Free Killer Waves by Brendan DuBois

some folded green had been passed around-my hardware skills typically begin and end with fixing a leaky faucet-they had come down to my house during their lunch break and had made everything right.
    Now I was back in the center of Tyler, looking to have lunch with Paula Quinn, but when I pulled into the parking lot I saw that her Ford Escort was missing. I stayed there for a couple of minutes to see if she would show up, but the only thing that did appear was a slow-moving train on the nearby tracks, rumbling its way north. I got out and went through the rear entrance of the Chronicle , thinking that maybe her car was in the shop or was parked in the municipal lot across the street, but the newsroom was empty save for the hired gun, Rupert Holman. He looked up at me as I went up to his polished desk and said, "Paula Quinn about?”
    Today he still had on those red suspenders, but his shirt was different, one of those blue-striped ones with white collars, popular among bond traders who are about five minutes away from being indicted by the SEC. He shook his head no. "She's down at Falconer, near the harbor. There's just been a fire at an apartment building, so I imagine she'll be there for a while."
    "Oh," I said, and I was about to turn around and head out when Rupert spoke up again.
    "Tell me, Cole ... It is Cole, isn't it? Tell me, if you don't mind, why you just went through the 'Employees' Only' entrance just now."
    That's when I decided to sit down in front of his desk, which I did. "Because it was there, that's why."
    Another shake of the head. "Unless I'm mistaken, you're not an employee of this company. You should go through the front entrance, just like everyone else."
    "Well, I'm not just like everyone else," I said. "I've been coming through that door long before you got here, and I'll be coming through it long after you're gone. And I don't like having to announce myself to whomever you've hired this month as a receptionist. Maybe I'm just being cranky, but that's the way it is."
    He managed a slight smile as he rubbed his fingertips across the smooth wood of his table. "The way it is, Cole, is that the owners of this newspaper have given me full and total authority here. I like that, very much. What I don't like is you undermining my authority among the members of the staff, including Miss Quinn. And speaking of Miss Quinn, I have her last month's expense report right here. I could sign it and send it along to accounting, or I could misplace it. And knowing what I know on how much she's paid, a few bills that she owes probably won't be paid on time this month if that expense report gets lost."
    I tried to imagine what he would look like if he were on the floor and I was busy twisting an arm out of its socket. "Just so that I’m clear --- unless I start being a good boy around the newspaper office, you're going to make life miserable for Paula."
    He just smiled, said nothing. I went on. "Man, you sure are a peach.  What rock did you crawl out from under of to get here?”
    “Just here to do a job, that’s all,” he said.
    “Some job,” I said.  “I mean, what’s the point of all this hoo-ha this past month --- the special reports, the big headlines and photos?"
    "My job is to raise circulation. Since I've been here, it's gone up one point five percent. I intend for it to go up another two full points before I'm finished."
    "Must be lots of laughs, to go after people's private lives, to print stories about porn and sex rings and all that," I said. "Here's a thought for you. Why not do some real stories for a change? Like how many senior citizens have to sell their homes each year in this county because of our property-tax system. Or how a handful of business people actually own the best property on Tyler Beach, and how their great-grandparents basically stole that land from the town last century. Or a story about a couple of the corporations in and around Tyler, and how much they donate to local charities,