“You’re fired!”
Sam’s hands slammed down on the arms of the office chair as she jerked forward. “Because some dude stole a necklace from his wife, pawned it and got the insurance for it? And I had the nerve to tell the story?”
“You’re fired!”
There was so much more she wanted to say to him, to tell him. It wasn’t fair that she was getting kicked to the curb, for other people’s lies and secrets. It wasn’t her fault that she felt truth should win out at all costs. Climbing to her feet, she stared hard at her boss, debating about telling him again why she’d written that story. The blue vein bulging from his forehead and the deep crimson color of his puffy cheeks, told her it was pointless and might just cause a heart attack.
“The story didn’t run, so what’s the big deal?”
His mottled face started to shake with fury. Sam picked up her coffee, which she was glad she’d set down when she came in, and took a step back. The last man she’d seen that angry had thrown a punch.
“Only because I caught it. Nothing and I mean nothing, gets printed in this paper without my say so. Very sneaky Samantha. Not acceptable. You’re done here. And don’t worry, you won’t ever work in this industry again.”
She shook her head hoping something would fall into place and this would all make sense. It wasn’t like it was any different than any of the other stories the newspaper wrote – they got details, or as many as they could and then skewed them sideways if that’s what made the tale sensational. Only she hadn’t needed to do that. The facts themselves had been enough to make the story astounding. For once the paper might have been able to print the truth and nothing but the truth. The informant who’d put her on to this situation had been right, it had been unbelievable. She wished she’d been able to thank him but that was part of the agreement – no names, no thank yous and no mention of where the story started. And she couldn’t tell anyone because it wasn’t actually supposed to have been hers to tell.
“I’m fired.” It didn’t compute.
“Of course. I don’t say things I don’t mean. Now get out.”
She eyed Mr. Donner, the man that she’d thought she was going to have a lot of respect for, the man she’d envisioned thanking, in the future, for all he’d taught her. For taking her under his wing and making her the exceptional journalist that she was. Okay she knew that was crap but she had hoped that her initial ‘feeling’ about him had been wrong. Besides she figured that even if he wasn’t more than a pompous figurehead, there had to be some people at the paper that she could learn from. To date, unfortunately, she’d only been patted on the head and given the lame jobs. Still, she’d actually started to believe that this work might be her calling. Well, until she’d taken it into her head to run with a tip she’d been given. It hadn’t really been meant for her but since Tom hadn’t been at his desk when his phone had kept ringing and ringing, she’d figured it had been hers to run with since she’d been the one to answer the call. She had planned to show them what she could do and then that would have been the start to her amazing career.
Another damn dream dashed.
Without stopping to think about what she was doing or even taking the time to rationalize that this wouldn’t be in her best interest, she tossed her almost full cup of lukewarm coffee across the expansive cherry wood desk, into the face of the man who had been her supervisor for a few short months.
“You bitch!” he screamed. He jerked awkwardly to his feet, only to step onto the leg of his office chair, pitching him forward. His large bulk flopped forward onto the desk, with a loud thud, landing spread-eagled over the almost immaculate surface.
Her eyes widened in disbelief as she choked back a laugh. It was way past time for her to leave. She saluted with two fingers, spun on her heel, and scurried out the door, shutting it with a gentle click behind her. No point in enraging the man any further. Hurrying down three flights of stairs, she ran to her desk, opened the top drawer and pulled out her wallet, skimmed through the rest of the drawers to see if she had any other belongings, which she knew she didn’t but wanted to be thorough. It was highly unlikely she’d be back. Her hand brushed aside the USB key she’d been using to store information, totally against policy. She’d only been doing it because there was some amazing stuff – fact was more captivating than fiction – and she figured it might give her some ideas for the book she planned on writing someday. Another plan that she was sure would never take off but it was better to dream than to do nothing. Knowing she didn’t have time to erase it and couldn’t leave it to be found, she shoved it in her pocket. She reached out and unpinned the only other thing that belonged to her in her cubicle – a picture. She slid it into her back pocket, reminding herself to remove it as soon as she got home.
“Where is she?”
Not waiting to see if that bellow was for her, which she knew it was, she scurried out of her cubicle, doing a hunched over old lady impression as she raced down the aisle.
“Samantha? Sam?”
She kept her head low as she zipped out the exit door and headed down two more flights of stairs.
“Samantha... Sammie... Sam... Will you wait up? Geez whiz.”
Her co-worker Fred’s call was the last thing she wanted to hear. So she ignored it and didn’t stop until she’d reached the main floor.
“See you, Suzanne.” She raced by.
“Sam, you’re always in a hurry.”
She wiggled her fingers at the receptionist as she cruised by thankful the phone rang at that moment, distracting her.
A glance over her shoulder showed her Fred, a sixteen-year reporter at the Tennison Post and someone who had taken a real interest in her, huffing and puffing as he exited the stairwell.
“Sam.”
She stopped. “I’m in a hurry. Have to go.” Turning, she pushed her way out the front doors.
“Is it true? Did you get fired?” He followed her out. “I told you not to go snooping. You should have listened to me. I could have saved you but now you’ve done it. You can’t be telling stories about the big boys. They don’t like that. I thought you understood that. That was the first thing I told you. I tried to teach you. You just refused to listen. Now look what you’ve done. I can’t fix it for you now.”
How the hell did he know already? Were people standing outside the damn door?
