Zephyr

Thank you, DCL.
Okay: [knuckle crack, stretch–]

Chapter 1: Bad Morning

Raggedy breathing, wheezing, and ugly rattling sounds deafeningly loud in my ears–buhBUMPbuhBUMPbuhBUMPbuhBUMPbuhBUMPbuhBUMPbuhBUMPbuhBUMP
–hollow hammering? Ugly gray smoke like car exhaust covering–writhing matted spikes? wind in underbrush?
–WHAT IS THAT SMELL?–

AAAUGH! Oh, thank the Lord. Just another bad dream. Jennifer sat up abruptly, peeling sweat-soaked nightie away from her puckered skin. MORE LAUNDRY. GREAT! She picked up her wrist canes and went to the bathroom. Dear Lord, is that the time? Why didn’t my alarm wake me? Without time for a shower, she wet a washrag, sponged herself off, sprayed cologne, dressed, bagged yesterday’s sandwich, hung bag and purse from her left hand right on her wrist cane handle, and keyed out from her apartment in less time than it took to get down the hallway past– Brandon’s stupid MUTT! *&#*@#! Laying in the hall sprawled out like that, it’s lucky I’m not mean as Mr. Po used to be. The elevator chimed and opened for her as she arrived, revealing– Oh, great, Mr. Han “Hi, Mr. Han, I’m glad you got the elev–“
“Miss Duke. I have news.” He waited for her to step in, pushed the button. Pompous jerk. “I’ve rented all three downstairs apartments.”
Ex-squeeze-me? “Really?”
“I could stall one of the new tenants and swap you,” he smiled pointedly, “but I’d have to charge you the new, higher rent and move you quickly. If you want it I’ll need a decision by tomorrow at noon.”
You KNOW I can’t be here at noon, you jerk. And mid-work-week? I’m not falling for THAT. Jennifer smiled sweetly. “I’m staying put.” HAH! I saw that! I messed you up, didn’t I? “Thank you SO-OO much for keeping me in mind, but this new program is working–” In my dreams, turning them to nightmares.
“They’re doctors. Very stable income–” he began rapidly, then more smoothly, “They’ll stay a long time. You know I worry–“
Yeah, right. “That’s very sweet, Mr. Han, but don’t worry. Gotta go. The bus won’t wait.” Jennifer left him listening to the click of her wrist canes. If you WORRIED about me, you’d make Brandon keep his dog out of that narrow hallway so I couldn’t fall over him and wouldn’t have to turn sideways. If you WORRIED about me, you’d make sure the elevators don’t BOTH need maintenance AT THE SAME TIME. Jerk. You’re not getting a key or more rent out of ME. That should burn you good! Despite record-breaking speed leaving for work, Jennifer only had time to eat three bites before the bus arrived, leaving her stomach growling in front of the bus driver that would make her get off for eating. Putting on makeup during the potholes on Washington Avenue didn’t go well, but at least there were no injuries. Not even when that ancient-looking homeless guy startled her by bending close to her suddenly and blurting out, “Very good!” She downed the last of her sandwich at the bus stop and caned as quickly as she could past the Backington Building. No early-morning vendors were in the courtyard. Just that stupid fountain. No lunch AGAIN? *&^%$#@! I’m not putting up with this today. She caned past the Crowe building to the deli, ordered a footlong coldcut extra veggies no mayo, and caned back to the Crowe building and up the two flights of steps arriving less than five minutes late.
Another record–to the deli and back in ten minutes with no leg twitches. What gives?
“Huh!” said David Crowe, checking his watch.
Jerk! “Yes, David?”
“Late again? You shouldn’t bet your talents are so valuable. Betting your job is a bad idea.”
“I’m not done betting yet. I bet that no one would be so petty as to fire someone who has my talents, does the editing and production work of three people, and not only takes home the pay of one part-time non-salaried and poorly waged employee, but also never complains about the completely illegal lack of handicapped access to the authorities. All over being late less often than you or the other anchors. If you wanted me on time, you’d invest in elevator access on THIS side of the building” –you useless, self-important, stupid, overblown, oh-I’m-the-boss’-nephew-but-that’s-not-why, sleazy S-O-B! This place only runs smoothly when you’re ON VACATION!! It’s such a shame. You look as good as a perfectly-basted store-window marketing-poster Christmas turkey stuffed with gravel, lead shot, and arsenic-soaked croutons.
Nathan looked up from shuffling papers on his desk. Grabbed his coffee cup. Got up and power-walked out. Made better time than when your lunch caught fire in the microwave. Man up, Nate. This doesn’t even concern you. David’s face twisted in that way that normally made Jennifer bite back a smile. But right then all she wanted to do was smash it in with her wrist canes. He stomped past the equipment bays and sets, then into his uncle’s office, and she achieved ten minutes of peace to start up her day.
All in all it was a quiet morning after that, Nathan only sent out one team, and HE was the one listening to the Bearcat scanner.

