"Wait, wait a second." Frank paused to make eye contact with his target, "You're saying that you saw a large, 'white' van driving down 3rd street at 1am...?" He raised his eyebrows as if to emphasize the importance of proper recollection.
"Well, yes-veddy dark outside, so I think it was white." She had clearly not been in the States for an incredibly long time, long enough though.
"Ok, so let me make sure I am understanding you correctly, ok?"
"Ok," she nodded her head vigorously and beamed at Frank. She was Chinese American, probably early 40's working late nights at her mom's dry cleaning business. Apparently, she had seen a white van driven by two asian men cruising down the street, and had heard someone yelling for help. She was very attractive and Frank found himself wondering if there could be a segway here somewhere.
Frank continued, "So, they were driving down the street, across from where you were working...and," he paused to scratch out a sentence on his note pad. "And...you heard some screaming coming from inside the van. Then, you went outside to see if you could hear more and that's when you heard someone yelling for help...from inside the van...?" Frank looked up to make the all important emphasizing on exact recollection eye contact, she nodded vigorously again. "Ok, that's when you heard someone yelling for help..and...," here he looked up again from his notes, "How did you know they were yelling for help?"
"Oh-oh, because they were speaking in Taiwanese, veddy similar to Chinese, some same language," she was visibly excited now. She was beginning to sense that she was playing a role in something bigger now. In the meantime Frank's photagrapher was here shooting some pictures of the street, street lamps, store fronts, and of her as well. "You no use my picture or my name, right?!" She suddenly looked panicked.
"No-no, you will remain anonymous, no one will know who you are, or that I ever talked to you."
She looked at him for a minute, "Oh, ok, that's fine." She looked as if she wanted to say something else so Frank waited for a moment longer.
"Mam, was there something else that you wanted me to know about?"
"Umm..." she seemed apprehensive. "Maybe. You know the white van, yes?" Frank nodded, of course I know the white van-we have been talking about the 'white van' for 30 minutes straight. "I think I see it before, it have a broken window, in the front. I think I see it parked in front of a warehouse on South 3rd street."
Now Frank was alert, "Really, where at? What warehouse, what street???"
She took a step back, nervous at his sudden assertiveness. "Well, I think it might be by a large black building with no windows." She was getting more and more skittish by the second, "You know, that all I know, I have to go now."
"Ok, thank you so much, you have been very helpful." He nodded his head up and down, over gesticulating his head so she would understand that he really meant it. The photographer was just finishing up, so the timing seemed right. "Here is my card, please call me if anything comes up, or you would like to talk more, ok?"
"Ok, thank you," she smiled at Frank as she took his card. Could there be something more to that smile? Segway to my bedroom? He shook it off.
"George, you get all the pics you need?"
"Yeah, including the one where you look like you want to pound her into the ground. I think that one should make for a good 'A1 Above the fold'."
"You're all heart George, and don't let anyone tell you different," you hairless bastard. Frank gave him the larger than life, Oprah talk show smile.
You bet dickhead, George smiled back. "Now let's get back to camp before the EIC soils his diapers."
"Roger that one kingpin, let's load her up, and ship er out!"
Frank climbed into the driver seat of their company car, the mercury saber. George had named it the 'Saber Tooth' about two years ago and it had stuck.
"Saber Tooth Go!" yelled George as Frank hit gas and they sped off.
To be continued....
Friday, February 12, 2010
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Hi, my name is "Frank".
The office was busy, as per usual on a Monday morning in the Market District of downtown San Francisco. There was the usual hustle and bustle as everyone pushed hard to meet the deadlines. The great illusion was that there was a newspaper, every single day, with breaking news that just sort of 'appeared' out of nowhere. The reality, however, was that there was a team of sweaty, dirty, gritty, neurotic writers, reporters, and editors scrambling to make something out of nothing on a daily basis. Such was life in the NewsPaper Industry. If you can't hack it, you had better become an aerobics instructor or a graphics designer.
Frank was already on his second cup of coffee, barely even noticing the taste as he slupped down half of it in a single *gulp!* while staring at the blank screen on his microsoft word program. After fifteen years in the newspaper industry, he was no rookie and was thus not panicked when the editor in chief made the daily announcement that "The last person to get your feature done will be fired today." Everyone else went into a flurry of fingers on keyboards, desperately pecking out words at a dizzying speed. Not Frank though, he sat pack in his chair and yawned loudly as if to say, "I've heard this bit before, not intimidated, not bothered, will finish when I'm good and ready." Besides, he'd told the EIC before that, "There's no hurrying the talent", to which the EIC had begrudgingly been forced to agree. Frank was, after all, the best feature writer in the firm.
