Top Dog

She’s right. Our tabloid, The Inner Eye, is just a notch above The National Inquirer and about ninety rungs down from everything else. We write for people who think that David Icke’s lizard people sound outlandish and too stupid to even discuss, but who clamor about news of Bigfoot and the Illuminati. Pulitzers are most definitely not in our foreseeable future.

“It’s in Washington,” she said.

“Oh! Is it a political story? Why wouldn’t anyone want that?”

“Because it’s not a political story and it’s not Washington D.C. No, I’m afraid I speak of good old Washington state, the northernmost part that’s still habitable.”

“North of Washington is Canada and it’s almost all habitable. It’s not like the world stops at the top of Washington.”

“See, this is why it should be you! You already know half this shit.”

“I don’t even know what shit we’re talking about. I just know where Washington and Canada are.”

“I like you. I always have.” Trinity picks up the pen again, but doesn’t chew it this time. She scratches something down on a notepad. “There’s only one problem.”

As I see, there are far more problems, one of which is that I still have no idea what she’s talking about. “Which is?”

“You’re going to have to take Jarom.”

“Oh God. No.” Jarom is the tabloid’s main photographer. He has an insanely slobbering crush on me, which would be sweet if he wasn’t literally slobbering all the time. Well, maybe ninety percent of the time. Jarom wouldn’t be a bad looking guy if he could figure out how to keep his mouth closed. But when he’s deep in thought a silver ribbon of drool usually finds its way out onto the surface of whatever he is standing or sitting over.

“He’s our best photographer. When I told him you were taking the assignment he insisted that it be him. Frankly, I think the thought of you out there all alone makes him feel protective. Like he’ll be able to keep you safe. You don’t really want to deprive him of that, do you? Besides, how often does a guy like Jarom get to feel like a man? I mean, come on.”

“First of all, I absolutely do want to deprive him of that opportunity. Second, I haven’t agreed to take the story on, mainly because I still don’t know what it is. Third, it’s not my job to make him or anyone else feel like a man.”

“I think he’s got a little crush on you,” said Trinity, and she wiggles her eyebrows. “And if you don’t take this story I’ll totally fire you.”

“No you won’t.”

“No. I probably won’t. But I want you to take it, because there’s a problem. The state says they’re going to cut down a bunch of forest so they can build a sanctuary for endangered animals or something. But to do so they’re going to displace a ton of other animals that already use the forest for their sanctuary. Go out there and find me an angle.”

“Isn’t that already an angle?”

“Just in case that peters out,” says Trinity, “there’s something else. Something even better, and this is why I was so surprised that none of these babies here wanted to take it.”

“Go on.”

“There’s a rumor that an ex pro MMA fighter is living in the woods out there, and someone finally saw him. I personally think he’s hiding some kind of dark secret. Why else would someone leave a cozy multi-millionaire lifestyle with fans all over and women practically throwing themselves at them?,” says Trinity. “Regularly. We’ve got a contact out there. So I told this guy that I would send our best reporter and photographer out to get a shot of it and write it up. While, of course, doing whatever can be done with the animal sanctuary thingy.” Trinity holds her hands up, framing an imaginary photo between them. “I can just see it. Inner Eye captures ex-fighter!”

“I’m supposed to go out there and capture a professional fighter?”

“Ex-professional fighter. But it doesn’t matter. Your job is to go see what’s out there and write something good. I don’t care if you find anything or not. I don’t expect it to get all Blair Witchy out there, but you never know. Sounds like there really are some strange things going on out there.” With that, she opens her desk and pushes an envelope at me.

“What’s this?”

“Those are your tickets. I’m going to let you give Jarom the good news.”

“Wait, you’ve been planning for me to go all along - and you’ve just been giving me the impression that I had a choice?”

“Afraid so my dear. I knew this was the right job for you and you wouldn’t disappoint.” With that, she picks the pen up, starts chewing on the cap again, and I am dismissed.

I walk out, a little heated but also a little excited. This would be the most interesting story to hit my desk – and it could make headlines even. Before I let myself get too excited, I go down the hall to Jarom’s office. When he sees me at his window he lights up like a Christmas tree ornament.

Oh God. I can’t do it.

I promptly proceed down the hall to my own office and send him the most cursory email in history. “We have an assignment that came up out of nowhere. All I know is that we leave tomorrow. Please see Trinity for details.”

I move fast, but I’m not even out of my office when Jarom appears at the door. What kind of name is Jarom, anyway? Sounds Amish, but he doesn’t have a beard. But maybe he can’t grow a beard.