Chapter 3: Headline Deadline

The lunch room was empty when Jennifer walked in. She had barely taken her first bite though, when: @#&%*! Anchors away, PLEASE anchors away! What are they on about NOW?
“We do need pages by two,” said David Crowe, eyes all over Tia. OMG, Mr. and Mrs. Eggshell–pretty smooth outside, painfully fragile, and full of salmonella. “But I’m thinking we need to stress the followup and give it more in-depth later. That at least should ease the rush now.” He put Cafe R.D.E. to-go boxes in the fridge, pulled out his pen, and leaned on the table to write ‘nine a.m.’ in the three timecards he’d walked in with. Not even trying to hide it from me now, huh? “Do you think you can rough that out with your lunches?”
Tia and Shelley, holding their own to-go boxes, looked at each other. Tia, arching an eyebrow, reached into her bag, pulled out her dessert box, and quietly stuck it into Shelley’s bag without making a sound. David’s eyes were elsewhere on Tia. Shelley nodded.
“Yes, David. Pages by two. The only thing I’m not sure about is what we should call it.”
As Nathan, Stuart, Po, Nguyen, and Mike Claren walked into view, David blurted out “What’s wrong with ‘the Chinatown Ghost?'”
“Hah!” Oops. Everyone turned to look at Jennifer.
David clenched his teeth. “What’s wrong with that?”
Jennifer quietly took a rapid, deep breath. “For starters, that poll Stuart finished up says locals don’t react well to calling those three square blocks Chinatown.” She waved at him.
Stuart paled a bit. “Well . . . um . . . ” Oh, poor guy, did some of us look at you TOO? “Yes. That’s what we found.”
“Really?” David’s voice sounded flat. “Where is my copy?”
“I put it in your box last night,” said Stuart quietly. Uh oh, you weren’t sure they CLAIMED to be in this morning did you?
David’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I must have missed it. What’s wrong with ‘Ghost?'” He looked back at Jennifer.
“She doesn’t act like a ghost.”
“What?” David guffawed. Wow. If he just ridicules me in front of everyone, maybe he won’t push me. Just don’t ask–
“How DOES she act then?” He opened his eyes, craned his neck. Honesty always, from those wanting truth.
“Not like a ghost.”
He laughed again. “How does a ghost act?”
“She doesn’t haunt just one place. She doesn’t always look the same. She doesn’t always do the same things . . . ” You stupid *^$! “As long as you’re going to call her something, you should pick something that fits.

Continuing with Chapter 3: Headline Deadline

By 12:30, everyone but David had put in at least two names. That’s when Young Mike walked in. Nguyen explained the bet as he walked to the refrigerator and got out his food, then trotted out, explaining that she had to leave work early.
“So,” he said, “I have a question. How do we present this to Mr. Crowe?”
“What do you mean?” I have a question for you. Why do you wear suspenders?
“None of us are supposed to bother him. Should we e-mail him?” Looks exchanged. David smiled.
“You don’t need to worry about that. You weren’t a part of the original bet.” Cheapskate.
Po raised a hand. “Did you say everyone in the lunchroom?”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Young Mike, “That means I give it to him.”
“What?” David frowned.
“I’m not a part of the contest. That means I have no stake in it. So I should give it to him.” Young Mike pulled a length of paper towel out of the dispenser and a pen from a pocket and began copying the list. “While I’m at it I’ll alphabetize them. That’s more fair.” He looked at Jennifer. “You’ll have to keep the original list so we’ll have a record of who thought up which names.”
Well, DUHH.
David frowned deeper. “You know you’re not supposed to disturb him?” Oh, you had a way to cheat in mind, didn’t you?
“It’s okay,” said Young Mike, “I have a meeting with him in about fifteen minutes.”
Shocked silence took over the lunchroom. David got up and walked out. Hah!
“If you don’t mind,” said Young Mike, “I’ll ask your opinions on which ones you think are best.”

