Chapter 46

My father would be appalled. Many people in Langford would be upset. I didn’t really even like it, but knew it was something that had to be done.

It needed to be shocking, get people to buy the next edition of the Langford Review. But at the same time, I didn’t want to upset the family members of the woman Mule monikered “The Beef Critter”.

So after thinking about it for a long time, I decided what needed to be done. On the cover of the new and improved Langford Review, there would be a huge picture of the body covered with a sheet and several people standing around her. In large type above it, would be the paper’s banner The Langford Review, with a new type size and font, with the word WHY? right below it.

That way, it would be a tad sensational, but also show that the Review cares, down deep, where it matters. At the bottom of the page, I would have the story of my father complete with a picture of him that he always hated it. That should teach him to die on me and leave me with this mess to clean up.

I had worked most of the night on Tuesday trying to get everything wrapped up. The OSBI guys along with the sheriff had a news conference yesterday evening, just in time so the television reporters from Fort Smith could attend and still make it back in time to have a story on at ten, complete with audio and video!

One of the OSBI guys acted like a complete jerk. I caught him picking his nose and took a picture. That would run along with several other pictures and stories inside. The OSBI guys took great pride in answering all the questions from the TV people, but blew off the little guys from the print world.

I informed the sheriff about what Mule said about the woman leaving The Last Call with some guy the night before her body was found. He thought that was pretty important. So did I. Hopefully, none of the other media guys would find this out until we scooped them when the paper came out Wednesday evening.

We learned the woman’s name Wednesday morning. After making sure the family had been informed, I included it in the story.

Her name was Wanda Livingstone. Wanda was thirty-five years old, had been divorced twice and was the mother of two teenagers. It appeared like Wanda’s fondness of looking for love in all the wrong places had gone terribly wrong. She came from a family that was fairly well off for Langford, and owned almost 100 acres just over Walker Mountain in the Haw Creek community.

She apparently didn’t have any enemies, other than her ex-husbands, who had both moved as far away from her as possible. Wanda worked at Wal-Mart in Poteau, not because she necessarily needed the money, but for the benefits.

I called her father, Larry, trying to get some comments about his daughter. He was a nice man and told the shortened version of her life story. She loved her family, the children, her house and land, along with gardening. He left out her love for bar hopping, not that I blamed him. Larry was upset and I treated him with kid gloves.

Teresa called early Wednesday morning to tell us she survived her new breasts. I almost forgot that she was gone. Nancy talked with her for several minutes, tying up our one line. I was busy finishing up the layout of the paper when Nancy brought the phone to me.

“She wants to talk to you,” Nancy said.

“Tell her I’m not here.”

“She knows you’re here,” Nancy added and handed me the phone.

“How’s it going?” I asked.

“Fine, just really sore,” she answered, then giggled like there was a lot of pain medicine floating around her system.

“How do they look?”

She giggled again.

“Not too good…yet. The doctor said it would be a little while before I’ll be ready to show them off.”

“Great! I have to go back to work.”

“I was just thinking this morning, it would be interesting to have a story on my breast enhancement.”

“You’re kidding, right?” I asked.

“No, a first person account. Complete with all the details.”

“You think our readers want to know about your boob job?”

“It’s breast enhancement, silly!”

I couldn’t believe she was wasting my time with this idea. I had plenty of other things to do to waste my time.

“Nancy wants to see them,” I said, causing Nancy to jerk her head in my direction and start shaking her head.

“She does?” Teresa asked. “Tell her that as soon as the swelling and bruises go away that she can see them.”

Nancy was looking for something to throw at me. She didn’t think that was very funny.

“You know, I feel much more attractive now!” Teresa added.

“That’s good. But you’re married, what difference does that make?”

“I still like to turn a guy’s eyes every now and then.”

“That’s great! I’ve gotta be going.”

She wanted to talk to Nancy again, but I told her that we were too busy. Teresa promised to work on her story about her new breasts. I could hardly wait.

Nancy quickly overcame her anger with me. It’s amazing how women can do that so quickly prior to getting married. After they get a ring on their finger, the anger seems to linger much longer.

“Do you like my breasts?” Nancy asked. She had stood up and was pushing them out by arching her back.

“Uh, they’re fine,” I said, and tried to figure out some way to change this conversation quickly. This needed to be nipped, "nipped in the bud", as Barney Fife would say.

“You’re just saying that!”

I ignored her and acted like she wasn’t there.

“I’ve always liked them,” she added while walking over to the mirror. Nancy looked at herself from several views, not the least bit shy. “They just bounce too much when I’m Dancing With the Oldies.”

Nancy walked over to me. I pretended not to notice.

“Is that why you aren’t attracted to me?” she asked.

“Do what?”

“Are my breasts why you aren’t attracted to me?”

“We work together, Nancy.”

“Yeah, I think that’s kind of neat. So you don’t have anything against my breasts?”

“No, I think your breasts are more than adequate.”

“Good, I didn’t have the money for a breast job thingey and they’re already pretty big.”

“Yeah, they are.”

That caused her to smile. I had the layout of the paper’s front page on my screen.

“Is that what our front page is going to look like?” she asked.

