me. He told me to make some minor changes, and he wants us to go to Port Huron for the rest of the story. He talked to Sanguini after we left.” Porter put his arms over her shoulders and touched her breasts.
“What do you mean, little boy? Umm, let’s get back into bed,” Kottle responded and pulled Porter onto the bed on top of her.
He stared into her face for a moment.
“He’s got Dingman researching deer stories, too. He thinks the competition will drive out the best story between us. You know, Dingman has a couple of years on us. All look-and-learn bullshit.”
“I don’t like it. We need to check out by eleven. I’m going to set the alarm for eight. Maybe we can beat Dingman to the punch.” Kottle pushed Porter away briefly and set the alarm.
“Okay, where were we?” Porter said, maneuvering her on top again.
Chapter 11
C louds rushed over Saginaw Bay revealing patches of blue. A brisk nor’easter-like wind blew off Lake Huron. Kottle adjusted her coat over a smart-looking gray-wool skirt and black blouse as she exited the car. Porter flapped the lapels on his blue pinstriped suit as shelter from the cold as they both proceeded up the cement walkway to the Port Huron Hospital.
~ ~ ~
“You can tell another cold Michigan winter is coming,” she said, as they approached the front reception desk.
“May I help you?” a nurse said, walking up to them.
“We’re from the Detroit Times. Our editor, Cory Pillbock, should have called and notified you,” Porter explained.
“I don’t know, we usually don’t allow reporters here unless they’re accompanied by the police. Who are you here to see?”
“Harry Lopez.”
The nurse walked over to several other nurses sitting behind a reception desk and relayed the request.
“Are you from Newsday?” one of them asked.
“No, we’re from the Detroit Times,” Porter said, holding up a card from his wallet.
“Newsday? Looks like the national press are sniffing this out, too,” Kottle whispered.
“Yeah, my thought as well,” Porter whispered back.
“We’ve already had the Detroit Times in here earlier this morning. A guy by the name of Louis Dingman,” another nurse said.
“Yes, we know, but apparently Mr. Lopez was sleeping at the time, and he didn’t get much information,” Porter said. “We are here to follow up and find the underlying cause of what’s ailing Mr. Lopez. Maybe we can shed some light on what’s causing his illness, as we are tracking down all the events leading up to this.”
“ Dingman? ” Kottle whispered. “I feel betrayed.”
“Yeah, makes me feel like a fool too,” Porter whispered back.
“Sorry, I didn’t get that last comment,” the nurse said.
“We were just remarking about how nice the Thanksgiving decorations looked,” Porter said, pointing to a giant turkey obviously crayoned by grade-school students.
“My five-year-old did that in preschool,” a smiling nurse at the desk responded.
“Okay, okay, follow me. I hope Mr. Lopez is up to this. What we won’t do for public relations,” the first nurse said, shaking her head while walking through the corridor.
Porter and Kottle followed.
~ ~ ~
“Mr. Lopez, are you able to take visitors?” the nurse said, as the three walked into a single-bed room.
A bronze-skinned smile formed on Lopez’ face. He sat up in bed, covered by a thin white blanket, sipping orange juice. A woman sat on a chair next to the bed, combing his slick black hair. She handed him a pair of glasses.
“Sure...I love company,” Lopez said, his eyes appearing overly large through thick lenses.
“Thank you, nurse,” Porter said, waving her away. “Mr. Lopez, I’m Jeb Porter and this is Katie Kottle from the Detroit Times. We’d like to follow up with some questions Mr. Dingman…Louis Dingman, asked you earlier today.”
“Dingman...I don’t recall. Do you honey? Sorry, this is my wife, Lucinda,” Lopez said, looking at the woman next to him.
“What do you mean, little boy? Umm, let’s get back into bed,” Kottle responded and pulled Porter onto the bed on top of her.
He stared into her face for a moment.
“He’s got Dingman researching deer stories, too. He thinks the competition will drive out the best story between us. You know, Dingman has a couple of years on us. All look-and-learn bullshit.”
“I don’t like it. We need to check out by eleven. I’m going to set the alarm for eight. Maybe we can beat Dingman to the punch.” Kottle pushed Porter away briefly and set the alarm.
“Okay, where were we?” Porter said, maneuvering her on top again.
Chapter 11
C louds rushed over Saginaw Bay revealing patches of blue. A brisk nor’easter-like wind blew off Lake Huron. Kottle adjusted her coat over a smart-looking gray-wool skirt and black blouse as she exited the car. Porter flapped the lapels on his blue pinstriped suit as shelter from the cold as they both proceeded up the cement walkway to the Port Huron Hospital.
~ ~ ~
“You can tell another cold Michigan winter is coming,” she said, as they approached the front reception desk.
“May I help you?” a nurse said, walking up to them.
“We’re from the Detroit Times. Our editor, Cory Pillbock, should have called and notified you,” Porter explained.
“I don’t know, we usually don’t allow reporters here unless they’re accompanied by the police. Who are you here to see?”
“Harry Lopez.”
The nurse walked over to several other nurses sitting behind a reception desk and relayed the request.
“Are you from Newsday?” one of them asked.
“No, we’re from the Detroit Times,” Porter said, holding up a card from his wallet.
“Newsday? Looks like the national press are sniffing this out, too,” Kottle whispered.
“Yeah, my thought as well,” Porter whispered back.
“We’ve already had the Detroit Times in here earlier this morning. A guy by the name of Louis Dingman,” another nurse said.
“Yes, we know, but apparently Mr. Lopez was sleeping at the time, and he didn’t get much information,” Porter said. “We are here to follow up and find the underlying cause of what’s ailing Mr. Lopez. Maybe we can shed some light on what’s causing his illness, as we are tracking down all the events leading up to this.”
“ Dingman? ” Kottle whispered. “I feel betrayed.”
“Yeah, makes me feel like a fool too,” Porter whispered back.
“Sorry, I didn’t get that last comment,” the nurse said.
“We were just remarking about how nice the Thanksgiving decorations looked,” Porter said, pointing to a giant turkey obviously crayoned by grade-school students.
“My five-year-old did that in preschool,” a smiling nurse at the desk responded.
“Okay, okay, follow me. I hope Mr. Lopez is up to this. What we won’t do for public relations,” the first nurse said, shaking her head while walking through the corridor.
Porter and Kottle followed.
~ ~ ~
“Mr. Lopez, are you able to take visitors?” the nurse said, as the three walked into a single-bed room.
A bronze-skinned smile formed on Lopez’ face. He sat up in bed, covered by a thin white blanket, sipping orange juice. A woman sat on a chair next to the bed, combing his slick black hair. She handed him a pair of glasses.
“Sure...I love company,” Lopez said, his eyes appearing overly large through thick lenses.
“Thank you, nurse,” Porter said, waving her away. “Mr. Lopez, I’m Jeb Porter and this is Katie Kottle from the Detroit Times. We’d like to follow up with some questions Mr. Dingman…Louis Dingman, asked you earlier today.”
“Dingman...I don’t recall. Do you honey? Sorry, this is my wife, Lucinda,” Lopez said, looking at the woman next to him.
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