That's the Chicago Way - 4. Chapter 4 - Don't Shoot the Messenger

THAT’S THE CHICAGO WAY

Jack Scribe

Douchebag – someone who has surpassed the levels of jerk and asshole, however not yet reached fucker or motherfucker status. Not to be confused with douche.

Urban Dictionary

Chapter 4, DON’T SHOOT THE MESSENGER

Listening to Sean O’Reilly whine and bitch on the phone was not high on Evan Jankovic’s list of fun things to do. ‘Although it beats hanging around this turkey in person for very long.’ The previous evening’s first conversation was just a prelude to more verbal hand wringing. Around one in the morning, Sean called back and gave Evan a blow-by-blow replay of his call to the mayor. Hizzoner was pissed and suggested that Sean bail out for a quick vacation until ‘things blow over.’ Or to use the mayor’s actual words, “Get your sorry ass outta town and hide until you get a green light.”

Sean’s next call came about five hours later and awakened Evan from a deep sleep with an aching hard-on and bits of his dream still very real: an orgy with a squad of young, muscular centurions in an ancient Roman palace. The images of these oil-slicked warriors with their naked swords on display quickly faded when Evan realized he was alone in his bedroom; the familiar generic queen bed, an adjustable architectural floor lamp, a small flat screen TV and two racks of ClosetMaid baskets filled with clothing.

Sean, while packing for his ‘emergency’ trip, had been watching the morning news on Channel 7 and took in the Rob Cooke report concerning the now infamous note incident. “You gotta tell your boss that he’s poking at a hornet’s nest,” Sean said hoarsely. “They don’t have squat for evidence or this would be huge…like Tribune and CNN huge. I’ve got my tracks covered and we’re safe…so why this fuckin’ bullshit with threatening the press?”

Evan agreed it was a good question but he couldn’t be disloyal to Marv. “Doll, I’ll be meeting with him in a little while and I’ll pass on your concerns. The way I see it, what’s done is done and you get a little vacation out of the deal. Where ya going?” He walked with his phone to the bathroom and proceeded to relieve himself. Evan didn’t care if his piss hitting the water could be heard by Sean. ‘Probably he’ll get turned on by the whiz,’ he thought while taking aim.

“Driving up to the family cabin on Lake Geneva. Close enough to be available if needed either here or there. By the way, I returned that fuckin’ Kess’s call…but went right into voicemail. I was very sweet and innocent…decided to screw around a bit and throw him off track…but I won’t be available for any follow-up.”

“Be sure and keep your whereabouts very vague with your office staff. I suggest, honeybun, to just say you’re on an extended business trip. And if you need to talk with Marv, do it through me.”

“Yeah, and fuck you too…douchebag,” Sean replied in a louder voice. “Knock off all this fake sweetness for Christ’s sake and do your job. Convince your boss to back off or…”

“Cool it. I got the message.” Evan flushed the toilet and lowered the telephone to pick up the noise. “Anything else, or do you want to wait around for a juicy number two?” He stepped in front of the mirror and studied his image. ‘Hmmm, not bad for just getting up. But I gotta work on the abs today.’

“Gross,” Sean said, before abruptly disconnecting the phone.

“You got that right, sweet pea,” Evan said to himself. He checked his teeth and decided it was time to make a brightener appointment with the dentist. ‘Gotta make sure my killer smile does just that…for all the boys.’

Back in the bedroom, Evan returned the cordless handset to the charger sitting on the floor and slipped on a pair of boxers. He loved pulling Sean’s chain and didn’t care whether or not they got along. ‘It’s fun to mind-fuck him.’ However, he didn’t want to create a toxic situation that went beyond the point of no return. ‘Just keep him on edge,’ Evan thought as he went to the kitchen to make coffee, ‘so he’s never quite sure what the deal is.’ His boss, Marv Revson, was only in business with Sean because it was easy pickings and a way to launder money. Therefore, Evan had license to mess with the guy…but only to a point.

After starting the coffee maker, he walked to the living room window and checked out the morning scene. Although his one-bedroom rental was only on the fifth floor, it was high enough to get an overall perspective of what was happening outside. Rush-hour traffic, heading into the heart of the city, moved just a little faster than the joggers running along the nearby path wedged between Lake Shore Drive and the lake’s concrete breaker wall. Looking beyond, he noticed a few boats that were probably taking fishermen out for the day. Further, he could make out larger cargo ships on the eastern horizon where the vast lake met the light blue sky. The bright sun bounced off the glistening body of water like the lake was a sunning reflector. The beautiful September morning was deceptive, however. Chicagoans were aware of what was coming in a few months. The thought of winter sent an involuntary shiver up Evan’s back.