[continuation of Chapter 4]

March 17: Medical Office Building incident. Construction crew [use no names per agreement — sources verified] reports new building south of town had ‘help.’ Three stud walls were lifted and nailed into place by what they describe variously as ‘dust devil’ ‘living fog’ ‘figure made of smoke.’ High wind sounds, trash scattered whole area ‘warm’ ‘warmer’ ‘oddly hot.’ Ten to twelve times as many nails used as necessary. Extra safety inspection declared okay and work proceeded. Stills only.
No bent nails or nails nailed anywhere but stud walls. Four nails almost out other side of wood like twister stories. Pic#4! Took between 2-4 min. Gusts of wind before and after had crew seeking cover from debris. Walls went up abt 4:50pm.

Jennifer pursed her lips. I remember that from the radio report. They sure took their time following up on THIS incident. She read on:
March 30th: Washington St. 2 1/2 blocks east of Chinatown. Three officers, one metermaid, two drivers, one passenger, six passersby same story. One totalled compact car had rear-ended large pickup. Tow truck arrived. Tow driver hurt hand, pausing. High wind sounds, trash scattered, one parking sign bent. Area became warmer. Tow truck locked itself, loaded itself with car, hooked itself to truck, drove away. Turned right on Ebert, left on Jefferson, right on Flowers, left on Polk. Crashed into condemned building at end of Polk, totalling tow truck. No pictures but of wreckage. No figure seen. Abt 6:45-7:10pm. No other injuries.

Jennifer frowned. I remember that day too. My bus was really late getting me home. I hate rush hour. This shouldn’t be hard to write up after all. Can Shelley REALLY not manage this? All I do is copy an old teleprompter feed and edit it to match. Sheesh. What’s next?

[continuation of Chapter 4]

Jennifer stared at the pictures for a few moments. That’s so weird how they look familiar. Maybe I’ve seen too many hazy ‘pictures’ of Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster. What’s YM? She frowned. The next several pages had been torn out. Shelley did at least summarize it and go to the trouble of organizing it and rewriting it once.

Fifty-three instances attributed, six seen by credible witnesses, twelve with physical evidence linkages over fourteen days.
Seven doors and four windows jammed shut with shredded trash. Chinatown. 2pm to 10pm.
Three Chinatown alleys had trashcans flattened and gouged into brick walls, preventing pickup. 5am-7am.
Garbage truck had exhaust pipe crimped, stalling it and making restarting impossible before maintenance. Twice! Thursday at 5:25am precisely. Corner of Washington and Main.
Nine stereos, two t.v.s, four radio alarm clocks have been smashed along with the windows closest to them, unless they were open. Chinatown, sunrise to 7:30am.
Two vehicles known to backfire were completely disassembled, parts scattered in trashcans, in mailboxes, and on rooftops. Possessions from inside the vehicles were neatly stacked, in both instances, under tarped construction areas nearby, preventing rain damage. This was done silently.
Nine small dogs and six cats have been found dead. Most were flattened against walls out of reach of anyone without a ladder. Two of them seem to have died of smoke inhalation where there was no smoke.
Three doors have been found removed from their hinges at random locations blocks away in hard-to-reach places.
Two bells have been removed from shopkeeper’s doors when they were staying open late for specific customers. The bells were flattened before their eyes, “carefully, so as not to damage merchandise.”
–Motive in all cases, based on testimony, was to ensure quiet.

