Date: 5.19.07
Time: 8:48 a.m.
The smell of New York City in the spring. The cool of a morning in May. The sound of cars and people. These are the things that surround you as you contemplate the building in front of you. It is a large three-story brick building. The windows of the second floor have been boarded over with plywood and there are iron bars protecting the large first floor window facing the street. Strangely enough the room beyond appears to be a bakery of some sort and, indeed, the ornate red door next to the window declares, with shiny golden letters, the establishment to be “Susan Li’s Chinese Breads.”
Pulling the confirmation letter from your pocket, that piece of paper which declares you to now possess a paying job, you survey the address again to make sure you are at the right place.
The address seems right. 42c North Ditch Street. You notice then that the bright red door bears the number 42a. Looking around once more you spot a second door at the other end of the brick building, just up a short flight of four concrete steps. Walking over and inspecting it you see that it is indeed the door you are looking for. Though the lime green paint of the door is peeling, the bronze sign upon it proudly declares itself to be ”Sunlight Scoop, 14th floor, 42c Ditch St.” Which is the same as the address on the letterhead of the paper in your hand. With a quizzical eye you survey the building again. It remains a three-story building.
The lime green door is unlocked and looking in you see a rather unremarkable room on the other side. The room is in fact a stairwell. The floor is covered with ancient linoleum tiles with a dirty grey marble pattern. Several are missing, revealing a concrete sub-floor. The ceiling and walls are painted white. The stairs going up are cement and iron. The whole thing seems very utilitarian and industrial. Yellow police tape forms a barricade across the entrance to the stairs. There actually appears to be several layers of police tape, some of it very old and faded and some of it bright and fresh. The wall to the left contains an elevator door with a single button on the wall next to it.
You are not alone in the stairwell.
Nice.
Any of you work for the, uh *looks at paper* Sunlight Scoop?
*pats jacket looking for smokes, finds none*
Eastman...Eastman. Have I heard of you?
*shakes Kenny's hand*
Oh right, right. I saw that episode. You're right about Silvia, she's a real piece of work.
I was writing the "After Dark" column for the Seattle Intelligencer for a while. Let go for...personal reasons.
Did some freelance work for the WWN. Saw some crazy sh*t. Sounds like you've seen some things yourself?
*motions with hand towards elevator*
Shall we?
Almost as soon as the elevator button is pushed there is a creak and a ding and with a squeaking complaint the door glides open. The small elevator car smells of cigarette smoke and disinfectant.
There are two floor buttons. The first bears an “M.” The second has been painted over with bright red enamel paint, nail polish perhaps, and a stark white “14” has been painted atop the red.
The elevator door closes with a squeak and there is a sudden jerk as the elevator starts up. The machine moves slowly. The lights flicker off and then back on for a moment. The whole car groans as the elevator is lifted and from above come disconcerting groans of machinery. Finally the elevator comes to a stop and the door squeaks open.
The room beyond is a stairwell similar to the one on the first floor. Here too the stairs are cordoned off with police tape. What is different is the red carpet on the floor, the bright lights and the potted tree near the top of the stairs.
There is an oak door on the wall across from the elevator. A red plaque above the u-bar handle says, “Push.”
Ok, Eastman. Is this some kind of joke?
*pushes u-bar handle*
The door does not respond to being pushed around.
Har har :?
The door opens easily when pulled.
The room on the other side of the door is well lit. The wood paneling on the walls is covered with select issues of the Sunlight Scoop, all framed. Various potted plants adorn the corners and select spots on the floor.
A large desk (covered with two phones, a laptop, a desktop monitor, a printer and a large reading lamp) dominates the room. There is an ornate wooden door with a large bronze name plate behind the desk, closed. From a spacious hallway to the left comes the sound of laughter and good natured conversation, though no one is visible along its length.
A young woman with a bright purple hair sits at the desk, reading something off of the desktop monitor. Her right eyebrow is pierced with a ring but against all expectations she is not wearing black lipstick. In fact her hair is tied back in a very neat ponytail and she is wearing a very conservative white blouse.
“Good Morning,” she says looking up, “Can I help you?”
The door opens easily when pulled.
The room on the other side of the door is well lit. The wood paneling on the walls is covered with select issues of the Sunlight Scoop, all framed. Various potted plants adorn the corners and select spots on the floor.
