Page 92 of Dirty Filthy Boy
Chapter 28
MacKenna
IWALKINTO THE NEWSPAPER OFFICE the next day to discover all hell's broken loose. Mr. Bartlett's holed up in his office yelling into his phone. No one seems to be working. They're either running from one cubicle to another or confabbing in clumps.
"What's going on?" I ask Dotty.
But before she has a chance to say anything, Mr. Bartlett sticks his head out of his office. "Perkins. Get in here."
"Heads up." Dotty nods toward Randy Brennan's cubicle. "It's about the worm."
I don't have much time to interpret that cryptic remark before I find myself in Mr. Bartlett's office with the door slammed behind me. He's been upset many a time, but nothing like this. Steam's practically coming out of his ears. He's so angry, he can't say a word, taking out his frustration on the cigar torn to shreds in his mouth.
"You wanted to see me?" I squeak out.
"You." He points to me. "Him." He points to Randy's cubicle, his hands shaped into claws as if he wants to choke somebody.
"Randy? What about him."
"This." He taps his desktop computer's screen.
"What did he do?"
"He wrote your article on Ty Mathews."
My stomach twists. "What do you mean my article?"
"He has all the details, everything you discussed with me." Before I left for Texas I had to come clean with Mr. Bartlett. I needed his approval for the trip after all. I'd shared with him what I'd discovered and my conclusions regarding Ty. My editor pulls out his chair and invites me to sit before tapping the screen again. "Read this. This." God, how bad could it be if he can't even describe it?
I hunker into his executive seat and read the article on the screen. Published by a gossip rag that pays by the word, the piece is not long. But the ten paragraphs or so brand Ty Mathews as a seducer of a young, innocent girl, claiming he passed her around his friends like store-bought candy. I recognize most of the details in the story because it's the stuff I learned from my trip to Nebraska State. How could Randy have written such lies? "I never gave that information to him."
"I know you didn't."
"So how did he get it?"
"He must have downloaded the information from your recorder."
"But I've had it with me the whole time." I fish it out of my purse and show him.
"He probably stole it out of your purse when you weren't looking. It wouldn't take long. A trip to the bathroom would give him the time to do it. He could download it to his computer and return the recorder before you missed it."
"That worm." Not hard to see why he did it. He was getting nowhere atThe Windy City Chronicle, mainly because he can't write worth a damn. I spotted three typos in this piece of filth article, and his use of the English language is poor at best. So he'd written a scandalous piece sure to get the attention of the media, not giving a damn about the damage he'd do to Ty or the Outlaws. "It's a lie, you know. It wasn't Ty that turned his back on Emily."
"So you found out the truth?"
I dig into my purse and bring out Emily's journal. "Yes. Emily had a diary and she wrote in it exactly what happened that night."
"How fast can you write that article?"
"It's half done. I worked on it on the plane ride back."
"Finish the story and turn it in as soon as you can. It'll be in Sunday's edition. We'll fight lies with the truth."
"Yes, Mr. Bartlett." I'll pour blood, sweat and tears into that article, if I have to, even though the damage's done. People love scandals. Although my article will reveal the truth, some people will prefer to believe the lies in Randy's article. Even though I didn't intend to, I may have damaged Ty's career beyond repair.
I work through my lunch hour and even through dinner. I only stop to eat when Dotty places a turkey sandwich and a bag of veggie chips in front of me. "Eat. Before you pass out."
After wolfing down the sandwich, I go right back to the article. But by eleven o'clock, the story's done. Hoping Mr. Bartlett will get a chance to read it tonight, I email it to him. Tired in body and sick at heart, I turn off my cubbyhole lamp, gather my things and head out. My car's the only one left in the lot. I'd been careless this morning, and had failed to park it under one of the lights. So it sits alone in the dark.
