Meter Maids Eat Their Young by E. J. Knapp Read Free Book Online

stabbed a finger on my torn article and then stared at me over the rim of his reading glasses.
    â€œThe Department of Parking Enforcement is a very powerful agency,” he continued, his voice soft. “City government loves them, turns a blind eye to them in every way.” He cocked his head, studying me for a moment.  “I haven’t revealed this to you before, but the Department of Parking Enforcement has been trying quite strenuously to thwart your investigation.”
    â€œThwart it? How?”
    â€œThat’s unimportant. What is important is that they seem to have information they shouldn’t have. Recently, their lawyers tried to quash one of your articles. It was apparent they knew what was contained in that article … before it went to press.”
    I sat up straight in the chair, the implication of his words hitting me hard. “They what? How did they know what I’d written?”
    â€œI’ve sought the answer to that question with fervor,” he said. “And believe me, I will find their source. In the meantime, they have tried to quash every subsequent article concerning their affairs. The pressure being applied to this issue has been intense.”
    He removed his glasses and began polishing them with a handkerchief he kept in his vest pocket.
    â€œYou know as well as I, that this kind of pressure is not unusual with a story of this nature. Like the roach, government agencies shun the light. It has happened a number of times over the years I have sat at this desk.”
    He held the glasses up to the light, examined the lenses, slipped them back on.
    â€œWhat is unusual in this case is the complete lack of support I have amongst my own power base. My phone calls go unanswered. My emails returned with pleasantries but little else. I’m being shunned at social outings, treated as though I had shat in the punch bowl, with everyone too fearful or embarrassed to acknowledge the deed.”
    He straightened in his chair, his gaze probing me.
    â€œWhat I am trying to get across to you, Teller,” he said, his voice escalating in pitch and volume, “is that something very big is going on and I, for one, am not going to back down from it. I have lived too many years, been behind this desk, this paper, too long to put up with the kind of intimidation tactics used by a sniveling little upstart like Jefferson Cooper. I want my best reporter on this story, his mind and, more importantly, his heart. I want to know what is really going on.”
    I stared at him, dumbfounded and not a little ashamed. He was right. The sleepless nights, the wild dreams, hours in the Robyn Zone that left me sweat-drenched and twisted in my sheets had knocked me off my game. I tried to swallow, found my mouth as dry and foul tasting as old socks. HL was leaning forward on his desk again, his face red, a look of concern in his eyes. And something else there as well, a tightness I couldn’t read.
    â€œAre we clear on this, Teller?”
    I snatched the two halves of my story from his desk. “Yes, sir,” I said. “Quite clear.”
    As I started to rise, he held out his hand.
    â€œWait. There’s more,” he said.
    I sat back down.
    â€œFirst, I’m sorry for your loss. Harrison de Whitt was a good man and one of those rarest of gems today: An honest politician. His loss will be felt by this entire county. Second, though you kept the connection between his death and the Mangler vague, I assume you are aware that he was conducting his own investigation of the Department of Parking Enforcement?”
    â€œI knew he had an interest but he wouldn’t give me the details. But an interest and an investigation are two quite different things, don’t you think?”
    â€œI do indeed. And, as with you, he was not forthcoming with the details, though I do know he suspected something nefarious was going on there. I’ve known Harrison for a number of