Free Naked Addiction by Caitlin Rother Page A

new water park?” Norman replied, trying to be pleasant.
    “You know, that new water park, the one they just built.”
    Norman wondered why people thought they could call the newsroom to ask any obscure question that occurred to them. “What’s it called?”
    “You know, the one near that big freeway.”
    “I’m sorry, I really don’t know what park you’re talking about.”
    “So, you’re telling me that no one there knows about this water park? What kind of newspaper are you?” she said, waiting for an answer.
    “Have you checked the yellow pages?” he asked.
    The woman slammed the phone in his ear.
    Norman returned to his desk and reflected on the events of the day. He figured it was a combination of luck, talent and sloth that got him The Big Story. He’d come to work an hour early to clean up his desk and read through the newspapers that had stacked up. As luck would have it, Sully, the regular daytime cops reporter, had to have emergency surgery and Charlie, the back-up daytime cops reporter, was out sick. Then Big Ed came over and said, “This one’s yours, kid. Don’t screw it up.”
    Norman was rousted out of his nostalgic reverie by the hovering presence of Big Ed, who had a slightly crazed look in his eyes. Not a good sign.
    “Hey, kid. We don’t use anonymous sources at this newspaper unless we absolutely have to. I had to cut most of that shit out, but if I’d cut it all out, there would have been nothing left to run. Next time get this stuff on the record. We’re not part of the White House press corps here. We’re a local newspaper. We need people’s names with their quotes.”
    Norman braced himself for the words “You’re fired,” but they didn’t come.
    “Anyway,” Big Ed said, “I just heard something on the scanner about a woman decapitated downtown at Fifth and Broadway. Might be related to that PB murder. Maybe it’s the work of a serial killer. Who knows? Drive down there and check it out. If the copy desk has any questions on your PB murder story, we’ll call you.”
    Big Ed had some serious coffee breath with an undercurrent of something even nastier. Smelled like one of those hot dogs with the little pouches of raw onions from the cafeteria vending machines upstairs.
    “You don’t get off till midnight so you have some time to get down there and call in what you can scrounge up… Don’t look at me like that. You’re only as good as your last story. And that one wasn’t very good.”
    Norman had never called in a story before. He needed a computer to formulate his thoughts because they weren’t exactly linear. Two big stories about dead people in one night was asking a lot of a new reporter, but he knew he had to get back out there and do a better job. He didn’t want to be demoted to making copies and sorting mail again, so he gathered up his notebook, pens, and the jumbo cup of soda from the cafeteria, and waited for Big Ed to offer some kind of guidance.
    Instead, Big Ed reached for the magazine on Norman’s terminal. “So, uh, Klein,” he said, pausing as he flipped through the pages. “What are you waiting for, a call from the Pulitzer committee?”
    Norman turned and walked as briskly as he could without spilling his drink. He was only a few feet from the door to the stairwell when Big Ed shouted, “And don’t stop for food on the way.” He was one to talk. Norman tried to ignore the barb and decided to take it slow this time. Panicking wasn’t going to help anything.
    Norman could hardly see out of the windshield in his car. He turned on the wipers, which carved two half arcs out of a layer of grime. That was better. He really needed to stop procrastinating and get the car washed, especially if he wanted a woman like Brooke to get into it. He hoped she wasn’t like the last girl he dated, a clerk named Kathleen who said she was allergic to just about everything and sneezed all the way to the movie theater. Sheba, his German shepherd, was a