A Journalist Crosses The Line [FICTOID]

“You can’t call the mayor a pedophile bestiality necrophiliac!”

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t prove it!”

“But what if I could?” Denise asked slyly.

Frank, Denise’s editor, hated her -- no, wait, that makes Denise sound special; actually Frank hated everybody.

He hated Denise lots and lots right now…but not enough to throw away the scoop of the year -- if Denise could prove it.

“Can you?” Frank asked.

“Let’s just say I have my sources,” said Denise, eying her fingernails.  For a reporter, she seemed overly fastidious -- yet another reason for Frank to hate her.

Nonetheless, Frank calmed down.  “We’re not running a defamation article we can’t prove,” he said at last.  “Now answer me straight:  Do you have information?”

“Yes.”

“Can you share it with me?”

“Eventually.”

Frank swore under his breath, contemplating Denise being run over by a supermarket delivery truck, one of the big kind, an 18-wheeler.

A pleasant enough image, but not one that would help him now.

“Tell me how you know this,” he told Denise, struggling hard to maintain control and not have a stroke.

“I have a friend of a friend,” Denise said.  “We classify city hall’s official reports.  The real dirty work is done elsewhere.”

“But.  How.  Do.  You.  Know.  This?” Frank asked slowly, each word escaping through clenched teeth.

“I have a memory like an encyclopedia,” said Denise.  “My far-flung minions can confirm these facts.”

“Enough!  Get out!” Frank roared.

Denise smiled.  “Don’t swoon and clutch your pearls,” he said.  “I know I can weasel my way back.”

© Buzz Dixon