THE LEGACY – CHAPTER 9
Ruthie was surprised at how much she had missed Chicago. She had gotten back and had a long talk with Teressa about everything that had happened over Thanksgiving, including her parents' reaction.
She thanked Gary for his advice on parents in general, then told him and Toni what her family had thought of their performances in the play. With the play now out of the way and the semester winding down, Gary watch swung into full gear for the dark haired girl. She was watching him like a hawk and soon her observations paid off. She also got a chance to meet Chuck, who was in town for a bit with his wife. Ruthie had seen her on TV before, and she wondered to herself what a woman like that saw in Chuck. After seeing how different Gary and his wife were, the difference between Gary and his best friend wasn't such a shock. She decided that Chuck could be amusing at times, but that she really didn't like him.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Gary hated headlines like this 'Club fire kills 50'. Aside from the obvious reasons to not like a story like that, getting people to leave a building that wasn't yet on fire, not to mention having the police think that you started it; were just added bonuses. Unfortunately the paper wasn't clear on how the fire was started; he could only hope to prevent lives being lost. He was trying to come up with a plan, when RC walked in. Gary had really taken a shine to the young woman, almost thinking of her as a little sister, what with jumping into the play and Marissa's painting and all. It was clear that the girl was quality goods.
"Hey RC, why don't people believe anything until they have no other choice?" He didn't know why he had asked that, he honestly hadn't realized he was speaking aloud until halfway through the question. He saw the girl pause and frown and then continue on to the waitress lounge (broom closet). He was sitting there brooding on mankind's stubborn streak when she answered him.
"Believing something that isn't proven is inconvenient. When you say that you believe something like that, every yahoo around ask 'how do you know' not because they believe anything else, but just to be jerks. So then you're forced to stop whatever it is you're doing and think, so rather than risk thinking, people just don't believe."
Gary just gaped at the girl for a second "that's probably the most cynical thing I've ever heard out of someone that wasn't over fifty."
"What can I say, I'm a preacher's kid, and I've seen more denial than a therapist. Every day they'd parade through my dad's study, wanting some sort of easy out to their problems, and then backing off when they found out it would take hard work and that they would have to change."
"I thought artists saw the good in people?"
"Nope, we just see people, warts and all. I truly believe that most people are basically good, but belief in something unproven and intangible takes strength, and a lot of people aren't that strong." It was then that Ruthie noticed the headline about the fire, and the fairly spectacular picture that went along with it.
That surprised her because her edition of the Sun-Times didn't have a picture of a club on fire on the front, and there certainly wasn't anything about 50 people dying. She excused herself and went about opening the bar up. All the while, though, she was thinking about the headline in Mr. Hobson's paper. How could his be different from hers? Was he getting some sort of special paper that had things in it that were usually kept from the general public? She shot that notion down herself. Too many people would know if there was a club fire, there would be no way to conceal it. Mr. Hobson seemed to know a lot of the people at the paper, maybe someone had a copy printed secretly just for Gary. Was that even possible? All through her shift she sorted through ideas and schemes about how what she had seen was possible. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts and her work that she didn't even notice when Mr. Hobson had left the bar. "He had an errand to run" was all Marissa would say.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
How do you prevent a bee sting? That was what Gary was wondering as he rode the El towards Garfield Park. Richie Ingle, 37 was going to die from a bee sting in about forty minutes; which is why Gary was asking himself the question. A hit and run or a fire was something he could stop, but an insect, how the heck was he supposed to keep an insect off this one guy in a huge park.
He was getting off the El near the park when he realized that he didn't have any bug spray, no repellant, nothing that would kill at a distance or just drive the damn thing away. He saw a news-stand nearby and bought a Rolling Stone because it was the biggest magazine they carried. Then he went bee stalking.
He paused after a couple of minutes; this was late November, in Chicago how the heck was a guy supposed to get stung? He looked around and saw a couple of picnic pavilions, one with a couple of walls providing shelter. That must be it Gary thought, and he headed that way. Sure enough, there was a guy in the walled pavilion, along with his girlfriend.
"Richie Ingle" Gary asked.
"Who wants to know?"
"My name is Gary and I'm with the City Park Commission, this place is infested with bees and you need to leave."
"Later man, we're busy" he said looking at the woman.
"No, I really need you guys to leave."
"Hey, you're interrupting a personal conversation buddy, beat it."
Just then, Gary saw a bee hovering over Richie's shaved head. Quickly he swung the magazine and knocked the insect out of the air. Unfortunately he also managed to clip Richie a bit.
"See" Gary said, "I told you, bees." He turned back to the couple and found himself looking straight into the chest of a very large, very angry man. "Uhmm" was all he managed to get out before he felt a pain in the side of his face, and the lights went out.
