Mulligan ran, heading back toward the corn. He heard the gun go off again and again, and couldn’t keep himself from turning to see what had happened: it was Hanshaw, but his huge arm was no longer pointing the gun at the sky. Kat was running too; she was headed in the opposite way, and even as Mulligan considered calling out or trying to signal her he realized that she knew perfectly well the direction in which he was heading; that she was deliberately trying to get as far away from him as she could.
EARLIER TODAY
Nables was disappointed. He’d been summoned to the executive editor’s office via e-mail, and reflexively recalled a time when such a summons would have come via telephone, a call that would have been answered by his secretary. But he’d never had a secretary. The title had been declared obsolete, perhaps even offensive, at some point when he’d been in his mid-thirties. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with being a secretary. His mother had been a secretary. It was considered a step up. Half his friends’ mothers had worked as domestics for Skokie Jews and Gold Coast Irish. His mother had been proud to be a secretary. Nables shook his head. No more. Now he had assistants and interns, young people who usually expected to be given something interesting to do. He spent time hiding from them.
He put on his jacket and left his file cabinet enclosure to ride the elevator to the eighth floor. The reception area there had been redone recently, walls knocked down, and now there was a chilly space to traverse, sparsely decorated with low-slung furniture, before he found himself standing before Melody, the receptionist, if that’s still what you were allowed to call her. She didn’t even greet him, simply picked up her phone when he appeared, spoke a few words into it, and shooed him with one hand toward Pat Foley’s office.
Foley rose when he entered. Two other people were seated in the room. “Ike,” he said.
“Hello, Patrick,” said Nables.
“Ike, you know Susan Richter, our vice president of advertising sales. And this is Ted Denomie. Ted, this is Isaac Nables, one of our paper’s crown jewels.”
“Fan of your work,” said Denomie.
“Thank you,” said Nables. They shook hands.
“Ike, take a seat. Ted represents the Northwest Michigan Band of Chippewa Indians. He’s on the board.”
“It’s actually the corporate commission. The business side of things,” chuckled Denomie.
“Of course, of course,” said Foley. “Ted’s come to us with some concerns that Sue and I thought it would be worthwhile to bring you in on.”
“What sort of concerns?” said Nables, carefully seating himself in a chair.
“Ted tells us that one of your people is looking into a loss that may have taken place at one of the casinos his group operates.”
“Manitou Sands,” said Denomie.
“That’s correct,” said Nables. “She’s in the field gathering information. I intend to evaluate it when she returns. I’m not sure yet if there’s a story there.”
“Who’s on it?” asked Richter. Nables stared at her for two full seconds before answering.
“Kat Danhoff.”
“She’s young, isn’t she?” said Foley.
“She’s experienced enough. Been with us for a few years now. Was with the Free Press before that.”
“Young and enthusiastic,” Foley continued undeterred.
“What are Mr. Denomie’s concerns?” asked Nables.
“Primarily,” said Richter, “that there really isn’t much there that’s newsworthy.”
“That’s what we’ll be determining,” said Nables.
“It’s a story about a possible theft, Ike, am I right?”
“That’s part of the story, yes.”
“What’s the other part?” said Richter.
“I was getting to that. The discovery of the theft may also have uncovered systematic illegal activity at the casino, possibly related to organized crime. Black money.”
“Phew,” said Denomie. “That sounds serious, Mr. Nables. I thank you for bringing it to our attention.”
“You’re welcome,” said Nables.
“How committed are you?” asked Denomie.
“We have to evaluate Kat’s information. Beyond that, our editorial process is confidential.” Nables looked at Foley.
“I’m going to ask you to share your thoughts with Ted,” said Foley.
“That’s unusual,” said Nables.
“Still,” said Richter.
“Please, Ike,” said Foley.
“If Kat’s information pans out, we’ll run a story. If the story appears to be bigger, we’ll investigate further and run follow-ups as warranted.”
“Would it be possible,” said Denomie, “to put your story on hold? Just until we can find out if anything’s going on, put a stop to it.”
“I would encourage you to do just that. But that can’t have any bearing on whether and when we run a story.”
“Why not?” asked Richter.
“I would hope to maintain a definite separation between Mr. Denomie’s agenda and our mission,” said Nables.
“Agenda’s a pretty strong word, Ike,” said Foley.
“Agenda derives from the Latin, agere, meaning ‘do.’ It is the plural form of the gerund, agendum. Its current meaning, containing no pejorative connotation whatsoever, originates in the 1600s.”
“Thank you for the vocabulary lesson,” said Richter.
“You’re welcome,” said Nables.
“Ike has a master’s in English,” said Foley to Denomie. “What is it, UIC?”
“Northwestern,” said Nables.
“Be that as it may,” said Richter, “Ted’s interests and ours aren’t all that far apart.”
“Ours?” said Nables.
“The Mirror’s.”
“In what sense?”
“Let me field that, Susan,” said Denomie. “If I may. This kind of attention really shakes public confidence in the legitimacy of casino gambling.”
Nables’s face remained completely blank.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Denomie continued. “But we’ve worked hard to ensure that our reputation is spotless.”
“Maybe not hard enough,” said Nables.
“Maybe not, Ike. But is it fair to throw mud on us before we’ve had a chance to take action? I don’t need to tell you these are tough times. People are thinking carefully about where they want to spend their vacation dollars. And, to be blunt, a story like this could cost us dearly.”
“That’s no concern of mine,” said Nables.
Richter exhaled audibly, turning down the corners of her mouth.
“I knew you’d feel that way,” said Foley. “It’s one of the reasons why everyone around here looks up to you with respect.” He gestured at Richter. “Sue, would you mind?”
“By all means.” She reached into a briefcase that had sat on the floor beside her like a well-trained dog. “Here’s our BPA numbers from last quarter. I’m sure you’re familiar with them. The important numbers are here, here, and here. They establish our rate base for the standalone sections. Including yours, Ike. You can see that the numbers have declined, which means that even if we could continue to maintain ad sales at our current volume, revenue is down. But of course lineage drops along with circulation, a trend dramatically illustrated in this graph.” She reached to retrieve another document from the briefcase, and to Nables it looked as if she were reaching down to pet that obedient dog.
“I see,” said Nables.
“This newspaper can’t sustain itself if these trends continue.”