C H A P T E R • 44
When I got to the production room, the floorboards creaked, but there was no one in the large room to hear it. Without Al, our layout was uninspired, but the articles crackled. Handwritten at the top of a page was one headline:
Below the fold was a banner.
Adrianne walked out of her office. “Damn! This is some prizewinning journalism happening here, if I do say so myself,” she said.
“I like that we blame the distant racists in the banner and question our own below the fold. It will be a sort of dueling of ideas about who is responsible for what happens around here. It’ll be a nice counterpoint.”
I showed her my draft. “This belongs in the local section too. It’s not finished yet.”
“I finally figured out the significance of all those withdrawals from companies with music names. They’re fake. Cecelia was money laundering. That would also explain some cash I found and the money she was spending on art and vacations and things.”
“At least it isn’t stealing,” Adrianne said.
“You don’t seem very surprised.”
“She didn’t hurt anyone.”
“You really believe there’s a hierarchy of illegal activity?”
“Seriously. Who did she hurt? Tell me how it worked.”
“It was probably illegal drug money they had to clean up by running it through a cash business where it would blend in and then into a bank. She would be the insider who shuffled the money through a made-up bank account, always less than ten thousand dollars at a time.”
“Why the hell was Cecelia keeping lists?” Adrianne asked. “You don’t keep books of money laundering.”
“Hell if I know why, except she was always the one who was keeping track of the details. And we still don’t know how much,” I said. “There were only withdrawal amounts written next to the companies and no balances. And I don’t know which cash business she used to channel the cash through. Both Gary and Viola have cash money coming in and both had a connection to Heavy. He was the bouncer at the Kit Kat, and Gary said Heavy called him when he moved into Al’s.”
Adrianne said. “Damn. Make sure to leave what I’ll need to get the rest of the story when you go back to Cali.”
“There will be a lot more to it, but I’m betting we can get the opening act of this story in the can now.”
“You’ve really gone Hollywood, Pearl. Your movie might go into a can, but the Journal goes to bed. Remember?”
“Of course, I remember.” I said. And as I walked along the long drafting table, I dropped into images of me sitting in the publisher’s office with my books and notebooks while Daddy talked to people. Or in the production room where I would get blue and black ink all over myself from climbing to see. And dressing up, starting as a little girl, to sit in the audience with him or watching him talking to people, asking and answering questions. And after, he would answer mine.
At the end of the row, I pointed to an empty square, forlorn, on an inside page. “Do you have a good photo for this one?” I asked.
The small headline read:
“His parents are sending some pictures and an obituary,” Adrianne said. “I thought we might go lightly with the news about the drugs and the murder.”
“I like what you’ve done. You’re putting the bank stories outside and the other news inside. That way we don’t lose any momentum waiting for the regular edition.”
“In fact, we don’t know whether or not this stuff is connected. I miss Al. He would have made one of his presentations out of this edition. Made it pop.”
“Do you think Al can stay clean after this week of being arrested and threatened and worse?”
“Don’t start that shit, Pearl. Don’t judge him. Your father hired him when his chances were slim to nil for staying off drugs. But he did, and now he’s excited about his new life.”
“I don’t rule out recovery. But I do know it’s a long shot.”
“Most things worth doing are,” she said.
“I know it’s a long shot because I have the experience of watching people get straight and not. Don’t lecture me.”
“You’ll forgive me for doubting you understand,” she said.
“And you do?”
“Perhaps we should talk about something else.”
∗ ∗ ∗
I went home and drank some liquor. The drinking did what it was supposed to do. It took some of the edge off. I was thinking a few more drinks would maybe dull it completely.
I’m not sure how soon it was before the doorbell rang. The space was sort of out of focus as I walked over to see.
It was Obsidian.