He stepped back a couple of feet to block the glare, exhaled one final yawn and looked at the spartan space. Bare white walls and beige carpeting – standard fare for rentals – was the backdrop for his meager but stylish collection of furnishings. However, his possessions had a history. The couch, coffee table, floor lamp and two easy chairs had been given to him by one of Chicago’s top interior designers in appreciation for Evan’s role as arm candy for charity events, private parties and an occasional dinner…while keeping his virtual virginity intact.

The apartment didn’t present the best image for a successful young executive just about to hit thirty but Evan did have a plan. Back in 2007, he was considering buying a condo in Streeterville near Navy Pier. However, in addition to the prices being so crazy high, his gut reaction to what was happening in the at-the-time booming real estate market caused him to pull back – he kept hearing stories about deadbeat flakes getting home loans with no money down. Fast-forward three years and several of his friends were ‘under water’ with homes that had lost a couple of hundred thousand dollars or so in value, while he was still leasing and piling up a nice nest egg. When his real estate agent felt the market was bottoming out, Evan would be ready to jump into the homeowners’ pool.

Four beeps announced the coffee was ready. He returned to the kitchen and flipped open his laptop that was sitting on the counter and connected to the Internet. Popping a raisin muffin into the toaster was followed by his daily intake of vitamins, chased down with diet grapefruit juice. By the time he’d poured his coffee and savored the first cautious sip, the muffin was ready. He bit into the muffin, typed ‘newword’ into the Google search window and clicked search. “Damn,” Evan said to himself when he realized that the latest weekly hadn’t been posted yet. “Now I’ll have to pick up a copy.”

Just to play safe, he quickly looked at the Tribune and the Sun-Times websites and happily didn’t discover anything about his boss or Sean. The ABC7Chicago had a small video clip that replayed Rob Cooke’s report from the previous evening but had no headlines screaming to hype it. ‘Still a non-story,’ he decided, ‘and it’ll hopefully play itself out that way. No reason to contact the boss since I’ll see him in an hour. If he’d wanted to talk, Marv woulda called.’

A half-hour later, Evan was in the elevator checking out his outfit in the mirror one final time. He turned and admired his form-fitting, tan micro-fabric slacks that accentuated his butt without being vulgar. ‘If ya got it, flaunt it,’ He made sure his dark-blue long sleeve silk shirt was tucked in with just the right amount of fold around his waist. Completing the look du jour were tan socks, brown Ferragamo bit loafers, a vintage Cartier tank watch and his gold signet ring. He admired the family crest engraved on the ring and said, “Every gay boy needs one…just because.” The elevator stopped at the second lower level garage of 1360 LSD and Evan strolled over to his sensible gray BMW X5. Sensible because he had space to ‘schlep’ around company equipment and files, but snappy enough to impress young guys. Evan loved guys just out of twink status…dudes in their very early twenties.

