Read Online With a Twist by Deirdre Martin - Free Book Online Page A

been filed, what stories were still being worked on, what stories had legs.
    “I think it’ll be the cover,” said Durham.
    “Probably.”
    Durham started to walk to his own cubicle, then turned back. “Fuck, I forgot to tell you. I’ve got some info that could turn out to be something you might want to dig into.”
    Quinn’s ears pricked up. “Yeah?”
    “I was talkin’ to that guy I know down at City Hall—you know, the one I met at the Metropolitan Crossword Finals?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Remember how we reported the bids for development in your old neighborhood were won by Porco & Sons?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Well, apparently City Hall decided to give the contracts to the Shields Brothers instead.”
    “No shit.” Quinn was surprised. “They didn’t award them to the lowest bidder?”
    “Yeah. It’s very weird.”
    “What’s your friend’s name?”
    “‘ Unnamed Source.’ ”
    “Thanks a lot, you ethical bastard.”
    “Anytime.”
    Durham continued on to his own cubicle. Quinn picked up his phone, called information, and got the number for Porco & Sons. Then he dialed.

    8
    Quinn was delighted when he got through to Carmine Porco right away. He asked if Carmine would be willing to talk to him about the construction bids. Carmine was more than willing; he was dying to. Yeah, baby, Quinn thought as Carmine gave him directions to one of their construction sites and told him to meet him there in an hour. Come to Daddy. Spill it all .
    The last time Quinn had been on a construction site was the previous January, when a construction crane toppled backward into an apartment building on the Upper East Side, killing twelve people including three of the crew. Quinn broke the story that the city’s inspector hadn’t really inspected the crane as he’d claimed. As a result, the inspector was arrested the next day, and various individuals in the city’s building department found themselves under fire. It was one of the stories of which Quinn was most proud.
    Entering the site, he headed for the long, white trailer directly to his left. As promised, Carmine was waiting for him, sitting behind a desk almost as messy as Quinn’s. He looked up as Quinn slipped inside. Carmine was a hairy-knuckled mountain of a man, the kind whose mere size could intimidate. He slid out from behind the desk to shake Quinn’s hand.
    “Good to meet you,” he said. He motioned for Quinn to sit at a small, square table with two folding chairs. “You want anything to drink? A Coke or something?”
    “That would be great.” While Porco waddled over to the small fridge, Quinn dug into his backpack, pulling out a pen, a reporter’s notebook, and his small digital voice recorder, all of which he laid out on the table.
    Porco pointed to the recorder as he handed Quinn a can of Coke. “Do we really need that?”
    “I won’t identify who you are; don’t worry. It’s just that sometimes I can’t read my own handwriting.”
    Porco sat down opposite him.
    “Before we start,” said Quinn, “I need to ask you: Have any other reporters been sniffing around about this?”
    “Nope. Just you.”
    “Great.” That’s what he wanted to hear.
    Quinn picked up his pen. “Okay. So tell me about you guys losing the bid for all that construction that’s going on in Hell’s Kitchen to Shields Brothers. What happened?”
    “Shields donated big money to the mayor’s reelection campaign.”
    “And you guys didn’t?”
    “Oh, yeah, we made a huge donation. But Shields had a little more muscle and cash behind them.”
    “Who?”
    “You’re the reporter. Figure it out.”
    Quinn knew what that meant. “Why were you so eager to talk to me about this?”
    “Because I’m fucking pissed off, that’s why.”
    Carmine looked worriedly at Quinn’s notepad. “You’re not naming me, right?”
    “I already told you that. And there’s no article to write yet.”
    Carmine looked relieved.
    “Anything else you want to tell me?”
    Carmine