News Blues (21 page)

Jodi frowned. “They’re not going to simply let you snoop around the car dealership. Especially if they have stuff to hide.
There’s probably major surveillance. And what if they suspect you have an ulterior motive?” Jodi’s face echoed her concern.
“These are drug dealers, Maddy. And you know they already killed Fake Purse Man’s brother.”

“I know, but—”

Jodi shook her head. “I know you’ll never listen to me, anyway. You’re too stubborn. But do me a favor and be careful, okay?
You can’t apply for a
Newsline
job if you’re dead.”

“Okay, Mom.”

“Well, someone’s got to take on the role.”

“I know.” I gave her a warm hug. I did appreciate her concern, even though I didn’t warrant it necessary. “And I’m glad it’s
you.”

We embraced for a moment—until Jodi suddenly pulled away and started running down the beach.

“Oh, no, Ralphie!” I heard her cry. “Please don’t eat Dee’s puke!”

I watched her run down the beach, chasing her beloved but mischievous pets. Even though her mothering could be a pain in the
ass sometimes, she was a great friend and I knew she only did it for my own good.

But this time I couldn’t follow any of her advice. Not about the interview with Pacific Coast Cars and not about Jamie. I
had to follow my own path. Make my own mistakes. See where life led me.

Man, I sounded like a Jerry Springer Final Thought.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

FROM:
“Laura Smith”

TO:
“Madeline Madison”

SUBJECT:
re: Story Idea

Hi Maddy,

I see that you had pitched me a story idea on how kids are being sexually abused at summer camp. It’s great that you have
the police reports and statistics and a kid willing to talk. But since we’re also doing our already sponsored “Kids Love Camp”
campaign this summer, it seems to me that it might be a conflict of interest. I mean, we can’t exactly be promoting camps
on one newscast and then showing the icky things counselors do to kids there in the next, now can we? (And since one’s already
paid for, guess which one sales wants us to go with?)

If you’re looking for something to work on, may I suggest you contact the author of that new “How to Marry a Millionaire”
book? I was thinking we could give our viewers “Nine Tips to Marry Rich.” (Unfortunately in his book he only offers seven
tips—but since we’re News 9 it’d be more promotable to do nine. We can make up the last two, I’m sure—how hard can it be?)

Hope all is well with you. It’s great to be back.

Laura Smith

Executive Producer, News 9

Monday morning, Jamie and I headed over to interview Mr. Ronald “Rocky” Rodriguez. I had determined to do the interview outside
in the lot instead of his offiIt took aboutce. After all, he’d be less likely to shoot us with a concealed weapon in broad
daylight. Not that he’d want to shoot us. As I’d told Jodi, we were going in under the false pretense that his dealership
had won an award. But still, you could never be too careful.

Pacific Coast Cars was located in the Mission Valley section of San Diego, off of Route 8. There were a number of other cookie-cutter
dealerships along the same road. For easy comparison shopping, I guess. Pacific Coast Cars was the farthest down the road
and had the requisite colorful balloons and streamers to celebrate its “low, low prices!”

We parked near the front and headed into the glass-walled showroom. The cold blast of air conditioning hit us as we walked
inside and wove through the shiny new cars to the information desk.

“You must be Madeline from News Nine, ” a male voice drawled from behind me as we reached the desk.

I whirled around, a bit too nervously. No doubt about it, it was the man in the Internet photo. Of course today, the heavyset,
fifty-something car dealer wore a completely different outfit—this one complete with spurs, jodhpurs and the stereotypical
ten-gallon hat. He looked so silly that I had to stifle a giggle. Then I reminded myself that while this man may look like
a total fool, he was involved in aiding and abetting a huge, illegal drug cartel, which made him somewhat less funny and a
hell of a lot more scary.

“Yes. Hi. You must be Rocky. You can call me Maddy.” I held out my hand. “And this is my photographer, Jamie Hayes.” My boyfriend
and the love of my life, I almost added. But I guessed Rocky wouldn’t really care about that little piece of trivia. It was
funny how some things seemed monumental to you and meant diddly-squat to the rest of the world.

He shook my hand in one of those manly finger-crushing grips and I made every effort not wince. Then he motioned to the door.

“You said you wanted to do the interview outside. Well, let’s get out there then. I’ve only got about ten minutes before I
start shooting my TV commercial.”

“Okay, sounds good.” Ah, a TV commercial. At least that explained the outfit. It was strange to think this John Wayne wannabe
ran with an international drug cartel crowd. He looked so fat and stupid. Guess you couldn’t judge a drug dealer by his cover.
. . .

