“No, but I’m a new reporter at KTMW. I wondered if you had a moment to talk about the disagreement over the police cruisers. I heard that Kendall’s Steakhouse has agreed to fund the purchase. Would you be willing to chat?”
His eyebrows shot up. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, and a reporter peppering him with questions he wasn’t allowed to answer was likely intimidating. “No comment, ma’am.”
I made a point of relaxing. Taking off the reporter hat. “Cool. I get it.” A pause. “Well, then can we just have coffee together? New in town.” I grinned, holding up my own full cup and doing my best to show off the dimple that had gotten me through closed doors in the past. He passed me a relenting smile back. Score.
“Just coffee would be fine. Yeah.” His ears turned red.
“Deal,” I said.
We grabbed a table in the courthouse café, and he let me know that his name was Jake and he was waiting to testify about a drunk-driving stop he’d made. I let him know that I was learning the ropes at the station and struggling to get a foothold on a good story. After establishing my—truthful—vulnerability, I eased a strand of hair behind my ear, leaned in, and went for it. “You know, if you were to tell me more about the tension between the sheriff and commissioner, I wouldn’t have to use your name in the story. But it might help get me noticed at work where I’m currently crashing and burning. No one ever has to know, and you would be doing me a huge favor.”
He looked to the side, nervous. Maybe trying to see who was nearby. Luckily, no one was. We were between mealtimes, and the café was pretty lifeless.
“No interview required,” I assured him. “Just point me in the right direction. Help fill in the backstory and maybe give me the name of someone you know from Kendall’s who might be willing to talk on record.” I sat back. “The thing is, this story is going to happen regardless of you or me. I was just hoping to be the one to bring it home.”
He didn’t say anything. Neither did I. But I held eye contact and waited, watching as his resolve began to crumble before my eyes. He seemed like a nice guy who wanted to help.
Finally, “Okay, so this is what I know. But keep my name out of it.”
“You have my word. I’m just looking for the information that will help me move forward. Just trying to keep my job.” Also true.
Jake went on to detail a slowly eroding relationship between Sheriff Patrick Denison and Commissioner Roz Harlow, who had apparently been working behind the scenes to discredit the sheriff. Madame Commissioner had subsequently been caught on video at a Christmas party calling him a petty mama’s boy born without balls. Ouch. The video had circulated throughout the police department, humiliating Sheriff Pat, whose son’s best friend happened to own Kendall’s Steakhouse. The best friend wanted to stick it to the commissioner by undermining her for a change, resulting in the police department getting those new cruisers. Kendall’s looked like the hero, and the commissioner looked like the big meanie, unwilling to help the city get what it needed to fight crime properly.
I sat back. This was a story the people of San Diego would be interested in. I still couldn’t believe no one was reporting on it until now. “This sounds like it’s been a crash-and-burn relationship.”
“That’s what I’ve seen. Sheriff was pissed, but now he’s happy as a tick in a tar bucket.” He winced. “Grew up in the South.”
“See, now that would be a great quote.”
He smiled. “No can do, but I have a feeling the assistant manager over at Kendall’s would talk to you. Her name is Essie, and she hates her job. Has one foot out the door already.”
I scribbled down the information and smiled at Jake. “You’ve been such a big help. If there’s ever anything I can do for you…”
He stood, his coffee gone. “Have dinner with me. You’re really pretty.”
“Oh.” I winced. “If I wasn’t gay, I’d totally be into it.”
He rocked back on his heels. “Dammit. Fuck me. My loss.”
“But I’d love a new friend.”
He nodded. “Fair enough, Ms. Skyler. You’ve got one. See you around?”
“You will. Take care, Jake. You saved me today, and I will not forget it.”
My adrenaline pumped and I bounced on my heels like a prizefighter. This was the kind of work I’d been dreaming about as I twiddled my thumbs at produce festivals. I was finally chasing a story, and it felt good. I closed my notebook and pulled out my phone, ready to place a call to one Essie at Kendall’s Steakhouse.
* * *
“What’s going on? You look like a happy little reporter,” Carlos said as he rounded the corner from the break room. The traffic pattern flowed around the perimeter of the newsroom, almost like a highway, and my desk offered the perfect rest stop on the curve. People stopped to chat, eat their snack, and shoot the breeze before they carried on. It was actually dumb luck because it gave me the chance to get to know everyone and keep an ear to the ground for what kinds of stories were in the works. The downside was I was a target for idle conversation when I should really be chasing my own stories.
“I am happy. I finally have something in the works.” I got back to typing with verve.
“And that would be…?”
I paused. I was still early and maybe spilling to Carlos would be shooting myself in the foot. We worked for the same station, so he wasn’t exactly competition. Yet I felt the need to guard what I had like an alert junkyard dog on a gravy mission. “I’ve got some intel that there’s some drama at the sheriff’s office.”
His eyes went wide and he came closer. “Denison?”
“Yeah. It’s actually sounding pretty juicy.”
“Tell me what you have, and maybe I can contribute.”
I recounted the gist of what I’d learned eavesdropping and the rest from Jake. As I spoke, I caught a glimpse of Carrie passing on the way to her desk. She’d be going live soon for the five o’clock. She was dressed and already through hair and makeup, most of which she did herself. As much as I didn’t want to be, I was always acutely aware of her presence. The back of my neck prickled as she got closer, and when she sat down, everything in me tightened just a little bit.
“That does sound juicy,” Carlos said. “Have you pitched it to Kristin and co?”
“Not yet. I need attribution. Someone on record. But I have a lead.”
“Couldn’t hurt to let Kristin know what you have working, though. Keep me posted.” Carlos offered me a fist bump, took a bite of his apple, and carried on his way.