The sun was an orange line of brightness on the horizon, a natural reminder that she hadn’t slept. She’d been up all night in her crappy apartment, looking in every dark corner of the internet for a story that might be worth reporting.
Of course, it was just her luck that it was all trash. Everything had been used and reused. That might have been enough for your everyday reporter, but not for Evie. She needed something concrete. Something new that grabbed Conan by the balls and said, “Hey, buddy, look at me.”
It was time for a break. She was a hot mess, and her eyes were sore from looking at the screen for so long. She needed air. A wander around the city and a hot dog for breakfast could be just what she needed.
As she walked the streets, Evie found it tough to familiarize herself. New York was totally unlike San Francisco, where she had grown up. Here, she still felt like an outsider, like a nerdy little alien who wasn’t welcome. She even considered a fresh look. Doing away with the Clark Kent glasses and black hair might do her some good. Contacts and bleach, however, were quite the stretch when you had no money to pay for them.
In Central Park, Evie found a coffee stand and decided to treat herself. She stood to one side with her hands around the cup and her nostrils hanging over the coffee, not letting a single whiff of caffeine go to waste. She watched the joggers doing their laps, the businessmen cutting through the park on their way to work. She closed her eyes and listened to the chitchat of those passing by. She focused and heard…
“Murdered?” It was a man’s voice, surprised.
“Yep. With a hammer, no less.”
“How do you know?”
“I was there to see it myself.”
“No.”
“Yep.” There was even a hint of pride in this one’s voice. This was the type of person that made Evie sick, but her ears were pricked all the same. “I heard the screams and burst in. There they were on the floor, blood everywhere. But that was a long time ago, man.”
Evie opened her eyes, studied the men (who were both dumpy and looked like they couldn’t be trusted to hold your wallet), and listened closer.
“I just can’t believe it,” the first man said, shaking his head. “I’ve known the guy since we were kids. He wouldn’t hurt a fly!”
“Shows how much you know, dummy.” He jolted a finger forward and made a farting noise. They both laughed in raspy, twenty-a-day chuckles and half-heartedly wrestled each other. It looked like the discussion was over.
But not for Evie.
“Who are you talking about?” she asked, stepping away from the coffee cart.
The men looked at each other before the chubbier guy answered. “Calvin Durant. Why, you know him?”
Evie shook her head.
“Arrested for murdering his wife and kid,” the first man said, repeating what he’d been told only seconds ago. It looked like he was trying to impress.
“And you don’t think he did it?”
“Well, uh… not really.”
It wasn’t exactly what she had been looking for, but Evie wondered if she could make something of this. Even if the man turned out to be as guilty as suspected, at least she might have a shot at twisting the story in a way that would work for her. As long as she didn’t lie or upset anybody (which happened to be her golden rules), she could write what she wanted.
“We gotta go,” that same man told her, and they both turned to walk away.
“Wait.” Evie fished through her purse for a notepad. She pulled the lid off a pen with her teeth and spat it to one side. “Tell me more.”