HUSH UP
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2012 by Alex Rosaria
This e-book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
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Hush Up
Melvin pressed his mobile phone hard against his ear.
“I can't just drop it. It's the story of this century. ”
“Don't matter?” His cheeks flushed. “It does matter.”
He paced up and down the sidewalk in front of Mick's diner. It was breaking midnight into the next day, Monday. Mike his source, a cook at the diner, gave him yesterday the smudgy details and proof about a scandal involving a certain senator with presidential aspirations. Today he paid the man. He had to scrape all he had together to get the two thousand dollars needed, but it was worth it. This story will get him up there with the great reporters of the past ages, and he will do this in his first year after graduating with a degree in journalism.
“I can take the heat, Mom.” He rolled his eyes while changing the phone from one hand to the other.
His mother couldn't possibly understand how important this was for his career, and it would be a huge blow for those high and mighty evangelical conservatives he hated so much. Let them gloat about their moral superiority once this piece is published in the morning papers. He grinned. No way will their golden boy be nominated now. Such hypocrites they are.
“No one knows about this, how could they, I sure won't be telling them,” he said.
Well he wouldn't, not until after it spread everywhere in the papers and over the news channels, leaving his co-workers in admiration of him being the one having delivered the story. They will whisper his name in the hallways for days to come, no, weeks, maybe even a month or two. Once the story is out, they wouldn't dare touch him. Melvin smiled.
“Don't you worry and be proud instead, you'll soon be the mother of a legend.”
He had left a score of manila envelopes containing copies of the evidence with his friend Nicky in case someone stopped him from delivering the news to the network. He will call the story in before the printing press started churning out the morning paper, but he had no intention doing this too early. In no way did he want to give the snitches any chance to go telltale their puppeteers at the GOP.
The glory won't be denied to him. Nicky would take care of this and send copies to all competing news outlets if they try to hush him up or deny him his spotlight. She would wait for his call at 2 a.m. to call her off from spreading the envelopes and posting the story online.
“Yes I know. I'll take care.”
He relaxed his shoulders and rested his back against the building.
“I love you too,” he whispered and hung up.
She still thinks of him as a small child, while at the age of twenty three he expected to be treated as a man. He will move out after this. Secure in his job he could afford to now. Maybe once he's on his own, Nicky might want him for more than just friends. This thought excited him; he fantasized holding her around her small waist and kissing her on her thick full lips. To hell with his friends who tease him of having jungle fever, it doesn't matter to him. A white man and a black woman wasn't a taboo anymore, there is no reason why they still act like it is. However, he's running ahead of himself, they are far from an item now, and he should focus on what was at hand.
A black SUV with tinted windows turned the corner. It took him a while before he realized its headlights were turned off. He pushed himself from the wall. Squinting, he watched the car park a distance away from the diner, the engine still running. It had no number plates.
The streetlights flickered, once, twice, and turned off and didn't come back up. The buildings around him one for one lost their lights, the diner went dark last. Apprehension grabbed him and shook him awake. He quickly looked around the deserted street; everything was huddled in darkness, with the moon's light only revealing so much of the surroundings.
Two tall men in black suits stepped out of the car. Their goggles shaded their eyes and covered a third of their faces hiding their features. Melvin wondered what kind of sunglasses they had on, but thought it better to not stay behind and find out. Who knows what they were up to. They didn't seem the kind that answered questions, but more the kind that asked them while putting some hurt on you. He backed toward the diner's door.
He tried the door. Locked. He looked over his shoulders. The two men stood by their car watching him. Peering through the glass into the dim room, he saw that the chairs were on top of the tables. Mike had already cleared and closed the place up. Melvin hoped that maybe he hadn't left yet.
“Mike!' He yelled while banging his fist on the window.
No one moved inside, the place seemed deserted. Melvin glanced back. The shortest suit, however still taller than him, walked closer to the diner, while his companion waited at the car. “Mr. Armstrong,” the man in black said.
