with no story. It’s up to you. But someone else will follow in my footsteps and ask the questions I didn’t ask you today. You can’t avoid interviews forever, Tug.”
“You should go now, Jeremy,” Tug said without looking in Jeremy’s eyes.
Jeremy nodded. “I’d like to help you, Tug. If you’ve got yourself in some kind of trouble…”
“We’ve got nothing more to say to each other,” Tug responded. “Let’s leave our memories of each other where they belong. In the past.”
“Okay.” Jeremy started to walk away. Before he reached the door, Tug came up behind him and grabbed his arm.
“Follow me over here,” Tug said, indicating a quiet corner of the room.
Jeremy followed him. Brooke and Nate kept their distance.
“Let’s talk,” Tug said, “Just like the old days. Back then we could tell each other anything.”
“That’s true. I’m listening.”
“Things got tough for me after Bellingsworth,” Tug said. “I wasn’t exactly fired but I resigned under pressure. I couldn’t find a job in football. My wife had some medical problems, and I didn’t have insurance. Wiped out all our savings.”
Excuses before the admission. Jeremy didn’t like the sound of this. “Go on.”
“Turns out I was a natural at politics. Had just enough notoriety to make my coaching career work for me. The ladder to this office wasn’t hard to climb. But I was still in the hole financially. Costs a lot to get the attention of the right people.”
“I’m sure it does,” Jeremy said. “So you never recovered? And you’re in trouble now?”
“Don’t judge me, Jeremy. My wife and kids and I went through a couple of lean years…”
Like most people, Jeremy thought. Like I did from birth to the age of eighteen.
“When I was appointed CFO, my wife had her heart set on this fine old house near the Battery. Then my daughter got engaged and wanted a big wedding. I started calling in favors. It’s not hard to get people to cooperate when you’re in a position of power.”
“So this is all about trade-offs, bartering?” If so, maybe Tug wasn’t all that dishonest. Jeremy supposed a lot of local big shots had similar dealings. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. Wasn’t right, but possibly this story could have a satisfactory ending.
“At first, yeah,” Tug said. “But I needed cash. Judith wanted to renovate the house. She joined some clubs in town, and our social obligations increased. And that dang wedding.” Tug shook his head. “Whew! And already there’s talk of trouble in my kid’s marriage.” He chuckled. “Be careful what you spend your money on, son.”
“How much have you taken?” Jeremy asked.
“It’s not bad. And I’m going to pay back every cent. I swear. Once I’m over this rough patch…”
Jeremy rubbed the back of his neck. This was the man he owed his life to, and he was no different from every legendary crook in local politics through the years. Skim off the top, swear you’ll pay it back and hope you don’t get caught.
“I know you’re disappointed in me, Jeremy,” Tug said. “I can see it in your eyes. It breaks my heart to see it. It all happened so fast. A little here, a little there. But I’m going to make it right.”
Jeremy exhaled. “Before the story breaks, Tug? Are you going to make it right before this is on the five o’clock news?”
Tug wrapped Jeremy’s arm in a strong grip. “You can’t do this story, Jeremy. Everything I’ve told you is off the record. No cameras. For everything we meant to each other…”
Jeremy wrenched his arm free. He looked at Brooke, whose expression was one of impatience, curiosity and even dread. She had no idea what he and Tug had been talking about. But she wasn’t happy.
“I’m glad it was you who came today,” Tug said. “You believe me, don’t you? I’m going to pay back every dime. Just don’t run this story, son. It’ll be the end of me. I’ll never be able to hold my head up in this town again.”
Tug’s eyes were desperate. They filled with tears. He swallowed hard, then said, “Please, Jeremy, for old time’s sake.”
“You’re just borrowing time,” Jeremy said. “The story will come out. If not by me, then someone else.”
“I’ll figure something out by then,” Tug said. “Time is what I need. Don’t betray me, son. Not after all we went through together. When I met you, you barely had a clean change of clothes. Remember?”
Jeremy’s mind flashed back to those awful weeks after he graduated high school. He was wild, drinking, driving “borrowed” fast cars, dodging responsibility, looking for his next thrill every day. And then this guy, Tug Davis from U of Bellingsworth, showed up at his house, a plain-spoken, simple man who painted a dream for Jeremy right in his mother’s two-room flat. Tug offered him a chance, a future, a college education and a stepping stone to pro ball.
And Jeremy knew he couldn’t be the one to bring him down now. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “I won’t run the story, but that doesn’t mean someone else won’t.”
“I know.” Tug grasped both of Jeremy’s shoulders. “Thank you, son. I’ll figure it out.”
Jeremy turned away from his mentor and strode across the room. When he met up with Brooke, she tried to stop him. “What’s happening?” she said. “What went wrong?”
“There’s not going to be any interview,” he said. “We’re going.” Without pausing, he left the room, with all its flattering lights and mural of a beautiful town on the wall. All fake, just like the man he’d spent the last hour with.