Jennifer stared at the pages. Is THAT why Brandon’s been leaving his mutt in the hall? To keep him . . . alive? It never barks in the hall, just happily wags it’s tail, sleeps half-on-half-off his welcome mat and– Wait. It was all the way off the mat this morning. It never sleeps off the mat. buhBUMPbuhBUMPbuhBUMP–hollow hammering? Ugly gray smoke like car exhaust covering–writhing matted spikes? wind in underbrush?
–WHAT IS THAT SMELL?– Jennifer recoiled slightly. She felt hot all over.
Shelley sat down next to her, snapping her back to the present. “Are you okay?”
Young Mike glanced up, “You look pale.”
Jennifer opened her mouth. She closed her mouth. Um, yeah. I’ll just tell everyone I’m a psychic, and I know that the whatsit killed my neighbor’s dog. Yeah. Go ahead. Commit me, PLEASE? “I just realized my neighbor’s dog might be dead too. It was sleeping in the middle of the hallway this morning. I had to turn sideways to get around it.”
“I’m sorry, Jen,” Shelley said. You’re just worried I won’t finish your work.
Young Mike glanced at her wrist canes. “Is it difficult to go sideways with those things?”
“It’s more like it’s hard not to fall without going really slow. It’s a narrow hallway.”
Shelley began to speak and then stopped, frowned. She pulled a notebook page out of a pocket. “Is one of these addresses your building?”
“Yes. Why?”
Shelley frowned, “No one in those two buildings will talk to us. If you could verify the dog is dead, that would be EVERY BUILDING BUT ONE in Chinatown. Is there any part of your work you couldn’t take with you?”
Yikes! “You mean, you’d drive me home after work?”
Shelley blinked, “No, I mean, I’d take you home now–would you LIKE a ride home after work? I can compensate informants.” She smiled. Wow. Honesty. Keepin’ it real with your mercenary self.
What would I need? “My laptop won’t hold a charge.”
Young Mike grinned. “I got an adaptor. Po’s custom work. You’re riding shotgun–the cord won’t reach the back of the van. Shelley? Get me an office chair.”
Shelley looked at him funny but trotted right out to get the rolling office chair. Young Mike snatched up Jennifer’s wrist canes, handed them to her, lifted her up–WHOA THERE! placed her in the office chair as it arrived, handed her everything off the table including his own Tupperware container, and rolled her right out of a lunchroom full of raised eyebrows. Not even out of breath, Young Mike parked her at her desk. You’re a LOT stronger than YOU look, Tarzan!
“I’m gonna take my meeting early and get back here quick. Be ready.”
Jennifer turned to object and saw him halfway across the building. Maybe I should’ve spoken sooner? %$^&!
Shelley came puffing up to Jennifer. “Do you need me to carry anything?”
“Um? This laptop is a heavy model. Do you have a case?” Is he ALWAYS this fast? I never see him, and you’re acting like this is normal.
Shelley trotted to a drawer and pulled out a box full of mouse pads, a large ziploc full of bungee cords, and two round flat pillows.
She plopped the smaller one right on Jennifer’s lap, startling her in the middle of choosing a download. Those look like dog pillows. “Be ready to power down the instant he comes out.” Shelley pointed at Mr. Crowe’s office, where Nguyen was already buzzing Young Mike in. Shelley grabbed the box of mouse pads, the ziploc, the other pillow, and Jennifer’s wrist canes, HEY? and ran straight for the open freight elevator. I guess I’m going, then. She shook her head, and packaged everything up as best she could.

