Warrior Pose by Brad Willis Read Free Book Online Page B

Here’s the breaking news. I’m just back from a crime scene in the woods north of town. Homicide Detective Don Michaels tells me the body of a young woman, stabbed to death, has been discovered in a shallow grave. College coed Jane Doe, missing for several days, has been identified as the victim. The police say they have no suspects at this time. We’ll stay on the story and keep you informed as more information becomes available.”
    Then I read the stories I had typed up. Be sure to pause , I told myself, relax into it, be confident . I glanced up at the camera as often as I could, keeping my right index finger on the script line so I could find my place when I glanced back down. The whole thing was still a lark, but I was already on fire. This was a way to make a difference. To be somebody. All my life I thought I never wanted a career. But now this was all I wanted. Every cell of my body was screaming that I had to have this job.
    Back in the newsroom, Michaels asked a final question. “I’ve interviewed ten people for this job. They are all journalism graduates. Some of them even have reporting experience. You don’t. Why should I hire you?”
    I stared straight into his eyes, hoping to make my gaze as piercing as his. “Because I’m relentless. I’ll work harder and longer than anyone you’ve ever met. I’ll make you proud and I’ll never let you down.” I meant every word of it. I belonged there. I just knew it.
    â€œThank you very much, young man.” Michaels suddenly turned formal and even more distant. “Give me your phone number. I’ll be in touch.”
    And that was it. I drove home to my cabin, wondering if he and the general manager were chuckling at the rube in work boots who typed with two fingers and had no idea what newswires or police scanners were. I doubted I would ever hear from Michaels. I stuffed my travel gear into a backpack and went to bed, prepared to head for Canada first thing in the morning.
    I was tired and groggy when the phone rang before sunrise. “Get in here now and grab a camera! There’s a guest at a hunting lodgeninety miles north of here who’s gone berserk. He’s holed up in a room with his rifle and has already shot someone in the parking lot. I’m sending you to the scene.” Michaels threw all this at me so fast I barely understood a word. He hung up before I could ask a question.
    I pulled on my blue jeans and the only dress shirt I owned, laced up my boots, jumped into my van, and drove faster than lightning into town. Michaels was at the back door of the studio waiting for me with a handful of wire reports, a Bolex camera, extra film, and a notepad with directions scribbled on the first page.
    â€œThanks for the job,” I said as I grabbed all the stuff and threw it on the seat next to me.
    â€œMy number is on the pad,” he barked, all business. “Find a phone and call me once you’re on the scene. And make me proud.”
    I sped north on Highway 101 as fast as my old van could go, furiously glancing in every mirror for any sign of the highway patrol. When I arrived at the scene, the lodge was surrounded by more than a dozen law enforcement vehicles. There were police officers, sheriff deputies, and highway patrolmen swarming everywhere with walkie-talkies, guns, and rifles. Cops manning a blockade at the lodge entrance ordered me to keep going. It immediately brought up all my memories of being manhandled at protest rallies. But this was different. I was here this time to report the news, not make it. I needed to be bold, show them I had the authority of the news station behind me. I sucked in a deep breath and slammed on my brakes right in front of them, rolled the window down, stuck the camera out, and shouted, “I’m a reporter from KVIQ-TV!”
    It was unbelievable. In an instant, I was an accepted part of the scene. I was allowed to park right there