He was in luck. The Starbucks on Germania Place had just received a bundle of the latest NewWord. He bought a Caffè Latte and did a fast read of the John Kess article. ‘Not even a smoking gun.’ Evan underlined a few sentences. ‘But enough shit to raise eyebrows and call out the dogs if it isn’t contained.’ He picked up a few more copies and left the store so he’d be at Marv Revson’s Skokie office on time. Evan had no illusion that today was going to be routine bedlam; his boss had too much dough and time invested in this business with O’Reilly to play Mr. Nice Guy. Circling the wagons and rolling out a public relations smokescreen was only the first chapter of the Revson playbook. Evan’s role as file keeper and administrator fortunately kept him compartmentalized from the dirty tricks chapter…Marv had others for those tasks.

~~~~~

Rob’s text message shortly after noon resonated a reassuring tone and Kris felt better about his concerns for his new friend’s safety. He’d caught the mid-day news airing Rob’s interview with John Kess and thought the second note – with the bagged dog shit – was ballsy and a little nutsy. ‘Or maybe these assholes are just screwing with everyone’s heads to scare them off?’ This twist of a trick or treat had Kris imagining the hoot it’d be to re-create this for YouTube. ‘Probably could get a couple hundred thousand hits if I coupled it with a few vampires and zombies and dubbed a good sound track.’ On second thought, he decided this was too serious to goof around with…even if he was just letting his imagination run a few laps.

Rob had urged him to call around two so they could talk in detail about the latest developments and “just bs” for a bit and Kris texted an “ok :-)” right back. Kris sprinted from his class, took the elevator to DePaul’s Student Center and bought a snack to inhale before the appointed time. While chewing bites of his tuna fish sandwich, he thought about the personal encounter the previous evening and all that had happened. ‘Has it really been less than twenty-four hours since I did my shameless hussy routine at the Channel 7 window?’

He considered the flirting and bantering two-step with Rob a total success. Kris had not only been able to mentally jostle with the hunky anchor but also take it several steps further. He recalled the spider and the fly poem he’d read in grade school – Will you walk into my parlor? Said the Spider to the Fly. It’s the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy – or words to that effect. ‘But I did get him into my parlor and the results were smokin’…if I can humbly judge.’ And Kris couldn’t have been happier with the rules of their encounter that eliminated all gray areas. ‘Go for the gold in the sex games and part friends.’ Not that he wouldn’t mind hopping in the sack with Rob one more time, if nothing more than to reciprocate for the fabulous fucking he’d received. ‘But that’s not to be,’ he’d decided. Kris appreciated that Rob had ground rules and wouldn’t bend them.

With the sandwich finished and several moments to spare before it was time to call, Kris looked around the lounge while sipping his Diet Coke. A typical mix of coeds dressed in combinations of blouses, designer tops and slacks or long shorts, and guys wearing tees, jeans and flip-flops. There was one dude at another table who was very doable but Kris didn’t have enough interest to brazenly go into heavy-duty cruise mode with a contemporary. ‘He doesn’t look like there’s much going on upstairs…regardless of what’d be up…downstairs.’ On closer inspection, the guy had Ipod buds in his ears. ‘Probably listening to Lady Gaga singing about bluffin’ with her muffin.’

However, further away in the corner was an extremely sexy guy – slightly older, meaning at the entry level of the thirty-something category – in a post-preppy ensemble of khakis, open button-down shirt, loosened tie and boat shoes. ‘Probably a teaching assistant or a young prof grading tests.’ Kris’s gaydar started pinging as he compared the light blond hair, cut short with a fluffed part, and the dude’s brownish eyebrows.

Suddenly the stranger looked up and focused his green-blue eyes on Kris. The two locked gazes for a moment before exchanging grins. The stranger’s smile was a mixture of thoughtfulness and lustful exploration, and Kris supposed he was transmitting the same. At least he hoped that was the case. Without missing a beat, the guy closed his folder while maintaining eye contact, stood up and paused as if to wait for some signal to approach. Kris reciprocated with a broad grin and a slight nod. He looked at his digital watch, saw that it was 1:50 and took a deep breath. He hadn’t planned on advancing his social life today.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself, I’m Kris and I don’t recall seeing you up here before.” Kris decided, because of the deadline, to cut out the coy preliminaries and find out the score.

“Dennis. Mind if I join you?”

Kris pulled back a chair and said, “Absolutely.” He waited until Dennis was sitting down before adding, “Just so you know, I’ve got an important call to make in a few minutes.”

“You can accomplish a lot in a few minutes.” Dennis settled in and leaned forward. “What are you studying?”