A large desk (covered with two phones, a laptop, a desktop monitor, a printer and a large reading lamp) dominates the room. There is an ornate wooden door with a large bronze name plate behind the desk, closed. From a spacious hallway to the left comes the sound of laughter and good natured conversation, though no one is visible along its length.
A young woman with a bright purple hair sits at the desk, reading something off of the desktop monitor. Her right eyebrow is pierced with a ring but against all expectations she is not wearing black lipstick. In fact her hair is tied back in a very neat ponytail and she is wearing a very conservative white blouse.
“Good Morning,” she says looking up, “Can I help you?”
I'm Kenny Eastman and this is Harvey Malgram. We are the new writers for the Scoop. We're here to see Hugh Rogers.
This is a great office. I never would have expected it from the outside. Why is it called the 14th floor? And I bet there is a good story behind all the police tape in the stairs.
The young woman smiles a tight, forced smile, almost as if pained, “It is called the fourteenth floor because everyone knows that it’s bad luck to be on the thirteenth floor. And I don’t know why Mr. Roger’s puts up the police tape every month. I try not to ask too many questions as the answers rarely seem to make sense.”
“He’s been expecting you,” she continues, her smile softening a little bit, “I’m Mary. I was expecting a few more, but I’ll let him know you’re here.”
She pushes a button on one of the telephones and says, “Mr. Rogers. Two of the your new field men are here. “
She releases the button and waits a moment.
A hearty, somewhat gruff voice answers through the speakerphone, “Well send them on in girl. Then go tell John that we’re going to have to redo the whole fifth page. The layout’s terrible and the pictures just don’t work.”
Mary somewhat airily waves a hand at the door behind her. “Go on in and good luck.”
You observe as you open the door that the plate upon it reads, “We’re Not a Newspaper! – Hugh Rogers, Publisher.”
The well furnished office beyond, with its expensive scarlet carpeting, bookcases and chandelier, is almost gaudy. Velvet curtains hang over the two windows and the whole back wall is dominated by a larger than life size portrait. The man in the portrait stands nobly, attired in a period suit, left hand perched atop a golden globe. The artist’s subject, somewhat diminished in real life, sits at the huge desk in the center of the room. He is poring over rough copies of what you assume to be the latest issue of the Sunlight Scoop.
“Have a seat,” he says without looking up, motioning to the sturdy mahogany chairs across the desk from him. There are four of them, all upholstered in red leather.
Reaching for a button atop his desk he pushes it and says into the air, “Mary, are you sure that Steve is tied up in Alaska.”
“That’s what he said in his last transmission, Mr. Rogers” answers Mary’s voice from a speaker on the wall. “He sounded a little sketchy to me anyway. He was babbling.”
Hugh Rogers sighs.
I don't want to monpolize the thread so I will wait until the others have had a chance before I post again.
Harvey Malgam. Hugh Rogers was it?
*reaches hand across desk to shake*
*Hugh Rogers shakes Harvey’s hand and then with a frown he impatiently waves the man to a seat.*
“Welcome aboard gentlemen,”
“I have a little speech I tend to give to those I just hired so bear with me.”
“I own seven Newspapers, five in this country and two in south America. Four of those papers even manage to turn a profit. I don’t personally run them but I want to make it clear I know the Newspaper business."
"Gentlemen the Sunlight Scoop is NOT a Newspaper!”
*Rogers bangs his fist down on his desk and a mug of pencils and his laptop rattle from the impact.*
“We are a tabloid! We do not print News. We print Sensation! The more sensational the better. Take a look at last week’s headlines. One of the newspapers printed a story about a dog that ate his owner’s hand while he was asleep. That paper ran with the headline, 'Biting the hand that Feeds.' That was their headline."
"Now let me ask you – what headline would you have written for that story?"
*Rogers stands and looks at each of you, waiting for an answer…*
Bit off his owner's hand? And you want sensational?
How about,
"Ravenous Dog Attacks Owner, Eats Hand."
*frames the air with hands*
Or if you want really over the top:
"Man Eating Dog, Caught in the Act!"
"Dog Unhands Owner", "Dog Devours Digits" with the sub-headline "It's No Longer Safe to Sleep With Your Dog".
