Page 9 of Deception

I try not to storm out like a prima donna, but I'm about to explode. I am so sick and tired of this tabloid shithole.

I scoot into the tiny office I share with Galo, one of our writers, cramming myself behind my desk. May as well be a broom closet.

But at least I can close the door and shut everybody out. Half of the bullpen is a bunch of high-strung assholes gossiping and talking as much trash about each other as they do about the celebrities that we take pictures of.

“One of these days I swear I'm gonna find a story that matters. One of these days…”

“Yeah, and maybe I'll become the next Italy's Top Model.” Galo giggles, rolling his eyes as he ticktacks away on his computer.

“They’d be lucky to have you on the catwalk, Galo,” I laugh, worrying over the disaster that is my desk.

“Someone’s a hot mess, today.”

“Shut up, Galo.”

“I swear, you just set yourself up for this shit, little miss Bella. Expectations, expectations. Just give into the gossip and be a media whore like the rest of us!”

“You’re such a bitch, Galo.”

“Says the grumpiest hen in the henhouse,” he pouts.

“You’re welcome to go ‘cluck’ yourself.”

“I’d love to, but I have work to do. That is, if you got the scoop on Vitelli? Give me your notes and hush.”

Galo writes the bulk of my work, the stories I track down. He's the best we have. I don't understand how he cranks out the word count that he does. The articles he writes are actually readable, funny even.

But hewantsto be doing this for a living.

“Ragazza, one of these days you're gonna get fired. Or maybe you should give it up, quit, and try something else before that happens. Pursue your passion.”

“You know it’s not that easy.”

“Isn’t it? Didn’t your uncle leave you some money? Take a year off and get your shit together.”

“I need to break into real journalism to pursue my passion, Galo. Break open a real case about something thatmatters.”

“Right, because journalism is thriving in the world today. I meant theotherpassion.”

He's right. Journalism's going right down the toilet.

And he’s right about my real passion, my dreams that seem to have taken a back seat the past few years. I want to help people.

My father was a police officer. My brother was a police officer. I imagined as a little girl that I would make my way into law enforcement. Until losing both of them just about killed my mamma.

So I promised her I wouldn’t go to the academy.

It’s a boys’ club, anyway.

It doesn’t mean that I can’t use my talents and my skills to do something along those lines, however. Papa taught me how to investigate, fostering my interest in mysteries. I was always focused, never letting anything go until I got to the bottom of it. In my studies, at school, with my friends.

They used to call me Detective Isabella.

What I’d really like to be is a private investigator. I am trying to become one.

It’s just that starting my own business is daunting. Overwhelming. That and people don’t trust someone without a resume. I’ve even developed a pretty good rapport with some informants, shady guys that move info on the streets. It’s taking a long time, but it’s helped me keep this job in the meantime.

I'm tapping my pen on the desk when I notice Galo staring at me. His head cocked to the side, that annoyed look in his eyes.

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