“That's a bit much, don't you think?”
“Maybe. I don't know. I'm not up to date on what religion thinks about stoking the fires of civil unrest.”
“You could try going to church and finding out.”
“I told you before, it's not just that I don't want to go. They made it clear they don't want me there.”
“You've even been deemed unsaveable by the father of forgiveness. Congratulations.”
“It puts me in strong company.”
* * *
Detective Lane rounded the corner, confused as to where he was meeting his partner. Detective Knox had only given him the bare minimum of information about the place, along with a promise that he would tell all when Lane arrived. Being left in the dark was not a new experience for him, but it was usually explained by Knox exploring new trains of thought, and not having the time to bother informing everyone else of the possibilities. This time, however, Lane could think of no reason why they would be meeting in this particular place, nor what connection it could have to their latest clue.
Detective Knox was standing, impatiently shuffling his weight from one foot to the other, his hand already on the door handle, waiting to pull it open. As Lane came into view, Knox flung the door wide, throwing himself inside. Lane rushed to catch up, if only to find out the cause of such a frenzy. He had never seen Knox move so quickly, or show such a display of emotion. For as long as Lane had known him, Knox was as stoical and philosophical a person as he had ever met. For him to be so unlike himself was a cause for worry.
Knox was waiting for him at the elevator, his large hand holding back the door as the motor struggled to shut it. Lane jogged over as carefully as he could in slick-soled shoes, taking care not to fall on his face and further delay their progress. Though he did not know the circumstances they found themselves in, Lane knew better than to do anything to increase Knox's ire. A quiet man explodes the loudest was the proverb, or parody of one, that Lane thought to himself as he boarded.
“What's going on?”
“Did you read the paper this morning?”
“No, I can't say I did. I don't care to learn about even more bad news than we encounter on a daily basis.”
“That's not a bad idea. I wish I hadn't today, but then these people would get away with it.”
“With what?”
“That putz who's been writing those editorials about how we can't solve the Hobbes murder was at it again, only this time he's telling everyone to fear for their lives, because we can't protect them.”
“I see where this is going.”
“Yeah, the paper's offices are upstairs, and I'm going to give them a piece of my mind. They can't print that kind of trash without expecting a bit of blow-back.”
“I'm not telling you to stop, but did you think about what the brass is going to say when they get wind of what you're doing?”
“I had plenty of time to think about that, since you were late, and they're going to give me a gold-plated coffee mug for this. Someone has to stand up for us.”
“I just hope you know what you're doing.”
“Don't worry, kid. If anything happens, everyone will know to blame me.”
The Herald's offices were meager, a large smoke-stained room containing a handful of people and the sound of furious typing. Ringed around them, like nobles in the Coliseum watching gladiators die, were management’s dimly lit offices. Detective Knox looked at the writers toiling away, beating their fingers into dust at the keys, all for naught. Nothing they wrote for a paper like The Herald would ever give them a career in journalism. They were pawns being run into the ground until they were of no more use, to be replaced by the next eager candidate who was not smart enough to see the job for what it was.
Detective Knox despised those who made use of others, because they violated the fabric of what he considered decency. Parasitic relationships were only permissible if both sides were aware before signing on the dotted line. The writers Knox watched had been lied to, sold a dream that could never become real. Honesty is the cornerstone of humanity, Knox thought, and people who traded in deceit deserved no mourning when they met their end.
Detective Lane followed as they made their way past the desks, past the smell of rotting plywood and water damage, to an office at the back. The door was ajar, leaking the air of arrogance, so the pressure did not build up to dangerous levels. Without breaking stride, Knox put his foot into the door, burying the knob in the wall.
“What the hell do you think you're doing?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“You'd better be William McNeal, or I just made an embarrassing mistake.”
“I am. What do you want?”
“I want to talk to you about the filth you printed in what you generously call a newspaper this morning.”
“I stand by every word.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“For now.”
“Let me tell you something. You can sit here feeling high and mighty, and judging us for the job we're doing, but you don't have a damn clue what it actually takes to do a real job. All you do is sit in this little office, think your big thoughts, and make yourself feel smart. Guess what? It doesn't work like that in the real world. You want to know why we haven't solved the Hobbes murder? Because this isn't television, and it takes real work, which is something you wouldn't know about. Normally, I wouldn't care if you don't think we're good at our jobs, but there are some lines you just don't cross. Telling people to be afraid, to feel like they aren't safe, that's one of them. Only a bottom-feeder would think that was in anyone's interest. It might get you a bit more attention, but it's not worth it if you no longer own your soul.”
“You don't need to get so angry about a piece in a newspaper. I play a part, it's a character.”
“That doesn't make it any better. I almost wish you were that stupid.”
“So what, you're going to threaten me?”
“Lane, go wait outside.”
Detective Lane looked at his partner, who nodded his head. He looked back at William McNeal, who was not a good enough actor to hide his fear. He admitted to playing a character, so Lane assumed it was Detective Knox's turn to do the same. He turned to the door, feeling a growing unease as he walked away.
“We have recorders all over this place. You'll regret it if you threaten me.”
“I'm not here to threaten you, I'm here to enlighten you.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I know you're not a stupid man, so you'll understand what I'm about to say. You see, eventually, the fear you're stoking in people is going to come to a head. When it does, something bad is going to happen, and you're going to look down and see blood on your hands. When you write the next story about something evil that happened, it's going to be your fault that it did. You're going to have to live with that.”
“And if I can?”
“Kudos to you, in that case. I didn't know people could live without spines, but you're a medical marvel. In any event, you might want to take your own advice and be afraid. I heard that this address isn't being protected by the police anymore. Something about the people thinking they were just as safe without us.”
“Now that sounded like a threat.”
“Nope. Just friendly advice.”
“No offense, but you're not a friend I want to have.”
“That's what everyone says. Oh, and one more piece of advice.”
“Oh good, there's more.”
“Next time you have a source trying to feed you information about my case, you might want to ignore their calls. Do I look like the sort of guy who shares information with the kind of people who would talk to you.”