Stopping abruptly, she turned and faced the man who had been chasing her for the better part of a block. “I didn’t ask you to, Fred. I can look after myself. It had to be done and I was the only one with the balls to do it.”
“Well, well, aren’t we high and mighty. You with no job and no one to help you.”
The big brown eyes and protruding bottom lip were too much. It made her feel like she was kicking a puppy, one that had just stumbled over his own paws, looking befuddled and unsure of what reaction he was going to get from others.
Her voice softened. “Look, I appreciate all that you tried to do for me and I’m sorry I’m taking this out on you but I really need to run.” Looking over his shoulder she saw security step out of the building. Shifting slightly, she made sure that Fred’s impressive bulk was blocking her from their view. Patting him gently on the cheek, she said, “gotta go. Thank you for looking out for me.”
She spun around and dashed across the street, her transportation was just pulling up to the bus stop.
“Can I call you sometime?”
Groaning softly, she raised her hand and wiggled her fingers over her shoulder, hoping he would know that it meant goodbye. The driver was just closing the doors as she lunged through them.
“Hi, George.”
“You’re heading home early today.”
She flashed him her bus pass. “Yeah. I just quit my job.”
“Uh, you’re not looking at applying to be a bus driver again are you?”
“No, your position is safe.” Not that there was any question about that. She’d seen an ad asking people to come and try a different career, that of being a bus driver. Since there were only two buses in the city, she’d known it was really to get more school bus drivers but since it was something she hadn’t done before, she thought she’d give it a try. A week of learning it had been more than enough. After sideswiping over half the pylons in the large parking lot every day for five days, they’d encouraged her to try something else. Another failure to add to her long list.
She plunked down into a seat halfway down the bus, ignoring the fifteen other riders. She leaned her head against the window and stared at nothing. The ride home was long but uneventful. Or at least she assumed so, since she didn’t remember it, other than to wonder how odd it was that on that day she’d chosen to take public transit. She normally only traveled on it Mondays and Wednesdays but never on Thursdays, that was her day to do her running around after work. Her mom would have told her it was an omen. That she had the ‘gift’ but Sam just put it down to just plain luck and the fact that she was broke and her car was almost out of gas.
~~~~
“I’m sorry Mr. Ozz. It should never have come to this. She’s been fired. The story has been shut down and destroyed. No one will see it. I promise.”
“You screwed up.”
“Yes. Yes, I did. But I’ve fixed it. I assure you.”
“This isn’t a little mistake. Strike Two.” The line went dead.
Harry gulped. He’d had strike one before, in fact a few times before, but he’d always been able to redeem himself and erase that mark against him. Strike Two. He rubbed his damp hands on his pants. He tried to swallow but he didn’t seem to be able to force his throat to work. The spit in his mouth had dried up. Strike two, he’d never hit that before. He was pretty sure that anyone who had, wasn’t around to tell if he’d tried to redeem himself or not.
A lone bead of sweat ran down his temple, across his cheek and dripped onto his chest. He’d always known there was a good chance he wouldn’t succeed. From the day he’d been appointed to the CEO position, the one he’d been groomed for, the one he’d stepped into with a lot of public outcry. Too many had known him, known the things he’d done. But he’d won them over. The right people in the right places had been paid off and had backed him. The public may not have liked him but they’d come to accept him. He didn’t want to think he’d become complacent, he’d always known that his neck was on the chopping block, literally but he couldn’t deny that he’d let himself get comfortable in his position. A little too comfortable, a little too distracted. He’d allowed himself to fall victim to all that he said he wouldn’t.
He unlocked and opened the bottom drawer of his desk. Reaching in, he pulled out his forty-year old bottle of scotch. It was something he’d come quite accustomed to but hadn’t even known existed in his other life. Unscrewing the top, he took a swig straight from the bottle. Something he knew wasn’t accepted in high society but then that wasn’t where he’d come from. It was one of the many old habits he hadn’t done for almost ten years, in fact not since he’d been groomed for this position. To hold the position, he now had, he’d been told that he had to act more sophisticated, more worldly. It was important that people forget that he was a hooligan, as the media had aptly named him many times in his youth. He’d worked hard to shed that image but here in his own office, with the door locked, he figured he could damn well do whatever he wanted. No matter what Mr. Ozz had to say.
His hand shook as he took another drink before setting the bottle of liquor back in his private stash. Beside it, the black leather pencil case, which looked very classy but inconspicuous, beckoned him. His fingers stroked it, the soft, supple leather caressing his fingers. Oh, how he wanted to take it out, open it, and just look at his precious. Maybe even taste his precious. His fingers curled into a tight fist as he fought the demon trying to pull him downward. Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself of all he had accomplished. Now wasn’t the time. And it really was part of the problem. It let him feel great about everything and forget that he was still in a war, fighting for his life. He had some cleaning up to do; he was not going to go down because some bitch had tried to ruin him. He looked at his coffee stained tie and felt the anger course through him again. Taking a slow, deep breath he slowly closed the drawer and locked it, first with a key and then with the innocuous keypad that looked like a calculator but was a much higher level of security. If anyone so much as touched his desk, he’d know.
What he really wanted to do was to figure out how to redeem himself. Picking up the phone he made a call to security to make sure Sam had exited the building. After he hung up he stared into space. There was another call he had to make. He needed help. It had been a long time since he’d had to ask for that. The good news was that he knew who he could ask. He just wasn’t sure that his old friend would even talk to him. It had been a while since they’d chatted. His fault. Would the favor that KT still owed him mean anything after all this time?