“I like that bit about it's no longer safe to sleep with the dog, but... you're both thinking too small…”
“Our headline was ‘Nazi Brain Control Causes Canine Cannibilism!’ That’s the thing our readers want and that’s why the Sunlight Scoop sells like hotcakes! Our other headlines last week – ‘Martians register as Republicans in Wisconsin!’ ‘Two Headed Cat saves Family.’ ‘Goldfish diet works miracles.’ If you have the right headline, the story writes itself. Now let me warn you – everything we print is based on real events. We can’t just go around making these things up. We might get sued. And lawsuits mean lawyers and lawyers steal profits. But… on the other hand, nobody minds a little creative license in a paper like ours. We take the news of the day and offer a different point of view. “
*Hugh pauses for a moment and rubs the back of his head, grimacing just a little.*
"I was going to start you off easy, celebrity sightings and that sort of thing. We had a lead on Helen being seen in Manhattan. But the man I was going to put onto Fred Hampton’s old beat is tied up in Alaska, I’m not sure why. Fred , I’m going to miss that guy, great reporter,… He tended to do real crime and disappearances. As you're both new, I’m going to have you working together till I see if you have what it takes. There’s a story just breaking… down in Virginia, on the coast, the crew of a ship seems to have entirely disappeared over night. The paper has a little plane you can take, should be there in a few hours. I want you to dig around, see what you can come up with for a story. The whole thing might be the work of the Neptunians. We can’t discount the possibility.”
*Rogers grimaces as he contemplates the import of his own words.*
“Get me three things – Good Quotes, Good Pictures and a Great, Sensational Headline. Find out who saw what, what happened, who might be behind it. You can stay there as long as you need to, but I need a story from each of you within three days time. Be creative. But meet your deadline. Got it? Questions? Feel free to ask?. If there's one thing I want its workers who aren't afraid to ask questions.”
*under breath* Neptunians...
Okay, I think Eastman and I can get you a story. No problem. I don't know about Eastman, but I'm not a photographer. What should we do about the pictures?
I don't know about Eastman, but I'm not a photographer. What should we do about the pictures?
*sighs*
"And people wonder why tabloid pictures always end up so out of focus."
"We can get you a camera if neither of you have one. But bear in mind, if it breaks, its coming out of your paycheck. As stated in your letter... Pay is $250 a week, we'll cover hotel expenses and when necessary, transportation costs. All other expenses come out of your pocket. If I like your stories... If I like your headlines, you'll get a bonus. I'm tough but fair."
"Other questions?"
I'm ok with a camera.
What kind of ship was it that was lost? Do we know anything about the crew? Was it commercial or private?
What kind of competition should we expect from the papers down there?
"The ship appears to be some sort of cargo ship. It's called the Bouncing Skipper. And the ship is not missing. It is in the port right now. I can't tell you more than that about it. I don't know yet. That's your job to dig up the details."
"It is the crew that has dissapeared. This looks to be a big time story. I imagine there will be network coverage and paper coverage. What I want from you is the angle. That side of the story maybe overlooked by everyone else. Pictures of the ship, inside and out, will help."
*He slides two press passes across the table.*
"You got big shoes to fill. Fred was good on local color, digging up dirt and seeing villains everywhere. Half our Nazi stories were his babies."
I can't wait to get started. I am pretty sure that the Coast Guard, FBI and other agencies have the boat wrapped up and will not want to say much. But the people in the diners, hotels and places the agents and sailors have to use tend to be willing to talk. They overhear a lot of what the investigators say. And even FBI guys have to go into bars once in a while.
Did Fred retire?
Did Fred Retire?
*Roger’s looks momentarily uncomfortable*
“He didn’t exactly retire. He bit the nose off of a Texas Ranger in Galvaston. He’s going to be locked up for a few years.”
*Then, changing expressions, he slides a couple of cell phones across the desk next to the press passes.*
“Here. These are prepaid. 800 minutes each, should last you awhile. They have my number and Mary’s number already on file in their memories. Give a call if something comes up. Any last questions before I send you on your way then?”
If we do run into...uh...Neptunians...or Nazis...
*takes a deep breath, reaches for flask then stops*
Won't they...uh...not be happy to see us? What sort of -
*waves hand in rolling motion*
-what sort of PROTECTION should we be carrying?
*Hugh laughs, genuinely amused and then a moment later stops as he looks at Harvey, almost as if he is trying to decide whether Harvey is the sort to bite off the nose of a Texas Ranger.*
“We live in the United States of America and you can protect yourself any way the constitution allows…”
“I’ll tell you a secret though, we don’t get many Nazi’s in this country. None I ever heard of. But they make a real good scapegoat. The Neptunians now…”
*Rogers looks suddenly conspiratorial and he leans forward and his voice lowers.*
“They’re everywhere. But we don’t want them to know that we know. So when we hear the stories about those green aliens sons of guns we aren’t letting on that we’re on to them. Its company policy to never mention Neptunians in any story. And unless you want to get taken to their planet I’d advise you not to try and get in a fight with any of them.”
