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“That’s it!” Peanut barreled into the crowd, using the come-to-Jesus voice she’d perfected when Tara, her daughter, turned thirteen. “You heard the chief. Everyone out. Now.”
Peanut herded them out, then slammed the door shut.
It wasn’t until Ellie turned toward her desk that she saw him.
Mort Elzick was standing in the corner, wedged between two industrial green metal file cabinets. He was pale and sweaty-looking in his brown, wide-wale corduroy pants and navy blue golf shirt. His red crew cut was so long it looked like a fringed pompadour. Behind thick glasses, his eyes looked huge and watery. When he saw her looking at him, he moved forward. His worn white-and-gray tennis shoes squeaked with every step. “Y-You need to give me an exclusive, Ellie. This is my big break. I could get a job with the Olympian or the Everett Herald.”
“With a ‘Mowgli Lives’ headline? I doubt it.”
He flushed. “What would a junior college dropout know about the classics? I know Julia is helping on this case.”
“You think she is. Put it in print and I’ll bury you.”
His pale eyebrows beetled; his face turned red. “Give me an exclusive, Ellie. You owe it to me. Or . . .”
“Or what?” She moved closer.
“Or else.”
“Mention my sister and I’ll get you fired.”
He stepped back. “You think you’re something special. But you can’t get your way all the time. I gave you a chance. You remember that.”
On that, he pushed past her and ran out of the station.
“Praise Jesus and pass the ice,” Cal said. He went down to the lunchroom and came back with three beers.
“You can’t drink in here, Cal,” Ellie said tiredly.
“Bite me,” he said. “And I mean that in the nicest possible way. If I’d wanted an actual job, I wouldn’t have answered your ad. I haven’t been able to read a comic book in peace all week.” He handed her a Corona.
“No, thanks,” Peanut said when he offered her a beer. She went into the lunchroom, then came back out holding a mug.
Ellie looked at her friend.
“Cabbage soup,” Peanut said, shrugging.
Cal sat on his desk, feet swinging, and drank his beer. His Adam’s apple slid up and down his throat like a swallowed fishbone. His black hair reflected the light in waves of blue. “Good for you, Pea. I was afraid you were going to try the heroin diet next.”
Peanut laughed. “To be honest, that smoking really sucked. Benji wouldn’t even kiss me good-night.”
“And you two are always making out,” Cal said.
Ellie heard something in Cal’s voice, a rawness that confused her. She looked at him. For a moment she saw him as he used to be—a gawky kid with features too sharp for childhood. His eyes had always been shadowed then, full of wariness.
He set his beer down and sighed. For the first time, she noticed how tired he looked. His mouth, usually curled in an irritatingly buoyant smile, was a thin pale line.
She couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. She knew exactly what the problem was. Cal had worked for her now for two-and-a-half years full-time; before that he’d been an at home dad. His wife, Lisa, was a sales rep for a New York company and was gone more than she was home. When the kids were all in school, Cal took the dispatch job to fill the empty hours while they were gone. Mostly, he read comic books during the day and drew action figures in his sketch pad. He was a good dispatcher, as long as the biggest emergency was a cat stuck in a tree. The past few
days seemed to have undone him. She realized how much she missed his smile. “I’ll tell you what, Cal. I’ll handle the press conference. You go on home.”
He looked pathetically hopeful. Still, he said, “You need someone to answer the emergency calls.”
“Forward the calls to the service. If something’s important, they’ll radio me. It’ll only be the 911 calls anyway.”
“You’re sure? I could come back after Emily’s soccer game.”
“That would be great.”
