“Holy mother of all crustaceans!” I threw my hat down onto my desk, slumped into my squeaking chair.
“What now?” Maria asked from the doorway of my office.
“Yeah, thanks.” I wiped my hands roughly over my face as if to scrub away my irritation. Newspapers! Couldn’t live with them, couldn’t shoot the editors. Bane of my existence.
Wouldn’t be bad if they’s print the honest-to-god truth, but I’d never met a reporter yet who had even a flirting relationship with honesty.
Maria brought in the coffee, cleared off a spot on my desk for the cup. Black like the interior of my soul. Had a girlfriend tell me that once. The only thing left of that relationship was the quote.
She perched on my client chair, hands on her lap. Some mistakenly called her prissy.
“What are you going to do?”
“Since the newspapers lay an entire conspiracy that doesn’t exist at my doorstep? Hell, I don’t know.”
We sat in silence for a time. I sipped coffee; burned my tongue. I hated when that happened and yet…. it might just have given me the impetus of an idea.
“What?” she asked, knowing the look on my face.
“They want to burn me, I’ll burn them right back.” My eyes met hers.
“What do I need to do?”