When he woke up, the article had changed and Richie was nowhere to be seen. Gary reached up and very gently assessed the damage. "One very black eye, that's a heck of a thank you" he muttered to himself as he headed off to the next disaster; some idiot was gonna kill himself with a home-made bungee cord. 'Why do I put myself through this' Gary wondered, then looking at the picture of the soon to be dead man, he headed off.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
It was actually Chuck that came up with the way to make the save. Jade went into the club with a clear bag of confectioner's sugar stashed in her purse and hid it near one of the bathrooms. Gary couldn't believe that Chuck had spilled the beans about the paper to his wife, but he understood about not wanting to keep secrects. Plus they were usually in LA, so no real conflict there. When she was clear, Gary called from a pay-phone and said that he had seen a drug drop at the place. Toni made sure that the tip was taken seriously and that there was heavy police presence. Not only were the 'drugs' found, but several of the patron's were carrying, so they were arrested. It was darned inconvenient for everyone concerned (especially the mopes that got arrested), but the building didn't burn and fifty people were still breathing air the next day.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
That was the day Ruth Camden had an errand as well. She was headed down to the Sun-Times; trying to understand the mechanics of how someone could get a different paper than everyone else, or even if it was possible. What had driven her to this was the appearance of Mr. Hobson yesterday. She had just been finishing up her shift, when he walked in, well more or less.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
His left eye was purple and almost swollen shut, and he wasn't so much limping as lurching; as though both his legs hurt him, but in different ways. Ruthie had started to go to him, to see if he needed any help, when she was stopped by Lily.
"Leave it RC or he'll chew your head off."
She looked at the older waitress, and could see the sincerity in her eyes. Rather than argue she just nodded and went back to work. Brent had also seen Mr. Hobson's state and had disappeared into the back; Ruthie assumed it was to tell Marissa. Sure enough, a couple of minutes later, Marissa appeared carrying two ice packs and looking concerned. Lily came up to her again.
"In about five minutes, that red phone will ring and someone will be taking an order up."
"So this happens a lot?"
"Couple times a month, sometimes more, sometimes not for a while. Actually it's been a while since something like this."
"Really, he just shows up injured, with no explanations."
"Yeah, pretty much . . ." But anything further that Lily had to say on the matter was cut off by the phone ringing. The older waitress just shot Ruthie a look and went to answer it.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
So now Ruthie was at the newspaper, trying to figure out just what was up. The guy at the information desk was not that informative, no surprise there, but he did direct her to find a girl named Cathy. Ruthie found her in IT (information technology) Support, helping the computer system run properly. After introductions Ruthie jumped right in. "Is there a way that one person could get a totally different paper on the same day?"
"You mean like a different Sun-Times, same day but different paper?"
"Exactly"
Ruthie watched the girl chew it over in her mind. Ruthie thought of her as 'the girl' when she was doubtlessly older, but she had a very childlike quality about her. Ruthie guessed they would be calling Cathy 'the girl' until she retired.
"Well, there is one way. We first do a mock up with the day's masthead to check the printing equipment and stuff. It would be possible to print a mock-up and have it different from the newspaper that comes out."
"Why, wouldn't you run the paper that's going to be printed as the mock-up?"
"Usually, but the Head Pressman could put anything he wanted there, it is just a kind of system check after all."
"So who is the Head Pressman?"
"Well that's a good question, right now it's a guy named Andy Wassman, but he's only been at the spot for a couple of weeks. Before that was Bert Toomer, but he'd only had the job six months when he retired. We seem to have trouble keeping that spot filled."
"That's because of Snow's curse" said a new voice.
Ruthie looked up to see a very old, yet obviously active black man. He had white hair and a charming smile. "There's a curse on the job" Ruthie asked.
"Yeah, there was this old guy, Lucius Snow, man had been here forever. Anyway the old head pressman had quit and Snow was the next in line, but the big-wigs didn't like him. He was an old fashioned guy, from back when the pages were set by hand; and they wanted someone more modern. He'd wanted the job for a while, and it really cut him when they passed him over. He complained and everything, but they didn't budge. So old Snow was banished to the Archives, and he just passed the rest of his life there, down in the dark."
"But you said that there was a curse."
"Oh yeah, well I was hired as his assistant about six month's later, I asked him about the job and how he got there and everything, and he told me 'no one's ever gonna hold that job for a year'. I thought he was just talkin' but he's been right, since then, no one's held the job for a year. One man was a day short when he dropped dead from a heart attack. Can't get anyone interested in the job now so it kind of rotates."
Cathy spoke up "come on Morris, you really think someone cursed a job just because he didn't get it?"
"If we were talkin about anyone else, I'd laugh and agree with ya, but old Snow was a spooky guy. Sometimes he'd run into some reporter and tell him that he'd got something wrong, the reporter wouldn't buy it, but Snow would turn out to be right. He even had the page for the moon landing done up a day before they actually landed." The old man shook his head and wandered off, muttering 'spooky' to himself.
Cathy looked at Ruthie, the newspaper woman was obviously embarrassed "he spends all his time alone down in the archives, he's great at what he does, but most people thing he's off his rails a bit."
Ruthie just smiled and nodded, but she wasn't so sure. 'Spooky' that was the same word Diaz had used to describe Gary Hobson; Ruthie wondered if there was a reason for that.