We walked outside, past a menagerie of animals that were, as Rocky explained, props for the commercial. I never really got
why car dealers thought llamas and elephants and fifty thousand helium-filled balloons would help them sell cars, but who
was I to judge? I couldn’t have sold life rafts to Titanic passengers.

We reached a good spot to do the interview (far, far away from the zoo animals) and Jamie set up his tripod. I realized my
hands were shaking like crazy and shoved them behind my back. No reason to get nervous now. Okay, so there was a very big
reason to get nervous, but I refused. Besides, what could happen? He had no idea why we were really here. How could he?

Jamie signaled he was ready and I started with a warm-up question.

“So, tell me a little bit about this dealership, Mr. Rodriguez.”

He grinned a toothy grin. “Well, little lady, my grandpa started this dealership back in 1954 . . .” He launched into a long
speech about the history of Pacific Coast Cars and how he had single-handedly made it into the successful dealership it was
today. He was so long-winded I felt like asking him for a hit of his drugs just to stay awake.

“Okay, thanks, ” I interrupted when he paused for breath. “I think we’ve got what we needed.”

He looked surprised. “Really? But I didn’t tell you about all the great deals we offer our customers. Like how if you come
in right now, we’ll give you a free toaster.”

Wow. How generous. “I’ll be sure to squeeze that into the piece, ” I assured him.

“And when is this going to be on the TV?” he asked.

Oh shoot, I forgot he might be wondering about an airdate. “I’m not sure, ” I bluffed. “A couple weeks, maybe. I’ll be sure
and let you know.”

“Great. ’Cause I want to get my whole family to watch it. Just don’t wait too long. My grandpa—the dealership’s founder—is
ninety-five years old and has a bad heart. Could go any day now. But when he heard I was going to win an award, he said to
me, ‘Boy, you give me a reason to hang on to living. To see my life’s work honored by a major TV station like News Nine.’
”

I stole a guilty look at Jamie, who raised his eyebrows back. While I had no qualms about exposing a guy involved in dealing
drugs, I didn’t like thinking I’d be making an elderly gentleman keel over in shock, his whole life’s pride and joy crumbling
during his last few breaths. Still, what else could I do?

“We’ll make sure to get it on the air soon, ” I forced myself to assure Rocky. “For Grandpa.”

“Well, that’s great.” He shot me another toothy grin. “If we’re finished then, I’ve got to get over to the llama. These commercials
don’t shoot themselves, you know.”

“No problem. Thanks for doing the interview. Do you mind if we go around and shoot some video of the dealership?”

“Go right ahead. Just make us look good, you hear?”

Score! I resisted the urge to high-five Jamie as Rocky walked away and left us unescorted. Time for our real assignment to
begin.

“Okay, let’s pretend we’re looking for stuff to shoot, ” I said in a low voice. “And we’ll start hunting for that Mercedes.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Jamie hoisted the camera off the tripod and onto his shoulder. “There’s got to be an employee lot where
the cars that aren’t for sale are parked.”

“Cool. Let’s go walk around the back.”

Casually, as if we really were there to shoot San Diego’s best car dealership, we sauntered around the parking lot. Jamie
made it look as if he were shooting various cars and signs on the way. A couple customers gave us curious glances, but were
surrounded by eager salesmen, arms full of toasters before they could think to ask us what we were up to.

We reached the back of the lot, closed in by a wire gate. The padlock had been left hanging unclipped and we could easily
open the door. I looked around, nervously wondering if anyone was watching.

“What do you think?” I whispered.

“Go for it.”

Before my normally cautious nature could dissuade me, I detached the padlock and pushed open the wire gate. We slipped inside,
pulling the gate closed behind us.

As we had guessed, it appeared we’d entered an employee parking lot. Several fancy cars—Jags, Beamers, and Mercedes—sat parked
side by side. But it was one car in particular that caused my breath to catch in my throat.

The Mercedes SUV from the desert.

I knew it even before I checked the license plate. It sat by itself at the far end of the lot, the desert dust still clinging
to its tires.

I grabbed Jamie’s arm and pointed with a shaky finger. His eyes widened and he nodded silently, lifting the camera to shoot
video of the vehicle. After getting a few shots, he motioned for us to go closer.

“Do you think it’s unlocked?” I whispered. “Maybe we could shoot the secret compartment where we saw them storing the drugs.”

Jamie shot me a worried look. “Aren’t we going a little bit too far? What if they have security cameras and see us?”

“We’ll make up some excuse, ” I said, reaching for the back door hatch. The handle turned easily. Not locked.

“Yes!” I cried in delight. I motioned for Jamie to start shooting as I lifted the top hatch and lowered the bottom gate. Then
I crawled into the back, feeling along the floor for an opening. The James Bond feeling was back in full force and this time
I would definitely still have enough energy to shag a Bond Boy when I got home.

