The Darkness - Jason Pinter [28]
of a D-list celebrity nobody's going to remember in
twelve months?"
"Because there's fifty grand in it for you if you can
deliver a manuscript in a month."
The Darkness
81
"Somebody thinks she's worth fifty grand?"
"Oh, heck no. She got a million bucks for the book.
You get fifty k just to write it."
"She can't write it herself?"
Valentine laughed, deep and hearty. "Henry, I don't
think the woman can read. But that's not the point. Her
publisher is a little worried Belinda might have a short
shelf life, and they want to get the book out before the
next season of American Idol takes attention away from
her."
"The money sounds great, but I'm just not really into
that kind of thing. I never saw myself as that kind of
writer." I looked at Tony. "Just out of curiosity, why come
to me? What's in this for you?"
Tony grew a sly smirk. His eyes narrowed. I could tell
Tony Valentine was far more calculating than he let on.
"See, I knew you were a smart one. Here's the deal,
Henry. If you take this job, you get the money. That's how
you win. If Belinda publishes the book, she adds a few
ticks on to her fifteen minutes. She wins. And because I
got you the job and we work at the same paper, you feed
me exclusive info from the book that I can run in my
column. I win. We all win, Parker."
"Wow," I said. "It's like a whole big circle of ethics
violations."
"Say what you will, but who loses here?"
"Sorry, Tony. I have to say no."
"No apologies necessary," Tony said, taking a hair
pick from his suit jacket and running it through his glistening hair. That was a first. "But I hope you understand
why I put it on the table."
"I do. I appreciate you looking out for me. And
Belinda. And you," I said. "If you know anyone who
82
Jason Pinter
wants me to test canned food for botulism, my Friday
night is free."
"See, that rapier wit. One more thing I love about you,
Henry. See you around. And it was nice to meet you, Mr.
O'Donnell." Tony walked away, whistling a tune I
couldn't identify but was definitely Sondheim.
"Have a good one," Jack said as Valentine rounded
the corner.
"Have a good one?" I said to Jack. "It took you a
month just to give me the time of day."
"You should be nicer to him," Jack said.
"You can't be serious," I replied. "Jack, he's a gossip
hound. A bottom feeder. He makes a living shoveling
garbage."
"And he's necessary for the survival of this newspaper," Jack said abrasively. "You can ride your high horse
until it dies of thirst, but this is not a business that's
growing, in case you haven't noticed. We didn't have a
real gossip columnist for years. Now, people are talking
about Tony. Besides, what do you think a newspaper is?
Every day, we print a hundred pages, give or take, and
reach over a million readers. You think every one of them
wants to read about crime and corruption? Some of them
need cheddar-flavored potato chips in their daily routine.
Something you know is crap but you enjoy it anyway. You
like steak, Henry?"
"Yeah, why?"
"How do you like your cut--lean and tough, or a little
more flavorful?"
"More flavor, I guess. Why?"
"You know what puts the flavor in steak? Fat. Too
much fat, in case you don't keep up on healthy trends, is
bad for you. But it makes the steak taste like a slice of
The Darkness
83
heaven. That's what gossip is. It's fat. Without it, the
paper is leaner, tougher, but doesn't have as much flavor.
Maybe it's the kind of flavor that increases your cholesterol or hardens your arteries, but most people live in the
moment. You get what I'm saying, sport?"
"I get it," I said. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."
"You like your job, don't you?" I nodded. "Then live
with it. You do your job the best you can, don't worry
about everyone else."
"But don't you think, you know, that the Gazette
should have a higher standard? You've been here, what,
thirty years?"
"What do you think the Gazette is?" Jack said with a
laugh. "Our job is to report the news for the paper. It's
not the news's