“Communications and Media. Or as the dean described it in the school brochure, I’m enrolled in an ‘interdisciplinary academic program of information and communication technology.’ How’s that for a mouthful of academic bull? But enough about me…would I be correct in assuming you’re not a student?”

“Busted,” Dennis said with a smile that scrunched the lines around his eyes. “Short answer is I teach business strategies in the MBA program…just moved here from Boston and this is my first semester. Therefore…”

“…We have no points of conflict in a student slash teacher thing. Right?” Kris smiled, took out his phone and handed it to Dennis. “If I’m not being too bold, how about punching in your name and contact info, and I’ll call you later today? Maybe we could grab a burger or something tonight…if you’re available.”

“You guys in the Midwest don’t mess around do you? Get right to the point.”

“Some of us are…how do you say it…very goal oriented and not too bad at multi-tasking.” Kris liked Dennis and his approach to their conversation.

“With a little alpha male thrown in,” Dennis replied with a chuckle as he took the cell phone. “I’d like to see you off campus. Maybe a beer at Sidetrack’s…I assume you’re legal?”

“Legal for beer and other things. How about you?”

“Just hit thirty and I’m very open about other things,” Dennis replied while thumbing the keypad.

“Sidetrack’s for an early beer, and grub at Hamburger Mary’s would work. I’ve got some studying to do later.” He’d see how things went on this impromptu date before suggesting other activities.

“That’d work.” Dennis handed back the phone. “I live up in Wrigleyville and could meet you at the bar around five.”

Kris looked at the data. ‘Dennis Edstrom.’ He looked up and stood. “For the record, I’m Kris Lamacki; nice Polish boy from Chicago. Listen, I do have a call to make.” He offered his hand and added, “I’ll text you later and confirm. I’m thinking meeting at six just to play safe…okay?”

Dennis shook hands and said, “I look forward to getting to know this Polish boy better. Take care.”

‘Nice buns,’ Kris observed as Dennis walked away. ‘And with all due respect to those degenerate bastards of the Fourth Reich, this Pole would prefer being invaded by Sweden.’

His watch was approaching the appointed hour – just enough time to bus his tray to the refuse area and get a drink re-fill. The Student Center had quieted down and he found an easy chair by the window that was away from the background noise. Kris found Rob’s number and hit ‘send.’

“Afternoon. Rob Cooke…at your service. How ya doing?”

“Doin’ good. Saw your interview with Kess on the mid-day news…pretty neat. Have I caught you at a good time?” Kris thought it was best not to play a few jokes off the ‘service’ word. ‘That’s over.’

“I’m good for a few minutes. The production meeting is coming up, though. So if I need to run, you’ll understand. Anyway, I’m glad you called so we could get caught up since, well…you know.”

“Listen, Mr. Cooke, I’m not going to get maudlin and start singing That’s What Friends Are For. But I am taking the ‘friend thing’ seriously…this doo-doo Kess and you are in has me worried.”

Kris listened as Rob went through the series of events that had occurred since they’d last seen each other. Most of the general information was not new; it’d been covered in the newscast three hours earlier. What caught Kris’s attention, however, was that police had been assigned to shadow Rob and Kess, and their homes were being watched. He was relieved that the cops would be watching out for the guys so that any further shenanigans could hopefully be curtailed.

“Any further break in the story?”

“Hitting dead ends at this moment,” Rob replied. “I’ve talked to my news director about letting me spend some time with Kess to work on background…but that’s still up in the air. Unless something develops – which is unlikely – we’ll probably re-run my interview with Kess tonight and I’ll follow up with a re-hash of the events. So, what are you up to?”

“Same oh, same oh. One more class, then I’m meeting someone for a beer and burger. Then, study…you know the drill.”

“And that drill doesn’t change…just the location and circumstances. By the way, Rick and I are invited for dinner with some friends sometime in the next week or so on a Saturday. I’d love for you to join everyone. You’ll be with some very interesting guys…and I’d like you to meet my other half. If I can swing an invitation, are you up for that?”

“Absolutely. My dance card is pretty open right now and I don’t have a lot of heavy duty studying. If you can get back to me with a date A.S.A.P., I’d appreciate it. I’m due to take Mom out for dinner and need to commit pretty soon.” Kris was curious as to what kind of crowd Rob ran with and what kind of a guy Rick was.

“I’ve just been flagged to join the troops in the meeting. I’ll text you with the date if the hosts don’t object…but they’re pretty cool about being flexible. Gotta run, Kris. Bye.”

Kris punched ‘end’ and slipped his cell into his pocket. From his backpack he pulled out a book and found the place mark. He needed to complete the assigned chapter and thoroughly understand the points of discussion before his three o-clock.

