Free Naked Addiction by Caitlin Rother

before the deadline for tomorrow’s paper: “Nevermind the web story, Klein,” he wrote. “I just dashed something off the wires and TV news for now. Just focus on the story for tomorrow.”
    That offered him some small relief, but not enough to free his mind. He laid his fingers on the keyboard and stared at the computer screen. His brain was frozen. He typed in his byline, hoping it would loosen him up, but he couldn’t come up with a good lead. He tried a few phrases that sounded good, then he decided they weren’t, so he deleted them and tried again. All he could come up with were sentences that were not only too long, but loaded with cliches.
    With only half an hour left, he stopped trying to sound like he knew more than he did and wrote it straight. He put in every detail and quote he had in his notebook, using “sources close to the investigation,” like he’d seen in the stories out of Washington, DC, and hoped it would fly.
    The red toenails were so visual he had to mention them too. Despite Goode’s warning to leave him out of it, Norman also credited the detective with finding the body. In the end, he couldn’t believe that Goode would really mind.
    Norman busted deadline by ten minutes, trying to ignore the string of email messages that made his heart pound: “Quickly, Klein, quickly.” It was one of the most stressful nights of his life.
    Afterward, Norman leaned back in his chair and tried to relax, hoping that Big Ed wouldn’t have a bunch of questions he couldn’t answer. Except for the deadline pressure that had almost melted his brain like candle wax, the whole day had been cool. Very cool. His career officially launched, he felt like he was on his way to fame and glory.
    With three and half more hours till the end of his shift at midnight, Norman got a message from Big Ed to keep calling the cops so he could update the web story if necessary. But now that he’d gotten the big scoop under his belt, he felt entitled to leaf through his Rolling Stone magazine. If Big Ed asked what he was doing, he’d say he was brainstorming for a follow-up.
    Norman was thirsting for a beer, or something harder, to take the edge off all this stress. He and a few of the editorial assistants and copy editors often headed over to the Tavern after deadline to make last call and watch Lulu’s butt wiggle as she toted cold brews around the bar. He loved that place. It was close to the airport, not far from the downtown jail, only a few blocks from a law school and a couple miles from all the high-rise office and condo buildings. Most nights baggage handlers played pool with off-duty sheriff’s deputies, biker dudes with law students, and secretaries with car rental clerks. There were always a couple of attorneys sitting at the bar, their heads down and ties loosened, finally able to decompress because no one they knew hung out there. And as a nice bonus, baskets of cheese doodles, popcorn and pretzels could be found on every table.
    Brooke, the county government reporter, had stopped by the night before with one of her buddies. She greeted him, but spent most of the night talking to one of those guys with the loose ties. Norman hoped to get up the guts to ask her out one day, even though she was a good five years older than him. She could teach him a few things; he was sure of that. Maybe he would take her to that funky club where women with large breasts danced the hula in grass skirts while the patrons ate sweet-and-sour chicken and sticky rice. Just for something different. Other guys talked about Brooke, but no one ever asked her out. Bunch of wusses.
    The phone at the city desk kept ringing, but no one was answering it. Norman figured Big Ed had gone to the head, so he walked over to his phone and picked it up.  
    “Do you know how to get to that new water park?” a tinny woman’s voice said to him over a speakerphone. “My niece and nephew are coming to visit and I want to take them there.”
    “What