are full of crap,” Hank Richards said. “Couldn’t tell their ass from their—Well, you know. But I kind of like that DeadFed thing. Kind of like the National Enquirer, but without all the celebrity diet crap.”
Lacey did a mental eye roll, but tried not to show what she thought of Damon in front of these apparently rabid fans.
“If it wasn’t for people like him and DeadFed, we wouldn’t know half of what’s happening in this country,” Sykes said. “He’s like a frigging light in the wilderness.”
What about my light? My stories? “I must be in an alternate universe,” Lacey said under her breath to Vic.
“Just like being back in Sagebrush, Lacey, where the natives are all friendlylike,” Vic murmured. He turned around to hide his smile and wave over a waiter for an order of nachos and some fajitas. Lacey barely heard her cell phone through the noise and the music. She excused herself from the table to answer it.
“If that’s Damon on the phone, y’all say hi for us,” Sykes hollered after her.
“Will do.” Lacey sneaked a peak at the number. It was from the paper, not Damon. She went into the restaurant’s foyer and answered. “Hello?”
“What are we going to do with you, Lois Lane?” It was Tony Trujillo, The Eye ’s police reporter.
“Hi, Tony. What’s up?”
“You tell me. You leave town, find a body, and you don’t even tip me off? Where’s the love?” He sounded a bit annoyed. Lacey was two and half hours away from D.C., so he couldn’t readily horn in on her story. She allowed herself a small smile at Trujillo’s expense.
“You talked to Mac. He remembered me. How nice.”
“He says we ought to tag you with a GPS just to keep track of you. And maybe a hit counter for the bodies.”
“You’re hilarious, Tony.”
“Is Clark Kent there? Sorry. I mean Superman.”
“Vic is here.” She looked over at Vic, who was helping himself to some tortilla chips. A waiter passed by with a tray of fajita platters. The aroma made her stomach growl.
“Mac says the dead guy was blue. Like really blue, dyed blue. That for real?”
“It’s for real. The corpse was tied to a gigantic spool of velvet and stashed in a tub of dye.”
“That’s what Mac put out on the Web.”
“The deceased was also the guy I was supposed to interview.”
“Whoa, that’s weird,” Trujillo said. “Either way, he gave you a story. So, a crime of fashion?” She could hear the smirk in his voice. “Seems like maybe you need backup. Maybe we could send you Kavanaugh.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
Tony laughed at Lacey’s discomfort. Kelly Kavanaugh was Lacey’s latest irritant, a freckle-faced overenthusiastic transfer to fashion from Tony’s police beat, and Tony was glad to be rid of her. Kavanaugh was there ostensibly to free Lacey to seek out more complex stories. But Lacey suspected the young reporter was there to deliver payback from her editor, Douglas MacArthur Jones. Kavanaugh wouldn’t know a ruffle from a bow, and just forget the subtleties of ruching. Kavanaugh’s heart was set on dramatic crime stories, and from where she sat, Smithsonian’s beat was on fire. Lacey didn’t know what to do with her. She hadn’t even told Kelly about the velvet factory story, or that she’d be out of town for a day.
“Is there anything else you want, Tony?”
“Do you need me, Lacey? I can be down in a couple of hours in Mustang Sally.” Trujillo couldn’t wait to get in his sleek black beauty with the white rag top and drive like a speed demon to Black Martin to steal her story.
“Thanks, but you can rest your horses. I’m sure you’ve got enough crime in D.C. to keep you busy. And I’m fine, really.”
“When are you coming back to the office?”
“I’m going to try and scare up some interviews in the morning. I’ll be back in town tomorrow. Late, maybe five or so. I’ll file something from here or from home.”
“Hey, you get any photos of this guy?”
“I took
Lacey did a mental eye roll, but tried not to show what she thought of Damon in front of these apparently rabid fans.
“If it wasn’t for people like him and DeadFed, we wouldn’t know half of what’s happening in this country,” Sykes said. “He’s like a frigging light in the wilderness.”
What about my light? My stories? “I must be in an alternate universe,” Lacey said under her breath to Vic.
“Just like being back in Sagebrush, Lacey, where the natives are all friendlylike,” Vic murmured. He turned around to hide his smile and wave over a waiter for an order of nachos and some fajitas. Lacey barely heard her cell phone through the noise and the music. She excused herself from the table to answer it.
“If that’s Damon on the phone, y’all say hi for us,” Sykes hollered after her.
“Will do.” Lacey sneaked a peak at the number. It was from the paper, not Damon. She went into the restaurant’s foyer and answered. “Hello?”
“What are we going to do with you, Lois Lane?” It was Tony Trujillo, The Eye ’s police reporter.
“Hi, Tony. What’s up?”
“You tell me. You leave town, find a body, and you don’t even tip me off? Where’s the love?” He sounded a bit annoyed. Lacey was two and half hours away from D.C., so he couldn’t readily horn in on her story. She allowed herself a small smile at Trujillo’s expense.
“You talked to Mac. He remembered me. How nice.”
“He says we ought to tag you with a GPS just to keep track of you. And maybe a hit counter for the bodies.”
“You’re hilarious, Tony.”
“Is Clark Kent there? Sorry. I mean Superman.”
“Vic is here.” She looked over at Vic, who was helping himself to some tortilla chips. A waiter passed by with a tray of fajita platters. The aroma made her stomach growl.
“Mac says the dead guy was blue. Like really blue, dyed blue. That for real?”
“It’s for real. The corpse was tied to a gigantic spool of velvet and stashed in a tub of dye.”
“That’s what Mac put out on the Web.”
“The deceased was also the guy I was supposed to interview.”
“Whoa, that’s weird,” Trujillo said. “Either way, he gave you a story. So, a crime of fashion?” She could hear the smirk in his voice. “Seems like maybe you need backup. Maybe we could send you Kavanaugh.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
Tony laughed at Lacey’s discomfort. Kelly Kavanaugh was Lacey’s latest irritant, a freckle-faced overenthusiastic transfer to fashion from Tony’s police beat, and Tony was glad to be rid of her. Kavanaugh was there ostensibly to free Lacey to seek out more complex stories. But Lacey suspected the young reporter was there to deliver payback from her editor, Douglas MacArthur Jones. Kavanaugh wouldn’t know a ruffle from a bow, and just forget the subtleties of ruching. Kavanaugh’s heart was set on dramatic crime stories, and from where she sat, Smithsonian’s beat was on fire. Lacey didn’t know what to do with her. She hadn’t even told Kelly about the velvet factory story, or that she’d be out of town for a day.
“Is there anything else you want, Tony?”
“Do you need me, Lacey? I can be down in a couple of hours in Mustang Sally.” Trujillo couldn’t wait to get in his sleek black beauty with the white rag top and drive like a speed demon to Black Martin to steal her story.
“Thanks, but you can rest your horses. I’m sure you’ve got enough crime in D.C. to keep you busy. And I’m fine, really.”
“When are you coming back to the office?”
“I’m going to try and scare up some interviews in the morning. I’ll be back in town tomorrow. Late, maybe five or so. I’ll file something from here or from home.”
“Hey, you get any photos of this guy?”
“I took
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