Chapter 6: Bonding Over Lies

Young Mike plugged in his hands-free ear wire, stuffed the bud in his left ear and answered the phone. He looked surprised.
“Yes sir? Um. Okay. Yes–she’s here. Hold on.” He put the phone in the cable basket between himself and Jennifer and handed the earbud to Jennifer, still practically juggling.
“For me?” Who even knows I’m here? Jennifer looked at the earbud. At least it looks clean. She put it in. “Hello?”
“Miss Duke?” Big boss alert!
“Yes, Mr. Crowe? You might call me Jennifer–I still don’t always know who Miss Duke is.”
Simon Crowe laughed. “Congratulations.”
What– “Thank you. For what?”
He laughed again. “I liked your entry for the new story best. Please call it ‘Zephyr’ from now on.”
Zephyr?! That wasn’t in the entries! Wh– Jennifer glanced sideways at Young Mike.
“Sh,” Young Mike said quietly.
“I–” she began.
“I numbered them,” said Mr. Crowe, “like your current driver requested. He didn’t fool me though.”
“Fool you?” Jennifer asked innocently. But he DID. Zephyr must have been HIS idea.
“I know you, Jennifer. And I know my nephew. No one had to tell me this is some sort of bet between the two of you. What are the stakes? I need you to tell me. I’ve explicitly told David there is to be no betting of money on the job.”
“We bet food items for the group. Not a whole lunch or anything.”
“Thank you. I should tell you that I know my nephew VERY well. I’ve tried to teach him how to run a business, but I’m afraid he feeds his ego and not his intellect. I have promised him his decisions about Backington Studios will stick. That means you may have to be careful. I know you two don’t get along well.” So, you’re not going to make him keep me. Didn’t think so.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For making that clear. I know from –” She looked around at Shelley. “Before. I know from before that you talked about keeping opposing views nearby to learn from them.” How do I make this sound like it’s about something else? “Where in the list is Chinatown Ghost?”
Mr. Crowe laughed again. “Well done. You are actually good at this sort of intrigue. It is next to last. The worst one was Dixie Pixie. That was Tia’s?”
“Haha–you know it. Po put in ‘yokai’ and ‘sorei,’ where are they?”
“Third and fourth. But people might think we’re making ethnic comments, so I’m glad your entry won.”
“What was second?”
“The Backington Boogeyman. I have another call.”
“Goodbye Mr. Crowe.”
“Goodbye.” The phone clicked off. Jennifer didn’t even hunt for the right button, just wiped the earbud on her shirt and stuck it in Young Mike’s ear. He looked surprised. And slightly pink. Ooh, buddy can BLUSH. Cute!
“Thanks,” he said. And not used to getting any help with anything. Jennifer pondered his suspenders, his unfortunate plaid shirt, his Buddy Holly glasses, and his too-short haircut and stubble. “I’m looking over, a three-leaf clover, that I overlooked be-THREEEE. Bugs Bunny said it best.
“SO?!”
–DAH! “What is it, Shelley?”
“What was that about?”
Oops. “Did you put in Backington Boogeyman?”
“Yes.”
“It came in second.”
Shelley smiled. “Hey! Wait. What was that bit about opposing views?”
“Oh.” %^&*! She’s a good reporter; I shouldn’t forget that. “He knows it was a bet.”
Shelley’s smile disappeared and she looked worriedly at Jennifer. “Are you in trouble?”
“No more than I was. He likes people coming clean when he catches them.” Jennifer turned to face forward again and frowned at the screen. Zephyr. Not bad.
“What did you enter?”
Jennifer froze. She raised her eyebrows. “Um, if I’m gonna finish this–“
Mike smiled. “Don’t be too modest, Jennifer. She entered ‘Zephyr,’ and ‘Miasma,’ and Zephyr won.”
“What’s a miasma?”
Um?“Yeah, Mike, what’s a miasma?”
Shelley laughed.
“I’m not sure. So what are we doing when we get there? I’m guessing we won’t be flashing press cards.”
“Oh!” said Shelley, “Jennifer’s hanging bags of food from her canes and leading us up. I’m carrying the laptop and two dog pillows. You hide a camera in a box or something. We take ‘her’ stuff to her place and knock on the dog owner’s door, saying I have a dog pillow I don’t need. I’ll probably try to look like I’m fighting back tears and claim my dog died recently. Try to look sympathetic and either irritated or like you want to avoid the subject. Tell him where to park, but not too close. We don’t want people to see the passenger side of the van. Is that an ambulance?”
There was an ambulance parked in front of the building.