~~~~~

A migraine day. That’s what it’d been for Evan from the moment he’d arrived at Marv’s office near the Old Orchard shopping center in Skokie. As soon as he reached the reception area he could hear his boss screaming – having a rare tantrum – and the secretary, sitting in her outer office desk, was in tears. Part of Evan wanted to make a one-eighty and disappear for a while. However, he knew it was better to man-up and make an appearance.

He knocked quickly three times at Marv’s office door and said, “Boss, it’s Evan. Okay to come in?”

The blustering abruptly ended and Marv replied, “Gimme a second.”

The second turned out to be a couple of minutes before the office door opened. Out came three of ‘the boys’ who Evan only knew by sight. He always mentally filed them away as Manny, Moe and Jack – Marv’s Pep Boys. They grunted and nodded as they passed him and left the reception area.

Evan leaned down to the secretary and said, “Honey, why don’t you have one of the other gals hold down the fort so you can take ten to freshen up? I’ll take the responsibility if it comes to that.” He winked and entered the lion’s den. Sitting behind the large mahogany desk was Marv Revson, clad in a dark suit and scooched down in a large green leather executive chair, making his 5’6” frame appear more diminutive than usual. Marv’s skin was blotchy with every capillary vein in his bulbous nose glowing and his gray hair was slightly askew from the usual comb over. The oddest features, however, were his long sideburns and mustache – the hair color was mostly black. He drummed his manicured, polished fingernails on the desktop and motioned Evan to sit.

“Just a disaster. What was I thinking getting mixed up with that goyum?”

“The goyum who had easy access to City Hall?” Evan asked, without deference as he pulled his chair closer. He turned on his business mode, purposely being his idea of ‘butch’ when in front of Marv. “Did somebody talk or is Kess just being a good reporter?”

Marv pondered that statement for a moment. The finger drumming transitioned to a loud tapping that resembled Morse code. “I’ve got ways to find out what that schmuck discovered and still keep our tracks covered.”

The word ‘our’ didn’t sit well with Evan but he let it pass. “Mr. O’Reilly didn’t seem so sure about that when I spoke with him this morning. I assume you’re aware he’s going to Lake Geneva at the behest of the mayor?”

“Only through voicemail…and just that he was going out of town on business in case of…” Marv pulled on his large left earlobe to indicate that details were best left unsaid. “Wisconsin, eh? I guess that’s as good as anyplace. And Sean can monitor Chicago news from there. I’ll leave you to be the contact man just in case.”

“Already done. He knows what to do.”

“And you’re sure there’s no way anyone can get to our files? I wouldn’t put it past the U.S. Attorney to start sniffing around if this thing has legs. Look at the shit he stirred up with that Blago mess.”

“Number one, it’s all about not saying anything to anyone you don’t trust and, number two, you or Mr. O’Rielly never speak in an environment or on a phone you don’t control.” Evan paused for a moment to let that sink in. “As far as I know, we’ve got that covered. The files are very safe and I don’t anticipate a problem. However, if you want, I could have a little shredding party.”

“No, no…as long as you’re satisfied that nothing can be found, we’re good. I still need some personal insurance if this deal with Sean goes south. I’ll let you know if I want things to disappear.” Marv leaned in and spoke almost at a whisper. “This asshole Kess is the troublemaker…Cooke over at Channel 7 is just a parrot. So I’m focusing on…let’s call the reporter, Lois Lane. I plan on ruffling her crinolines until the story goes away.”

Evan was tempted to camp it up a bit with a Jimmy Olsen impression, but decided to let it pass. “But Lois had Superman to save her ass…if you’ll excuse the comparison. You think there’s a Superman out there we don’t know about?”

“Don’t worry about that, Mr. Jankovic. My imaginary pal, Lex Luthor, has a few tricks up his sleeve and I haven’t seen anyone with a red cape flying around recently.” For the first time, a small smile cracked Marv’s façade. “In fact, Lex has some tricks for Lois tonight.”

“Something tells me I don’t want to know what that is,” Evan replied. “Those little love notes last night may have been too aggressive and could draw unwanted attention to Sean and you.” He wanted to add that the incidents were fucking stupid but didn’t want to offend his boss – he knew how far he could go with Marv.

“Bullshit.” Marv sat up and pounded on the desk. “I’m just beginning. There’s no way that what happened to my brother will be repeated with me.”

“Then I’m going to assume that Luthor’s tracks are covered and can’t lead back to you.” Evan wanted to distance himself from these misdeeds. ‘I don’t like being part of our or we in this episode,’ he thought. “What do you want me to do in the meantime?”

