Rick Mofina - If Angels Fall

“Tom! Don’t go upstairs! It’s Benson.”

“What about him?”

“I’ve never seen him like this. He’s pissed at you.”

“Where’s the news in that? The man hates me.”

“He’s white hot like he was last year over Donner.”

Reed stared at her. “What going on up there, Molly?”

“He wants to know what you are working on, where youare.”

“You didn’t tell him, did you?”

“No. I did the best I could to cover. I told him youwere checking a lead on a suspect in the kidnapping. It seemed to work. Henever asked about you after that. That was yesterday.”

“You didn’t mention Keller?”

“No, I told you.”

“Okay, then what?”

“Today the rumors are flying from the hall that thetask force definitely has a suspect and Benson asked me about it. I didn’t knowanything, nobody at our place knew anything. You know anything?”

Reed knew nothing new. He was busy chasing EdwardKeller.

“When I told Benson we didn’t know about the suspectrumors, he went ballistic. He was furious that no one knew where you were. Hetried to find you, started calling people. When he got nowhere, it wasstraitjacket time. He wants to see you.”

Reed swallowed.

“Tom, I did the best I could. I’m sorry.”

“Where are you going now?”

“He’s kicked me over to the hall to chase the suspectrumors.”

Wilson removed her keys from her bag, then touchedReed’s shoulder. “Remember, Tom, he’s not like us. He’s not human. Keep repeatingthat to yourself and don’t let him get to you.”

Reed glanced up at the building. “He wants me fired,Molly.”

Myron Benson gestured sharply at Reed through theglass walls of his office. He wanted Reed to enter.

“Shut the door.” Benson said.

Reed sat at the round polished table across fromBenson. The table, like Benson’s office, was clutter free. He was studying afile, his clean-shaven face was like silly putty, and his fine web of vanishinghair accentuated his huge ears. The edges of his mouth curled into a smirk ashis rodent-like eyes fixed on Reed.

“Your recent personnel file is a horror story. You arejust not the reporter you used to be, Tom.”

Benson’s condescending tone brushed over Reed’spent-up animosity, like a hair caressing a detonator.

Benson was bureaucratic ballast who, years ago, walkedinto the Star off the street and passed himself off as an up-and-comingreporter to an old editor, who hired him and died two weeks later. Benson hadto ask other reporters how to spell words like “sheep”, “equal”, and “idiot”.One day he could not find Seattle on a U.S. map and wondered aloud if anyoneknew San Francisco’s area code.

Facts that could never be confirmed began surfacing inBenson’s copy. When he learned the paper was going to fire him, he stole a tipcalled in for another reporter and broke a major story about police corruption,to which the other reporters were assigned to help. The Star’s publisher, Amos Tellwood, congratulated Benson personally on his “fine, finework”. Benson parlayed the old man’s favor and was soon a regular guest at theTellwood estate in Marine County. He began dating Tellwood’s only child andheiress, his daughter, Judith. She was an awkward woman, so neglected by herfamily that she immediately fell in love with Benson. He acknowledged herexistence and she guaranteed his at the Star by marrying him. He hadthree children and several promotions by her.

Every newsroom has at least one Myron Benson, aneditor who not only knows little of what is happening on the streets of hiscity, but would be lost on them. Benson rarely read his own product; it taxedhis attention. Often, he suggested story ideas that he unconsciously took fromoverheard newsroom conversations about pieces the Star had already run.And when he came up with an original story angle, it was a jaw dropper.

Life for Benson was a daily commute in his Mercedesfrom his seven-bed home in Marine, across the Golden Gate, to the paper.

The only thing looming over his blissful existence wasthe Star’s shame over the Tanita Marie Donner-Franklin Wallace story.That shame was embodied in Tom Reed, but to fire him over Wallace would bepublic admission that Benson had mismanaged the matter and that the Star’s story was wrong. It would be detrimental to the paper’s credibility. But tofire Reed for another reason, one solid enough for which he had no grounds fora wrongful dismissal suit, would eliminate the storm clouds over Benson’s sunnylife and please the old man.

In the few seconds Benson eyed Reed, he realized thathe might finally have him by the balls.

“Where have you been for the last two days, Tom?”

“Researching the Becker-Nunn kidnappings.”

“Have you?”

“You assigned me to it. You wanted to see where ‘theabduction thing was going,’ remember?”

“I did. And I specifically said I wanted straight-upreporting from you. So where have you been and what kind of research have youbeen doing?”

“Chasing down leads.”

Benson looked at Reed, letting the seconds pass.

“I understand that you’ve been all over NorthernCalifornia on the paper’s time following a tip.”

“Yes. That’s what you pay me for.”

“Is it the suspect the task force has in its sights?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know because you haven’t been around.”

“I believe the lead I have is solid.”

“Do you? Then why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“I needed to check a few things first.”

“Sounds like you were enterprising, Tom, following atheory.”

“No, I just needed to check-“

Benson’s fist came down on the table. “Enoughbullshit!”

A few people near enough to hear stopped working,staring briefly at Benson’s office.

“I told you that I don’t give a good goddamn aboutyour hunches on this story!”

Reed said nothing.

“I told you I want nothing more from you thanstraight-up reporting, yet you go off like some rogue contravening my orders.Now tell me right now why I should not fire you!”

Reed did not answer him.

“We know what happened that last time you followed oneof your goddamn theories on an unsolved case, don’t we? It cost this paper aquarter of a million fucking dollars! You are just not worth it, Reed. Now tellme why I should not fire you.”

“Because I think I know who took Danny Becker andGabrielle Nunn.”

“You think you know?” Benson rolled his eyes. “Justlike you knew who murdered little Juanita Donner.”

“Tanita.”

“Who?”

“Her name was Tanita Marie Donner.”

“What the fuck do you know, then? Who is your suspect,Reed? Tell me!”

“I’m not absolutely certain yet that he’s the-“

“Tell me now, or I’ll fire you on the spot!”

Reed digested the threat.

He was tired. So tired. Tired from driving to Philoand Half Moon Bay. Tired of fighting the Bensons in this world. Tired of thebusiness. Tired of his life. He reached into his worn briefcase and pulled outhis dog-eared file on Edward Keller. He told Benson everything he knew aboutKeller and showed him the photos the paper secretly took at the bereavementgroup. Benson compared them to the blurry stills from the home video atGabrielle Nunn’s Golden Gate party. After Benson took in everything, he leanedback in his chair and set his plan in motion.

“Give me a story saying Edward Keller is the primesuspect.”

“What?”

“I want it today.”

“You can’t be serious. We’re still trying to findhim.”

Benson was not listening. “We’ve got those grief grouppictures. We’ll run them against those blurry police-suspect photos. It’ll bedramatic for readers.”