*Hugh Rogers has the air of a man who assumes everyone will agree with him on this particular subject. There is no hint of humor in his eyes or demeanor. But maybe, there in the back of those eyes, there is just a hint of madness when he mentions the Neptunians.*
*A laugh and a wave and suddenly Hugh Rogers looks completely normal again.*
"Now, let's get you two on your way. Mary will give you directions to the airfield. It's north of the city about half an hour. I own it so you won't have to worry about preflight screenings and delays and such."
"Don't forget your press passes and phones and remember, I need a story sent in in three days. I assume you have internet access. Mary will get you the e-mail address of the office, you can send the stories as attachments."
Hugh Rogers escorts both Harvey and Kenny back out of his office, determined that they should be on their way. He speaks briefly to Mary about what to write down for "the boys," and then retreats once more into his sanctum.
Mary smiles the whole time Rogers is out of his office then sighs when he leaves, her smile gone. Sitting at her desk, she begins typing on her keyboard.
A loud laugh erupts from somewhere down the hallway out of the front office. Mary ignores it and keeps typing. Finally with a whir, her printer spits out directions to the airfield and her e-mail address.
"So did you ask him about the fourteenth floor," Mary asks as she hands over the paper.
No, I did not ask. I think the opportunity has passed by. I guess I will have to wait for another one.
So, How is it working for the big boss?
Sorry to interrupt, Eastman, but I'm going to go down and get the car warmed up. I'm driving right?
So, How is it working for the big boss?
"It has it's moment's," answers Mary, without bothering to elaborate as to whether those moments are good or bad.
Another burst of laughter erupts from the hall and Mary looks towards the hall for a moment before turning.
"Well you boys had better get going then," she says.
Sorry to interrupt, Eastman, but I'm going to go down and get the car warmed up. I'm driving right?
Yeah, thanks. I left my car at my apartment and took the PATH train over from Jersey City.
Well, let's get going then.
*heads out*
Date: 5.19.07
Time: 11:48 a.m.
The airfield is indeed about an hour north of the city. If Mary’s directions had not been so detailed, Harvey and Kenny would have been certain they were lost as they bounced along on narrow roads past farms. Finally, just past a large pond, they see a faded wooden sign which reads, “Sunlight Airfield.” A large red arrow, its paint flaking, points them down a dirt lane filled with holes and puddles.
There is a single large tin building, a plane hangar, at the end of the lane and a long air strip. The air strip is in much better condition than the rest of the place. In point of fact, the air strip looks to have been recently paved.
The only airplane in sight is an old plane, a relic of the Great War perhaps, with one flat tire. There are perhaps other planes in the hangar.
Eastman, if we die in a fiery blaze, I just want you to know, I loved you.
*parks the car*
Even as the car stops, a man exits from the plane hangars small door and waving in a friendly fashion at the two men in the car, he begins to push open the large hangar doors. There is a much newer plane sitting within the door, apparently ready to go. The plane is painted a bright yellow.
Oh, thank God.
*gets out of car and grabs suitcase*
Eastman, if we die in a fiery blaze, I just want you to know, I loved you.
*parks the car*
Laughs coffee through nose and chokes while trying to say "you bastard".
"Are you fellows Harvey and Kenny?" The man asks, walking towards the two. He has a pronounced southern accent, a slow, pleasant drawl.
"I wasn't supposed to fly you, but the girl that was supposed to be here is a no show. I'm Pete. Pete Jones. Not a lot of luggage huh? Make sure you lock your doors. Mary said to take good care of you, being new and all. She's a real sweet girl, she is."
Harvey, Harvey Malgam.
*shakes hand*
Hold on for a sec Eastman, I forgot to lock the car.
*sets down suitcase and runs back to car, reaches into glove box and pulls out Snub Nosed Colt Python, slips it into his inside jacket pocket*
*locks car doors*
(sleight of hand roll after modifiers = 18)
Okay, all locked up. Let's go.
*picks up suitcase*
Can't wait to get going. This has to be better than looking into some serial killer murdering hookers in Atlantic City.