Becoming Legend by Cory Barnett & Jeff Elkins

Author:Cory Barnett & Jeff Elkins [Barnett, Cory & Elkins, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Goodreads: 39695255
Published: 2018-04-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

“I’m sorry, sir. He can’t see you right now,” the Baltimore Star receptionist said. She stood between Mencken and the entrance to the office. It was a brave move for the five-foot-two, hundred pound woman in a blue skirt and silk blouse.

“I need to talk to him, now!” Mencken yelled as he stomped his foot. “Right! Now!”

“Mr. Winchell is in a staff meeting, sir,” the receptionist said, calmly. “I’ll tell him you’re here as soon as they are done. If you would just take a seat over-”

Mencken grabbed the small woman by the shoulders and pushed her out of his way. She squeaked with surprise as she fell. He didn’t pause to see if she was okay. Storming through the door of the newspaper headquarters, he frantically searched the open-plan office. Like curious prairie dogs, heads throughout the room poked up from behind their light blue walls, but after realizing Mencken was no one of importance, they retreated back into their holes.

Mencken’s eyes scanned the outskirts of the room. The walls were lined with glass rooms. Most seemed to be private offices, small spaces with a single desk or two. Finally, he found the room he needed – a large conference room filled with people.

Mencken strode across the room, pushed the door open, and charged into the midst of the meeting. Winchell was sitting at the head of a long brown table, with four reporters crowded onto either side. They were all dressed in business-casual attire. They were mixed in ages, genders, and races, but they all had the stressed, pasty look of writers who’d spent too much time inside under deadlines. Mencken had met some of them. These were the division chiefs for the Star.

Sam, who was at the far end of the table from Winchell, looked up, smiled, and said, “Hey, Mencken. Surprised to see you here.”

“Shut up, Sam,” Mencken barked. “Richard, I need to talk with you. Right now.”

“You look like shit, Mencken,” Winchell replied. “Everyone,” he said to the room. “This is Mencken Cassie. Brings us great stuff, but isn’t quite ready for a desk yet.”

“Loved the stuff on the sex-trafficking bust you sent us,” said a gray-haired, heavyset man in a white button-down with rolled up sleeves. “Three sites busted at once. An interview with the property owner. That was good work. Wish I could get the cops to listen to me like that.”

“Richard,” Mencken pleaded, holding back tears. “Please. Please. I need to talk to you.”

“Shoot kid,” Winchell said. “If it’s a story it’s going to end up in this room anyway.”

“I, um. I.” Mencken could feel tears building behind his eyes. The imagined sound of the Cleveland child returned, rattling softly in the back of his mind. “I. I, um.” He took deep breaths, trying to calm himself.

“Spit it out kid,” Winchell demanded. “Shit or get off the pot.”

Tears trickled from his eyes. “There all, um. There all connected. Everything. It’s. It’s all connected.”

Winchell sat forward. “What are talking about?”

Mencken wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

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