Melvin grabbed the door handle and yanked it repeatedly in a vain attempt to force it open. He saw a shade move in between the tables. Thank God, he thought. Mike heard the ruckus and came to the rescue.
“We just want to have a word with you.”
They won't get him. No way will they manage to keep his story from coming out. That's freedom of press, you bastards. He clenched his teeth, while his body tensed up. “Hurry Mike.”
“Don't make this harder than it has to be,” the man said.
“Come on Mike,” Melvin said biting his teeth together and sweating. He gave the door a shove. Mike staggered forward and Melvin recoiled back at the sight of Mike's bloodied mouth and pale face.
“Your friend doesn't look that well,” he heard the man say much closer now.
Mike moved his lips forming words Melvin couldn't hear, and his lips were too bloodied to read from. Mike held his stomach pushing back his entrails bulging out, while blood seeped through his fingers down on the floor, leaving a trail behind him.
“He looks dead to me,” the man said.
The shot ran out to him with a heat that took the skin and hair from the side of his head, and bored through the glass door leaving a hole in it and one in between Mike's eyes. For one second Mike stood motionless to then drop to the floor the next.
Unbalanced, Melvin fell forward hitting his shoulder against the wall. Bouncing back upright, he wobbled around facing the man who smiled while holding a gun pointed at him.
“Damn, I missed.”
Melvin snapped his eyes side to side, his eyes growing bigger with him realizing that he was all alone and with no cavalry inbound to safe him.
“You might want to hand that over.” The man pointed with the gun at the bag Melvin held clutched against his chest. “I don't want to spoil that with blood, Senator Rompson wouldn't appreciate that.”
The story that would be his break threatened to break him instead.
“Just plug him one,” the other man said, while walking over to stand next to his companion, who held the gun steadily pointed at Melvin's head. They could be twins if not for the one being taller and black. Their faces covered by the goggles made them unrecognizable, not that Melvin was paying much attention with his eyes locked on the gun.
“Shut up, Johnson.”
“I said no names... Keller.”
Both men laughed. Whatever inside joke they shared, Melvin was sure it was at his expense. He thought it could only get worse from now on.
His hands sweaty, his heart beating against his throat, and his ears still ringing from the explosive shot that killed Mike, despair hit him hard and like a cornered animal, he lashed out only thinking survival, while forgoing the consequences. Swinging his bag upwards he hit Keller's gun. Nudging Keller aside, he rammed his shoulder in Johnson's belly who fell on his knees wheezing for air. Surprised, Keller was slow to react, by the time he raised his gun, Melvin turned the corner and was out of sight.
He ran in a dark alley while praying it didn't turn in a dead-end. Mike's face flashed in front of him; the dead eyes, brain exploding out of the back of his head. The same gun that shot Mike a short while ago had been pointed at him with the same intention. Hyperventilating he lost balance, stumbling mid-run barely keeping from falling and toppled a trash bin spilling its contents over the already fitly alleyway.
His knees wobbled, while his thoughts ran circles inside his head. The hum of an engine made the adrenaline sweep up his blood and pushed his heart to run to win the race of survival. No way could he allow them to stop him. He ran on, dodging a crate, evading the many broken bottles, and out the alley facing an otherwise busy road for the time of day. He crossed while dodging a blue station wagon a model made in the 90', the driver honked in anger at his jaywalking.
Melvin looked back. No one was following him. He closed his eyes in silent prayer thanking God he managed to escape and for allowing him to continue with his righteous mission. Freedom of press goes way above the wishes or aspirations of a politician, a corrupt one at that. Melvin smiled at his small triumph surviving the ordeal, but lost that smile thinking about what hardships still waited ahead.
Antsy he looked around for a way to hide. A Laundromat was still open. No, he couldn't hide there, he would stick out being tall, blond, and white, among the Asian clientele. The other stores were closed except for a tiny convenience store. He wasn't confident it would be safer there. He regretted not insisting on meeting Mike at a better neighborhood.