“Did you find anything?” asked the Bond Boy in question, still shooting from outside.

“Not yet—wait . . .” My fingers curled around an indent in the floor and pulled. The secret compartment sprung up. “Open sesame,
” I muttered. It’d almost been too easy. “Are you getting this on tape?” I asked.

“Getting what on tape?” asked a male voice—definitely not belonging to Jamie.

Oh, shit. We were caught. Fear shot through me like a lightning bolt as I released the trapdoor, which closed with a damning
thud.

In the meantime, Jamie had turned around to address the man who’d approached. “Hi, ” he said, and I could distinctly hear
the tremble in his voice. “I’m Jamie Hayes, photographer at News Nine. We’re shooting ‘San Diego’s Best Car Dealership.’ ”

I stared at the man who’d approached us, the fear now crawling from my fingertips down to my toes. No doubt about it. The
black curly hair was unmistakable. It was the guy from the desert who had shown up for the drugs! And now he’d caught us shooting
video of the SUV he’d stored them in.

“Yeah, well, these cars aren’t for sale. I don’t know how you got back here, but this is the employee lot, ” he said with
a growl.

I scrambled out of the back of the SUV, ready to turn on every ounce of charm my body had in it. “Oh, really? I’m sorry. It
was just that there are some really, really cool cars back here. I mean sure out there you’ve got your Toyotas and Fords,
but these Jags and BMWs are truly stunning. Take this Mercedes SUV, ” I said, gesturing to the car. “I was just saying to
Jamie what a roomy interior it has.”

“I’m going to get Rocky, ” the man said.

I felt my face flush with horror. “Oh, no, ” I said with a nervous laugh. “No need to trouble Mr. Rodriguez. He’s busy shooting
that commercial and all and . . . well, we’ve got what we needed anyway.”

The guy narrowed his eyes. “And you needed the inside of Rocky’s personal Mercedes, why?”

I gulped. He wasn’t going to let us go. He was on to us—saw through our weak cover story. Any minute now he was going to pull
out a gun and shoot me in the head.

“Well, it’s just such a cool car, ” I stumbled. “And . . .”

“I’m getting Rocky.”

“No need. We’re done. We’re off.” I grabbed Jamie’s arm and tried to lead him away as fast as possible. “Thanks again!”

“Hey!” the guy called after us.

“Yes?” I turned around, trembling with fear.

“Who else won?”

“Huh?”

The man narrowed his eyes. “San Diego’s best car dealership. Who were the other finalists?”

I swallowed hard. Think Maddy, think!

“Um. . . there was . . .” Blank mind. Completely blank mind. Probably a hundred car dealerships in San Diego county and I
couldn’t even think of one of them. “Actually, I can’t tell you, ” I said with what I hoped looked like a sorry shrug. “It’s
a secret ’til the segment airs.”

The man gave us a grimace. I just knew that he wasn’t buying my excuse. That he knew we knew about the drug tunnel. My heart
pounded as I waited for him to call me on it.

But all he said was, “Yeah. I figured. You have yourself a nice day.”

It took about three hours of Jamie’s reassurance before I finally felt able to breathe normally again. Every time I heard
a noise, I jumped a mile, thinking it was the drug dealers come to get me. I was that scared.

“He had no clue what we were doing, ” Jamie insisted for the thousandth time. “How the heck could he know?”

He was right, of course. There was no way they could know. I’d made up this whole drama in my head. But knowing that didn’t
help my state of mind. I couldn’t wait to get this story on the air and get the bad guys behind bars.

I somehow managed to get through the rest of the workday, even scheduling an interview with the Drug Enforcement Agency the
next day. They were going to be a key interview for my piece.

At six, Jamie came to my cubicle and told me he was kidnapping me and taking me to Moondoggies for K9-Kosmos. Just the idea
of sipping frozen drinks and breathing in fresh open air made me relax a bit.

Even better, when we got there and ordered our drinks, Jamie whipped out his surprise—pages of his brand-new novel in progress.
Ecstatic, I practically ripped them from his hands.

“You can wait ’til later to read them, ” he protested.

“No way! I’m reading them right this very second. After all, I loved your first book.”

He sat patiently as I slurped my drink and devoured the chapter. When I finished, I looked up with a smile.

“Oh, Jamie . . .”

“So what do you think?” he asked, looking a little nervous. It was so adorable how sensitive he was about his writing.

“It’s so good!” I exclaimed.

“I want your honest opinion, ” he insisted.

“Okay, then.” I grinned. “It’s so very, very good. It’s uber good. Fantastic.”

He groaned. “You don’t have to say that.”

Honestly, for a guy who normally had so much confidence, he certainly became a real basket case when it came to his own writing.