Chase’s orange frizz—what he adamantly referred to as hair, at least at the rear of his greasy scalp—had surrendered to far too much pomade and slick goo. For the time being, he was struggling to grow a goatee as well, but Dad hadn’t passed down the proper genes to make it fill in like it was supposed to.
The dancer pulled his attention in more intently as she swung around. Satisfaction splashed against his eyes when she slid sensually off the stage and rubbed her body against his, desperate almost. He saw bills sticking out of her lacey outfit, and he searched his pockets to add to them.
The dim lighting of the club permitted him to stay focused on the evening’s entertainment. Of course, he hadn’t noticed that his Blackberry had six missed calls, four voicemails, and two unread text messages. He wasn’t oblivious, however, to the other men hungry for the dancer’s interest. Chase saw it as a taunt that she blew him a kiss and ignored the greedy come-ons of her other spectators. With a wave, he offered a fifty-dollar bill. He was out of cash.
In mere moments, his purchased treasure was through with her routine, and the stage lit back up again, preparing for another club favorite. Chase didn’t much care who followed. He’d gotten his fix for the night. As he watched the dancer he’d claimed a hundred times in his mind disappear behind black velvet, he checked his texts and finished his grinder before leaving the club.
Once outside, his cell vibrated. “Yeah?” Chase answered, half inebriated. “Who’s that chirpin’?”
“It’s Frank! I’ve been trying for the last half hour to get a hold of you. I even called your dimwitted mother. Where are you?”
“Now, hold on. Don’t start cracking on the old broad. That’s my department.”
“Hardly amusing at a time like this, Vallace. Where are you?”
“Me?” Chase said, feeling the world start to spin around him. “I’m at this quaint little place. I think you’d really like it, Frank. But I’m not too sure wifey would.”
“You’ve been drinking, on my time. I swear to—”
“Relax, boss. Chase’ll deliver. What’s it…What’s it you need?”
“I need you to do whatever it is I pay your pathetic carcass for. Report. I just got news of a crime scene, less than ten minutes from the center of the city. And I can’t for the life of me think of a good reason for you not to be there. Are you waiting for me to fire you? Is that what you want?”
“Lost track of time, that’s all. Take a midol or something. I’ll get on it,” Chase slurred.
Frank breathed heavily into the other end. His disappointment and frustration came out like cigarette smoke. “There’s been a murder, and you’re out wasting the night away. That’s classic, Vallace, really, it is. Forget it. I gave you the benefit of the doubt, but it’s too late. I got somebody else on this one.”
“Stop yankin’ my ch-chain-chain. Told you I’m on it, so cancel that last order, yeah? I’ll get you the goods. Just send me the coordinates, Scotty.”
“I better see one killer story in a few hours, or you can find yourself another boss to disappoint.”
The phone call went dead.
* * *
“Cops,” Chase groaned hours later as he began typing the first sentence to what he knew would be a mundane article. Naturally, he’d have to spice it up a bit with a few cursory details. He stared out his office window. It was going to be a long night with no one and nothing but Red Bull to keep him company. He was almost back to sober.
He’d written trash before, even worked for an illegitimate tabloid for a few years before he took the ridiculous salary The Post offered. As Frank’s minion, he’d acquired a set of skills that he often called upon when he was writing articles with no angle. Skills, loosely translated as the elaboration of certain details.
“When are you going to get a life?” his mother badgered when he conveyed that he’d be pulling an
The dancer pulled his attention in more intently as she swung around. Satisfaction splashed against his eyes when she slid sensually off the stage and rubbed her body against his, desperate almost. He saw bills sticking out of her lacey outfit, and he searched his pockets to add to them.
The dim lighting of the club permitted him to stay focused on the evening’s entertainment. Of course, he hadn’t noticed that his Blackberry had six missed calls, four voicemails, and two unread text messages. He wasn’t oblivious, however, to the other men hungry for the dancer’s interest. Chase saw it as a taunt that she blew him a kiss and ignored the greedy come-ons of her other spectators. With a wave, he offered a fifty-dollar bill. He was out of cash.
In mere moments, his purchased treasure was through with her routine, and the stage lit back up again, preparing for another club favorite. Chase didn’t much care who followed. He’d gotten his fix for the night. As he watched the dancer he’d claimed a hundred times in his mind disappear behind black velvet, he checked his texts and finished his grinder before leaving the club.
Once outside, his cell vibrated. “Yeah?” Chase answered, half inebriated. “Who’s that chirpin’?”
“It’s Frank! I’ve been trying for the last half hour to get a hold of you. I even called your dimwitted mother. Where are you?”
“Now, hold on. Don’t start cracking on the old broad. That’s my department.”
“Hardly amusing at a time like this, Vallace. Where are you?”
“Me?” Chase said, feeling the world start to spin around him. “I’m at this quaint little place. I think you’d really like it, Frank. But I’m not too sure wifey would.”
“You’ve been drinking, on my time. I swear to—”
“Relax, boss. Chase’ll deliver. What’s it…What’s it you need?”
“I need you to do whatever it is I pay your pathetic carcass for. Report. I just got news of a crime scene, less than ten minutes from the center of the city. And I can’t for the life of me think of a good reason for you not to be there. Are you waiting for me to fire you? Is that what you want?”
“Lost track of time, that’s all. Take a midol or something. I’ll get on it,” Chase slurred.
Frank breathed heavily into the other end. His disappointment and frustration came out like cigarette smoke. “There’s been a murder, and you’re out wasting the night away. That’s classic, Vallace, really, it is. Forget it. I gave you the benefit of the doubt, but it’s too late. I got somebody else on this one.”
“Stop yankin’ my ch-chain-chain. Told you I’m on it, so cancel that last order, yeah? I’ll get you the goods. Just send me the coordinates, Scotty.”
“I better see one killer story in a few hours, or you can find yourself another boss to disappoint.”
The phone call went dead.
* * *
“Cops,” Chase groaned hours later as he began typing the first sentence to what he knew would be a mundane article. Naturally, he’d have to spice it up a bit with a few cursory details. He stared out his office window. It was going to be a long night with no one and nothing but Red Bull to keep him company. He was almost back to sober.
He’d written trash before, even worked for an illegitimate tabloid for a few years before he took the ridiculous salary The Post offered. As Frank’s minion, he’d acquired a set of skills that he often called upon when he was writing articles with no angle. Skills, loosely translated as the elaboration of certain details.
“When are you going to get a life?” his mother badgered when he conveyed that he’d be pulling an
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