sixty:
friday, late night

“Thought I might find you here.”

It was Marjorie Hayes, a laptop clutched to her chest like body armor. She looked breathless and focused, like she’d jogged for the first time in her life.

“You heard about Adam Paxton,” said Hayes. “I talked to Coogan and he said he told you. You know, it’s not every day you see a guy’s hands around another guy’s throat. Made me so angry, to think one man could do that to another.”

Bloom handled the quick introductions, felt a bit stunned by the interruption. He had imagined pleasant hours ahead with Trudy, alone. Marjorie Hayes didn’t do overtime.

“I know you,” said Hayes when Bloom introduced Trudy. “Oh my, I know you. I buy all your products and one of your staff delivered two big loads of peat one day and he was so nice, gave me about ten minutes of suggestions about the garden, how to lay it out.”

Trudy offered a smile like she was hosting a summer cocktail party. “A pleasure to meet you,” she said.

Bloom gave her a quick tour of their working outline. “We already have a sheet for Adam Paxton, but it’s blank,” he said.

“Not for long,” said Hayes.

Hayes had spent the last hours at the library and more time at home.

“And then for him to come here and think he could talk the newspaper out of writing up the assault,” said Hayes. “I mean, I saw it with my own eyes. Troy Nichols’ face was beet red, ready to burst. Never seen so much anger and Paxton, I’m telling you, he had a death grip on him.”

Hayes shuddered, remembering the moment, then launched into what she’d found. “Have you heard of Pipeline Enterprises?”

Bloom exchanged a look with Trudy.

“Paxton is vice-president,” said Hayes. “And one of the original owners. I can’t tell you every entanglement, but Pipeline is connected to another company, a new one, that works over in Grand Junction that’s the operating business in Colorado for a string of for-profit prisons around the country. They have contracts with ICE. When ICE started talking about putting a detention center in Glenwood Springs, another company named InterWest for some reason thought they already had an edge. That’s where Nichols comes in.”

“Truth or Consequences,” said Trudy. “They were already part of the trafficking.”

“They were delivering Mexicans north,” said Bloom. “Keeping the supply fresh to ship warm bodies south.”

Hayes absorbed the new information like a seasoned analyst. “This goes back to when ICE was looking to expand, before the economy tanked. There must have still been some bad blood between InterWest and Pipeline. InterWest felt they had a commitment of some sort that had been broken.”

Hayes reached in her oversized purse, nearly as big as a beach bag, a thick wad of papers held together with a giant binder clip. “Ran out of ink on my home computer,” she said. “But after ICE changed its collective mind, InterWest filed a big lawsuit. Not here, but over in Mesa County. There was a reference to the suit in the Grand Junction paper, but we missed it. The case is still on track for a trial but the depositions lay it all out.”

Bloom grabbed his phone.

Kerry London answered on the first ring.

“What did I miss?” he said.

“What are you doing?” said Bloom. “Care to lend a hand?”

If London was staying at the Hotel Colorado, it would take him no more than ten minutes to walk across the bridge.

“Wrapping up my last round of calls before ordering late room service and a massage,” said London. “You know, these expense accounts. Hate to see them go to waste.”

Negotiations didn’t take long. No doubt London could hear the seriousness in Bloom’s tone. London said he’d get out of his silk robe and head over.

“You are hired help,” said Bloom when London showed up. London looked more relaxed than a national news reporter should look after a week on a story that needed around-the-clock updates. “Not hired, because we have no expense account, but on loan.”

It was nearly 11 p.m.

Marjorie Hayes was utterly unimpressed by the arrival of a national news television celebrity, but Trudy took a minute to chat and shake hands and offer a gushing smile. Bloom and Trudy flanked London while Marjorie snapped a picture with Bloom’s phone.

“I better not see that on the World Wide Web,” said London. “Consorting with the ink-stained wretches might ruin my reputation for perfect hair and shallow sound bites.” He laughed.

Taking the “no-surprises-for-the-boss” approach, Bloom called Coogan and laid everything out.

“We have a mountain to climb,” said Bloom. “In the dark. London is an old Denver friend, so he’s coming over to help with the route finding. He’s not going to represent the paper.”

Coogan asked questions about what Hayes had produced and for any details Bloom and Trudy knew. “Hang on,” he said. “I’m coming down.”

Bloom called for a huddle when Coogan arrived. He reviewed everything they had learned, including the information from Trudy and Allison.

“The story is those dogs being used to chase men like foxes,” said London. “That’s national news. Tonight. Top of the show. Lead item. If they find the shooter today, that’s the only other thing that would top it—or you’d have to mention both in the same sentence. It’s unbelievable.”

“Hey,” said Bloom. “On my schedule, not yours.”

“Agree with you both,” said Coogan. “We need our version up pronto.”

“We only have the outline,” said Bloom. “The rough picture.”

“There’s enough,” said Coogan. “If Allison is the source.”

“That’s all information via Trudy,” said Bloom. “And she’s only putting two and two together.”

“Allison Coil actually heard the hunt?” said Hayes.

“She heard the howls, found the man who was badly bitten—and they got him flown to the hospital,” said Trudy.

“Sure it was dogs?” said London.

“If Allison said it was dogs,” said Trudy, “believe me, it was dogs.”

London shook his head. “Thought I’d seen everything.”