The Guilty - Jason Pinter [82]
to work.
I took an empty seat, trying hard not to meet any of the
stares directed my way. I noticed several people staring at my
bandaged hand, which I self-consciously tucked underneath
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the table. Wallace sat down at the head, and finally the eyes
left me for more succulent meat.
"As I'm sure you're aware of this morning," Wallace said,
"the reaction to Henry's story about the link between this
killer and Billy the Kid has been off the charts. Based on our
website traffic, it is the Gazette' s most e-mailed article since
we expanded our web capabilities three years ago. We've
received dozens of phone calls, many supportive, many not
so much, not to mention queries from at least three film scouts
inquiring about film rights to the story. Needless to say we've
struck a nerve with this article, and considering the demand
I'd like each section to consider reporting on the phenomenon from a different societal perspective."
After a quick tug at his goatee, the arts editor piped in. "We
can do an overview of the most famous movies, music, television shows and books to explore the legend of Billy the Kid.
An IMBD search came back with at least two dozen films
where the Kid was either a main or substantial supporting
character. And you'd be surprised how often his name is
dropped in contemporary music and literature."
Deborah Gotkowski, the business editor, said, "I have a call
in to the tourism bureau at Fort Sumner. I'd like to know how
much revenue they take in on a yearly basis from their various
museums and tourist attractions, then analyze that data and
compare it to the ten cities who receive the largest percentage of their revenue from one specific tourist attraction."
Jonas Levinson, the science editor, said, "We can do a
comprehensive look at the DNA techniques Professor Vance
was attempting to use, and determine whether they could
actually tie Catherine Antrim to the alleged remains. That
would have to have been some groundbreaking stuff."
I heard a loud grunt from the corner. It came from a large
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man wearing a rumpled sports jacket and a white shirt with
a moon-shaped mustard stain. Frank Rourke was the
Gazette' s sports editor, a man I'd never met, though I did
enjoy his recent articles about steroid abuse in baseball.
Unlike most city sportswriters, Frank wrote from a fan's perspective rather than writing as if he was the moral axis of the
sports universe. He never chided athletes for their faults. That
would have been the pot calling the kettle black, considering
Frank had written two books--one about his marriage as a
full-time sportswriter, the second about his divorce as a fulltime sportswriter.
"I think the Knicks are looking to acquire a backup point
guard for a playoff push. Maybe I can claim this Bonney guy
is coming up in trade talks."
"You should do that," Jonas said. "I bet most of your
readers would believe it, too."
"My readers could beat your readers to death with one arm
tied behind their back."
"I could throw your readers a tube steak and they'd forget
all about it."
Frank leaned forward, half his body over the table. "Are
you calling my readers stupid?"
Jonas shrugged. "If the GED fits."
"Fuck you, and fuck this kid, Parker," Rourke spat. "I've
been at this paper twelve years, I ain't never been so much as
given a handkerchief by you assholes. Now we're sucking his
dick about all this 'groundbreaking' reporting? Please. Once
this twelve-year-old milk monitor earns his stripes he can
come in here. Until then I'm not listening to this shit."
Rourke stood up and made a grand spectacle of tucking in
his shirt, shooting his cuffs and storming out. There was
silence for a moment. Jonas's face showed a combination of
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pride and white-as-a-ghost fear, as though Rourke might be
waiting for him at his desk with a pair of brass knuckles.
"Are we through?" Wallace said. "Because time is wasting
and every other paper in town is looking for us to trip so they
can pass