“Yeah, how do you like it?”

“It looks like a tabloid.”

“Thank you. That’s just what I wanted to hear.”

“Really?”

“No, not really.”

Actually, it did look like a tabloid. Other than I didn’t have anything about how Elvis is now a piano player in some rundown bar or that a lady in New Mexico had a baby that turned out to be an alien. I wanted to get people’s attention and this was a great way to do it. I had already talked to the printer and told him to print five hundred extra copies for this week.

Finally, the paper was finished for this week. I made a copy of a disc and sent Nancy on her way to get it printed. This was a new way to get the paper printed, but much easier and cheaper, two things I was fond of.

Over the last two days, we had brought in almost two thousand dollars thanks to ad sales and Nancy shaming the past-due accounts into paying. We were still a little short for the payment, but I was going to make up the difference with a check from my account in Tulsa.

There was still one check out on the other bank, but I had deposited enough to cover it. I was going to make the payment right before the bank’s closing time at two, just to keep Allen worried. We were going to be a little short on the payment to the printer on our new account, but it was just a hundred dollars and hopefully we would sell enough newspapers to cover that. If we didn’t, I could further deplete my personal cash.

The broker who was supposed to try and help to sell the paper showed up just after lunch. He was short and frumpy, for lack of a better description. The man smiled constantly, which bothered me. He asked what we needed and I told him $250,000.

He almost quit smiling, so I worried about quoting too high of a price. We signed all the documents and The Langford Review was officially for sale.

I walked down to the Bank of Langford and made the payment with a few minutes to spare. The teller gave me back a receipt showing that I had just made the bank a lot of money thanks to interest. The teller was a young girl, too pretty and perky to stay in this job for long.

“Can you make a copy of this for me?” I asked.

“Sure, but I think it costs a dollar,” she said, smiling and staring at my balding head.

“You’re going to charge a dollar for making a copy?”

“Actually, I don’t get the money. The bank does.”

Like that made it okay.

“That figures,” I said and turned to start walking toward the president’s office. He was busy reading some magazine with a tennis player on the cover. Somebody had told me that Allen really loved tennis. That seemed appropriate.

I stood at the door, waiting for him to look up. That magazine must really be interesting, I thought, while waiting. Finally, I knocked on the door and he looked up.

“You can call off your dogs,” I said. “I made the payment.”

He nodded and went back to reading without bothering to thank me or tell me to go jump in the lake. I wanted to strike at him some way, but knew I needed to keep getting advertising moolah from him and his bank.

The lobby was pretty much empty, other than workers. I walked outside and wanted to jump up and down. We had survived for at least a little longer. My steps back to the Review were a little brisker. My cell phone rang. I saw it was Squiggy calling and ignored it. He called back before I reached the end of the block.

I knew he would keep calling until I answered.

“Yeah?” I said.

“Whadda yer doin?” he asked, sounding very drunk.

“Working. What are you doing?”

“We’s at de bar.”

“That’s great. Call in sick again?”

He giggled. I saw nothing funny in it.

“You betcha, pardner! Come drink wif me!”

“I’m working.”

“Call in sick!”

I got rid of him and made it back to the office. Nancy left a message and said she would be back shortly. She had to drop some papers off at stores in Poteau and then would start spreading them around Langford.

For one of the few times since returning back to Langford, I was actually feeling good. I was unemployed and watching my money fly out the window, but had accomplished something. It was a long time since I had this feeling.

The phone started ringing off the hooks. Mainly, it was people wondering when the paper was going to be out. It was part of their ritual, I knew that. Even though our paper "officially" was dated on the Thursday of each week, we put them out in the local stores on Wednesdays. On Wednesday afternoon, they would get a paper and spend however long it took them to read it from cover to cover.

Nancy got back around four or so. I had been on the phone constantly, but did work up enough time to call a couple of businesses in Poteau and convince them to advertise in the Review.

She placed the paper on my desk and it felt good to know that we did all this. Teresa contributed a couple of terrible stories, but the rest of it was because of us. I wanted to celebrate, but the only person to celebrate with was Nancy. She was nice enough and even attractive, but I didn’t want to give her any ideas.

We worked until six. Nancy asked if she could leave. Her Wednesday church services started at seven and she was singing. I never even knew she sang. Nancy asked if I would like to come, but I turned her down. There was too much to do and not enough time to do it, I said.

She smiled and left, leaving me all alone. I turned off most of the lights and sat in front of the computer, watching the screen saver where the pipes attach and grow to cover the surface of the monitor.

I was about to call it a day when I heard the blast from outside and the glass in the front door explode. There was a thud behind me. I turned around, saw the hole in the wall and realized somebody had just tried to put a bullet into my body.

I dove on the ground and crawled under the desk. My cell phone was still on the desk. I reached up and finally found it. Before I could call the police, the office phone rang. Something told me to take this call, and I reached up and grabbed the phone.

“Leave it alone,” the caller said. It was a man with an accent from even deeper in the south.

“Leave what alone?” I asked, still huddled under the desk. The caller disconnected the call and I heard the sound of somebody stepping on broken glass and knew somebody else was here, coming toward me.

I had never been so scared in my life.

Chapter 47