*Two weeks later*
The new reporter in Westchester Daily, Marilyn Haäs, was excited. Her latest scoop was the trial of the girl who killed herself after she was raped by five teens in New Jersey train station. A big assignment for someone who thought she would never do anything right. But so far the daily seemed to be in big demand from the readers.
"Haäs!"
"Yes?" She looked up from her notes.
"That man who called you yesterday." Johnson was standing in front of her desk. He was a thin man but rather nicely built with a shocking strawberry blond hair. "He's downstairs." He shot her an inquiring look. "Is he - you know?"
"No, I don't know. Tell him I'm busy right now," she said, returning to her notes. She heard Johnson tried to protest, then someone pushed him back. She looked up again. "Who are you?" she asked without much interest.
"I'll be frank with you," he said. Then he lowered his head to her ear. "I need to know where the five men who raped the girl live."
Marilyn took off her reading glasses. This man didn't look like any reporter she knew. There was eagerness in his eyes that seemed to swell to frightening proportions. "They're juvenile, sir. I can't give names or addresses."
To her silent surprise he took out his wallet and threw a chequebook on the table. It slammed loudly, throwing off her notes. "Write down your price," he said with a determination she found increasingly frightening.
"I don't give out information, sir," Marilyn repeated firmly. "Now please get out before I call security."
"Fifty grand?" he asked.
"Sir - "
"Seventy?"
"*Sir!*"
"One million?"
"Johnson!"
Johnson peeked out from behind the tall blond man. She mouthed at him *call security*. He nodded and disappeared.
"Two million?" He blocked her view of Johnson.
"Get out sir." Her voice had a warning in it, but the man didn't seem to listen.
"How about van Gogh's original Sunflowers?"
She tried to pick up a paper and read it but he snatched it from her like some bird of prey snatching fish out of water. He was smiling by now, but nothing funny was in it. Instead she saw obsession... and madness.
"There must be a price," he said loudly. "There has to be. There always is!"
Marilyn had a flash of the bulk of the security guard walking into the office.
He leant forward toward her so suddenly that she screamed. "Name your price, dammit!" he shouted. His hands were braced on the table, looking like some cheetah about to pounce on her.
Marilyn couldn't hold her panic any longer. "Security!!!"
Warren let himself brought out by the guard, screaming all the way to the pavement "Name your price! I'll give it to you! Just tell me where those men live!"
"Nuts," one of the guards spat at him as they threw him onto the street. "If I see you around here again, ever, I'll break your neck."
Warren stared at the men with a defiant look. "Name your price," he said weakly.
The guards shook their heads and returned inside. Warren was left standing there. The passing people avoided him as he smiled to himself and thrust his hands inside his pockets and walked away.
Marilyn watched this from the safety of her window upstairs. When she was sure the man had gone from the area she exhaled a relieved sigh and returned to her table.
Only then she realised the notebook where she wrote down everything had disappeared.
Warren entered his car that was parked four junctions away from the Westchester Daily office. He fished out the notebook he purloined just now. Going through the pages with the speed of a feverish, eager beaver he scanned each page until he stopped at the middle.
He nodded. "I like neat, tedious people," Warren said to himself.
The addresses were clearly written down there. Ms. Marilyn Haäs even wrote them in alphabetical order.
Then Warren started the car and sped off to his lakeside retreat.
_________________
What do you think? Please R&R!
The new reporter in Westchester Daily, Marilyn Haäs, was excited. Her latest scoop was the trial of the girl who killed herself after she was raped by five teens in New Jersey train station. A big assignment for someone who thought she would never do anything right. But so far the daily seemed to be in big demand from the readers.
"Haäs!"
"Yes?" She looked up from her notes.
"That man who called you yesterday." Johnson was standing in front of her desk. He was a thin man but rather nicely built with a shocking strawberry blond hair. "He's downstairs." He shot her an inquiring look. "Is he - you know?"
"No, I don't know. Tell him I'm busy right now," she said, returning to her notes. She heard Johnson tried to protest, then someone pushed him back. She looked up again. "Who are you?" she asked without much interest.
"I'll be frank with you," he said. Then he lowered his head to her ear. "I need to know where the five men who raped the girl live."
Marilyn took off her reading glasses. This man didn't look like any reporter she knew. There was eagerness in his eyes that seemed to swell to frightening proportions. "They're juvenile, sir. I can't give names or addresses."
To her silent surprise he took out his wallet and threw a chequebook on the table. It slammed loudly, throwing off her notes. "Write down your price," he said with a determination she found increasingly frightening.
"I don't give out information, sir," Marilyn repeated firmly. "Now please get out before I call security."
"Fifty grand?" he asked.
"Sir - "
"Seventy?"
"*Sir!*"
"One million?"
"Johnson!"
Johnson peeked out from behind the tall blond man. She mouthed at him *call security*. He nodded and disappeared.
"Two million?" He blocked her view of Johnson.
"Get out sir." Her voice had a warning in it, but the man didn't seem to listen.
"How about van Gogh's original Sunflowers?"
She tried to pick up a paper and read it but he snatched it from her like some bird of prey snatching fish out of water. He was smiling by now, but nothing funny was in it. Instead she saw obsession... and madness.
"There must be a price," he said loudly. "There has to be. There always is!"
Marilyn had a flash of the bulk of the security guard walking into the office.
He leant forward toward her so suddenly that she screamed. "Name your price, dammit!" he shouted. His hands were braced on the table, looking like some cheetah about to pounce on her.
Marilyn couldn't hold her panic any longer. "Security!!!"
Warren let himself brought out by the guard, screaming all the way to the pavement "Name your price! I'll give it to you! Just tell me where those men live!"
"Nuts," one of the guards spat at him as they threw him onto the street. "If I see you around here again, ever, I'll break your neck."
Warren stared at the men with a defiant look. "Name your price," he said weakly.
The guards shook their heads and returned inside. Warren was left standing there. The passing people avoided him as he smiled to himself and thrust his hands inside his pockets and walked away.
Marilyn watched this from the safety of her window upstairs. When she was sure the man had gone from the area she exhaled a relieved sigh and returned to her table.
Only then she realised the notebook where she wrote down everything had disappeared.
Warren entered his car that was parked four junctions away from the Westchester Daily office. He fished out the notebook he purloined just now. Going through the pages with the speed of a feverish, eager beaver he scanned each page until he stopped at the middle.
He nodded. "I like neat, tedious people," Warren said to himself.
The addresses were clearly written down there. Ms. Marilyn Haäs even wrote them in alphabetical order.
Then Warren started the car and sped off to his lakeside retreat.
_________________
What do you think? Please R&R!