[continuation of Chapter 7]

Jennifer caned up to the mailboxes and unlocked her box. Junk mail and cable bill. She pocketed the bill, tore the rest in half and stuffed it in the slot marked ‘paper only.’ She turned to see Shelley pointing to the wall above the boxes. She looked up.
Already on the wall were the spray-painted words ‘3 Dr. Li’s! No relation, I bet!’ in uneven black. Please–not even funny.
“Uh huh.” She glanced down. The boxes DID all have the label ‘Dr. Li.’ She shrugged. “So, do you want to come back?”
They startled her by doubling up. Shelley carried everything but the hidden camera box, Jennifer carried the box, and Young Mike carried her. I could get used to THIS, Tarzan. They put everything but the dog pillows and the hidden camera box into Jennifer’s place and, hearing a television on in Brandon’s room, knocked. Brandon opened up, looking surprised.
“Hello? Jennifer, right?” He glanced at Shelley, wary.
“Yes. My friend here wanted to ask you–“
“If you’d like a dog pillow or two. I don’t need them anymore,” Shelley turned her head slightly more away from the camera, as if trying not to tear up. “Jennifer says you have a dog.”
Brandon looked downcast. He opened the door wider, letting them see a full-size dog bed next to the television. “I can’t get Rocky to use what he has. Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Sir? Is that a map from Vietnam?” said Young Mike, nodding at the wall above the t.v. set.
Brandon nodded. “Man in a market there sold them. There were times it was better information than we had.” It was missing pieces near each corner and along two creases where it had been folded.
Shelley looked around, as if confused. “Well, sorry to bother you; I’ll just donate them, I guess.”
Jennifer leaned in further, “Brandon? Where IS Rocky?” He’s not going to get the hint, Shelley.
“He’s at the vet.”
“Oh, he’s not sick, is he?”
Brandon frowned. “Funny thing. He’s acting healthier. Sometimes that means a dog is dying, so I’m having his pleurisy checked out.”
Shelley blinked. “Pleurisy? I don’t know that one.”
Brandon made a small smile. “I don’t know what they call it now. Rocky is an old dog. He gets fluid in his lungs. He likes putting his chest on the cold floor for a spell and then coughing it up. It’s probably bad for him, but it’s apparently easier to cough up that way. I guess it works pretty damn well. The vet said he was as well off as if he’d been on oxygen, but he needs to stay in for tests.”
That was COUGHING? No wonder. I thought he just had a wimpy bark. “Well, do you know anyone around who needs them?”
–Quick follow-up on inquiries was enough to tell them that no one knew of a pet that had died in either building. The only odd thing was a set of missing wind chimes being attributed to pranksters.
They’d been back less than ten minutes when David came storming up to Jennifer. “Where were you!”
Shelley looked up from her console and began walking toward them. You’re helping? “I helped Shelley with a lead.”
“She did.” Shelley was only just close enough not to shout. Nate got up to go for coffee. Awh, my hero.
“What?!” David was red-faced, shaking a piece of paper. “Tia needs this edited and put in the ‘prompter for the filming at two, and you weren’t where we could find you.” He tossed the page down onto her desk. One page? What, ten more minutes?
“That shouldn’t be a problem.” Jennifer picked it up. Fluff piece for a fluff-brain. No problem at all.
“What do you mean, you helped with a lead?! You’re not a reporter.” Neither are YOU, Davy-boy.
“I helped introduce her to some informants.”
“Excuse me?” No excuse FOR you, Davy-boy.
“Excuse ME,” said Shelley, “I needed her. We got partial information on a mysterious accident, two petty thefts, one possible human-interest story–though that one’s doubtful, and a local pervert.” Did you record Mrs. Smith and I talking about my underwear?
David reddened even more. “She was supposed to be editing.”
“She was typing in the van,” Young Mike said. Where did you come from?! “That’s why we took her laptop.”
David was obviously startled to see Young Mike too. “Wh–that laptop can’t hold a charge.” You didn’t notice it was GONE, did you? HAH!
“You know Po rigged up a charge adaptor for the van,” said Shelley. David reddened even more.
“But your ploy worked. You should be happy.” Young Mike nodded brightly. What are you doing?
“Ploy?” David was reddening even more.
“Yeah. That contest you inspired. You got a newsworthy name. Mr. Crowe picked his favorite already. Wasn’t much of a contest. Now every news service is gonna want our footage. All it cost you were a bunch of desserts and the company gets guaranteed success on follow-up reporting.” Wow. That was actually smooth. He’s slow enough to go for that if I keep quiet.
David opened his mouth. He closed his mouth. He opened his mouth again. He closed his mouth again. He blinked twice. “I think we said appetizers or desserts.” He walked away, blinking. YESSSS! He might even forget to be mad that the winning entry is credited to me.