“Keep the ship sailing with all of our other enterprises. Period. I’ll worry about everything else. Now, unless there’s anything else to discuss, let me get on with the day…and you can pull up some revenue projections on everything that’s on the books. I want that by this afternoon.” Marv took a handful of files from his lower desk drawer and slid them towards Evan. “Put these papers with everything else.”

“I’ll have a report on your desk by three,” Evan replied as he stood up and picked up the files. There was nothing else to discuss and he – the Riddler – wanted to distance himself from the Jokers at all cost. He looked at Marv and noticed that his boss was staring off to a corner of the room in deep thought.

The secretary was back at her desk and thanked Evan for his thoughtfulness as he walked by. For the rest of the morning and early afternoon, he prepared a financial analysis. By 4:45 p.m., he delivered the report to Marv’s secretary and told her he was leaving the office for the day.

Traffic on Chicago’s expressways was always a mess and that afternoon’s rush hour drive was no exception. When Evan merged from the Edens to the Kennedy, the flow had slowed down to a magnanimous five to ten miles per hour. ‘Time to go surface.’ He eased over to the right lane and exited near Belmont. As he drove east, the idea of stopping off at Sidetrack’s for happy hour seemed to be a good way to unwind. The Bimmer X5’s turn on Halstead was almost automatic…unfortunately the same didn’t apply to finding a parking space. Evan drove around side streets for almost ten minutes before he found a legal space. With Marv’s files in the SUV, the last thing he needed was a ticket or the police’s excuse to explore.

Sidetrack’s at six was packed with a cross-section of Chicago’s posers, queens, studs, models, gym bunnies, white-collar executives, bikers, a few white-haired seniors, and one or two lesbians. Evan wandered through the first floor and did a fast scan of the talent before heading up to the rooftop deck bar. He’d compare the quality of the men in each space and then settle in for a score. He decided that he needed a little relief.

The deck was crowded with an abundance of lookers savoring the last of the summer warmth and their tans while they lasted. Evan found a space at the bar.The bartender made immediate eye contact while he efficiently opened three bottles of beer and nodded with a one of those be-right-with-you winks. Evan watched as the six-foot hunk delivered the order in front of a group of forty-ish bears and collected.

“Hey, dude, you look thirsty,” said the bartender with a grin and in a low voice. “What can I get for you?” He was wearing a vintage bowling shirt with the name “Matt” embroidered on the right chest area.

Evan drank in the image of this friendly, very butch, mid-twenties bartender with perfect white teeth. The loose shirt couldn’t hide his pecs that were the result of serious bench presses, or his serious ‘guns’ semi-covered by the short sleeves. “Hi. First, is your name really Matt or did it come with the shirt?”

“Came with the shirt…but I bought it cuz my name really is Matt. Cool, huh?”

“If you ever find one with ‘Evan,’ save it for me.” Evan was enjoying this little repartee but knew Matt was busy. “About the drink, you make a good mojito?”

“Not good…great. You’ll think you’re on the beach in Rio.”

“Then I’ll have one and save the airfare.” Evan watched as Matt moved with liquid motion to the back bar and reach for a bottle of Bacardi light rum. ‘Nice buns,’ he judged. ‘He’d be a hot bottom for someone who likes all that muscle.’

While the bartender mixed his mojito, Evan focused on two guys a little further down the bar. The taller of the two, a handsome blond with a button-down shirt and loosened tie, was probably a couple of years older than Evan and sexy…if you liked older guys. However, the guy’s unshaved friend with brown, spiked hair was a bonafide cutie. Shorter and younger were both strong points in Evan’s list of the perfect man and this stranger in the polo and cargo shorts fit the mould perfectly. ‘Probably not more than twenty-one…if he’s even in here legally.’

‘Not bad,’ Evan judged as he slowly sipped his mojito. ‘Wonder what their deal is?’ The two guys were in an animated conversation with the taller man playing second banana. The shorter dude seemed to enjoy throwing in humor and watching for a reaction. Occasionally, one would touch the other as if to physically emphasize a point. Evan observed that each would hold on just a tad bit longer than normal. ‘I think this is either a pick-up situation or they’re meeting for the first time.’

The tall guy ordered two more beers, said something to the younger one and walked away. Evan picked up his drink and moved over to the vacated space. ‘Wow, this dude is even cuter up close.’ He rested his elbow on the bar and said, “Hi, is this space taken?”

“Actually it is,” the guy replied. “My friend will be right back.”