Cathy broke into her thoughts "was there anything else?"
"Yeah, actually there was, I was wondering if I could see all the stories about a guy named Gary Hobson"?
"Miguel, talk to Miguel" Cathy said.
"Miguel Diaz, the photo-journalist; I've talked to him already, I was hoping to see the actual stories, not just his versions of them."
"Hang on then, I'll dig up what I can" she typed away at her terminal for a moment or two. "Was there any particular category of story you were looking for?"
"No, just any mention of Gary Hobson."
"That's over two hundred articles, you want all of them?"
Ruthie was a bit shocked, actually she was a lot shocked, two hundred articles mentioning the owner of a bar in a huge city "uhh yeah" she managed at last.
Cathy was arranging the articles for the girl when she added "if you've already talked to Miguel, you might try Meredith Carson, everyone says that she and Hobson are pretty close."
"Thanks" Ruthie said, both for the information and for all the print-outs; where could I find her."
"Sixth floor, just listen for all the yelling, that'll be where the investigative reporters work, any of them can tell you where she is."
"Thanks again" Ruthie said, and went in search of Meredith Carson.
When she got to the sixth floor, she did indeed hear the sound of people in rather heated discussions. One of the things Meredith would do was to give the same story to two different reporters, telling them to approach the article from different sides. This kind of assignment produced a lot of conflict, but it also produced some great writing. She walked up to a pair of reporters who were bickering like an old married couple, in fact they kind of reminded Ruthie of The Colonel and Grandma Ruth.
"Why would anyone want to leave California to come here" a young Latino girl asked.
"Lower cost of living, no earthquakes" her companion started.
"Crappy weather and industrial pollution" the girl interrupted with a smirk.
"Maybe because this area is real, California, especially around LA is just the illusion of real."
They both turned to her and the girl fired off "so how are you some kind of expert"?
"I spent the first twenty years of my life there, my family is still there, but I'd rather be here; could you tell me where Meredith Carson's office is."
"Got ya there Ags" the guy crowed "a native Californian agrees with me." Savoring his victory, he retreated back to his cubicle before the Latina laid into him.
The reporter turned to the young woman "so who wants to know".
"I do"
"Yeah, and who the heck are you"?
"I'm the person that just asked you where Meredith Carson's office was, jeez" Ruthie wandered off towards the enclosed offices against the wall "and they call art students clueless" she muttered loud enough for a lot of people to hear it.
Janet just stood there seething, she had just been verbally 'kicked to the curb' by some snot nosed white bread kid, and right in front of all her co-workers.
Finding the office, but without an occupant; Ruthie headed back to the elevators wondering if anyone at McGinty's could tell her about Meredith Carson. Unfortunately the angry reporter wasn't done.
"I was trying to find out who you were" she angrily informed Ruthie, making it as much a question as a statement.
Ruthie just focused on the statement "then you should have asked" she said without breaking stride "you think they'd teach something like that at reporter's school".
Janet just stood there incredulous, twice. She had been smoked twice, publicly, and she still didn't know the girl's name. She memorized Ruthie's face. If they ever crossed paths again, it would be time for some serious payback.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Meredith did find out that someone had been looking for her, and it had nothing to do with the reporters in the bull pen cackling like hens over the girl that had trounced Aguilera twice; something Meredith would not have believed possible. When she got back to her office, she checked her computer and saw that all of the articles about Gary that she had flagged had been printed out. Not just one or two, but all of them; someone was interested in Hobson in a big way, now she just had to figure out who it was, and whether or not it was a threat. Hmmm Cat down in IT had pulled the files, time for a little grilling.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
"Ms. Camden, could I speak to you for a moment." The voice broke into Ruthie's thoughts, class had just ended, but she hadn't been aware of it, she was too busy thinking about the articles that she was reading, detailing the very confusing life of Gary Hobson. 'Oh crap' Ruthie thought 'why would Doctor Pearson want to see me'. She headed down to the front of the lecture hall, catching a few sympathetic looks from her friends, when Pearson wanted to talk, it was rarely good.
"Yes sir"
Pearson looked around to see if anyone else was lingering, seeing no one, he turned back to the girl. "No reason to be nervous Ms. Camden, I wanted to talk to you about your friend Ms. Walters".
"Teressa; is something wrong" Ruthie asked. In the past, Pearson had asked for Ruthie's help in dealing with students who needed encouragement, help, or both.
"No, not at all; in fact it is something very right." He handed her an envelope.
Ruthie could see it was from the Guggenheim foundation. Not believing what she was seeing, she yanked the letter out and started reading; two minutes later she looked up at Doctor Pearson, her face aglow.
"Usually the faculty likes to inform the student about something like this, but she has been your friend for the last four years, so we thought we'd give you the honor of telling her."
Dropping her reserve completely, she flung her arms around the professor, and then ran out of the room, so happy she was almost singing. She wondered if her feet would even touch the ground before she got to McGinty's.