“Damn,” Evan said with a smile. “A fresh face…and I was so looking forward to getting to know you. My name’s Evan, by the way.”

“Hey, Evan. I’m Kris. Maybe another time?”

Evan took out his wallet and retrieved his business card. “Take this and give me a call sometime…the number is my personal cell. I can usually rearrange my schedule when it comes to getting to know someone like you.” He gave Kris the business card, nodded and backed away. “Call,” he said and put his finger and thumb up to his head.

“Rain check.” Kris shook his head affirmatively and shoved the card in his pocket.

After meeting Kris, the rest of the deck’s population seemed disappointing by comparison. There were plenty of doable dudes, but Evan had set his sights too high for compromise…at least for right now. He finished his drink and left the bar. He had to stow the files in his safe place and wait for an indication of what Marv’s ‘jokers’ were up to.

~~~~~

The ten o’clock newscast was basically a replay of the earlier stories with the addition of network feeds of national stories. Rob seemed satisfied that the police were on the case and he was happy about the protection they were providing. Rob and Wendy were waiting for a recorded stock market wrap-up to end before introducing Stormy Kloud and the weather segment. They received an urgent message in their IFB earpiece that a multiple-alarm fire at a warehouse and office building just south of the Loop was in progress and they would have remote coverage from the scene in five minutes.

“Wendy, you slip this info in just before Stormy,” said the producer in the anchor’s IFB earpiece. “Rob, you’ll handle the remote. Chip Hackney’s getting set up at the scene.”

Rob picked up the telephone to the control room and said, “I’ll get on the horn with Chip and see what’s what.” He knew Wendy preferred working with a teleprompter script and wasn’t offended that he’d been asked to handle the interview.

“We go live in twenty seconds,” said the director, “and coming back with a tight shot of Wendy.”

She nodded and looked into Camera One. The floor director counted down the final five seconds with his hand and cued her. “We have breaking news of a major fire in a warehouse area very close to the south Loop and will have live Eyewitness News coverage in a matter of moments. But first, here’s Stormy Kloud and Chicagoland’s weather. Stormy.”

Rob spoke with the producer and asked for the available details of the fire. He found out that the fire was consuming a warehouse and office complex at 800 South Dearborn, down in the revitalized Printer’s Row district. As Stormy was concluding his seven-day forecast, Rob typed the address into his laptop’s Google window and hit search. As the results came up, he could hear Stormy close his report and ‘throw it back’ to Rob.

“Thank you, Stormy,” Rob turned to Wendy in their two-shot and said, “We are now able to go live to that fire, Wendy. Chip Hackney is on the scene at South Dearborn Street.” He looked into the camera and continued, “Chip, please give us a rundown as you see it.”

While Chip ran down the sketchy details, Rob half-listened as he went back to his laptop and reviewed a list of businesses that were listed at 800 South Dearborn. ‘There it is…like I suspected,’ he thought as Chip was finishing his report.

“Fortunately, at this time of night, there appear to be no fatalities.”

A split-screen picture featured Rob on the left and Chip, with the fire still being fought in the background, on the right.

“I know there are several loft residences in the area,” Rob said. “Is there any risk of the flames spreading?” He already knew the answer but he wanted to stretch the interview to maximize his find.

“I just spoke to the Battalion Chief and he’s confident that the fire is under control.”

“Chip, you mentioned several small distribution companies and businesses have probably been completely destroyed. I just found out that among those affected are the offices of the NewWord newspaper. With John Kess’s article creating a lot of emotional heat for the parties named, this leads me to ask if there will be an arson investigation?”

“You’ve just given me details of which I wasn’t aware. To answer your question, an investigation is a given for any fire of this magnitude. However, I will pass on this new information to the authorities immediately.

“I’d appreciate any further details.”

“Will do, Rob. This is Chip Hackney, reporting live for Eyewitness News.”

‘The game has just been ratcheted up.’ Rob stared stoically at the camera as Wendy brought them on time to commercial.

Wendy turned to Rob and said, “Looks like this is a story that just won’t go away.”

“Yep…and I think the boss is going to want more in-depth from me.” The reporter part of Rob looked forward to the assignment, but the other-half-of-a-partnership Rob cringed because he knew his time would be consumed. Management would expect him to function as normal and handle the Revson story.

 __________________________

TO BE CONTINUED

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