They only had two investigative journalists, of which, Frank was the more seasoned. The other was a rookie, new to the seedy job of investigative journalism, and new to the firm by two years. Frank considered anyone whom had not been with the firm for at least five years to be a newb, and he was sure that the thusly labeled targets were aware of their status. If you wanted to be Frank's friend, you had to earn that respect. Too many years of hard work, struggle, ducking and weaving, had brought him to the space of feeling much as if there just weren't that many people in the world who could understand him. Thus it was that he had carved out a unique, finely tuned, hand crafted existence for himself that wouldn't suite most people.
For instance, Frank was a loner, prone to go off by himself on adventures and let no one be the wiser. His disappearances would go largely unnoticed if it weren't for the fact that he was the senior investigative journalist for the premiere paper in San Francisco. He was also quite happy being single and spending time playing with his variety of hobbies.
He had created a daily routine that seemed to work out well for him. He woke up, did some meditation, hit the shower, had a small breakfast, hit the coffee shop, got to work, worked, had lunch, finished work, hit the gym, headed home, showered, had dinner, played around a bit, and went to bed. He was quite proud of his physique, he felt as if he really had something to offer the ladies, if it got down to that point. The only problem was that it hadn't gotten down to that point in some time. One of his female friends at work, Kristen, told him that it was "Time to get back out there baby boy!" She was 23, which confused him because he was clearly her senior. Some of the kids these days had some interesting expressions, if you were to ask him. Nobody did though.
He snapped out of his reverie in time to notice Jacob Calovskie looking at him from across the room. Jacob, or JC for short, was the EIC and thus the only person in the room to be feared. Frank had no fear of anyone, but maintained a healthy respect for JC on account of the fact that JC had a tendency to fire one person a year for no apparent reason other than a basic demonstration of power. Thus Frank attempted to maintain an air of respect, to the degree that his own psyche allowed him to. He decided to type something about this latest bit he'd been working on for a few weeks now. Apparently, the brothels in SF were alive and well. Frank wasn't too bothered by all that, as he viewed everyone's right to make a living at whatever they figured they were good at. However, there was growing evidence of an enlivened slave trade that had been growing underground, as they had a tendency to do. Vicious rumors were circulating that the Taiwanese Mafia was actively abducting women from the street, in broad daylight, and shipping them to these brothels to become sex slaves for money.
To be continued...
Frank was already on his second cup of coffee, barely even noticing the taste as he slupped down half of it in a single *gulp!* while staring at the blank screen on his microsoft word program. After fifteen years in the newspaper industry, he was no rookie and was thus not panicked when the editor in chief made the daily announcement that "The last person to get your feature done will be fired today." Everyone else went into a flurry of fingers on keyboards, desperately pecking out words at a dizzying speed. Not Frank though, he sat pack in his chair and yawned loudly as if to say, "I've heard this bit before, not intimidated, not bothered, will finish when I'm good and ready." Besides, he'd told the EIC before that, "There's no hurrying the talent", to which the EIC had begrudgingly been forced to agree. Frank was, after all, the best feature writer in the firm.
They only had two investigative journalists, of which, Frank was the more seasoned. The other was a rookie, new to the seedy job of investigative journalism, and new to the firm by two years. Frank considered anyone whom had not been with the firm for at least five years to be a newb, and he was sure that the thusly labeled targets were aware of their status. If you wanted to be Frank's friend, you had to earn that respect. Too many years of hard work, struggle, ducking and weaving, had brought him to the space of feeling much as if there just weren't that many people in the world who could understand him. Thus it was that he had carved out a unique, finely tuned, hand crafted existence for himself that wouldn't suite most people.
For instance, Frank was a loner, prone to go off by himself on adventures and let no one be the wiser. His disappearances would go largely unnoticed if it weren't for the fact that he was the senior investigative journalist for the premiere paper in San Francisco. He was also quite happy being single and spending time playing with his variety of hobbies.
He had created a daily routine that seemed to work out well for him. He woke up, did some meditation, hit the shower, had a small breakfast, hit the coffee shop, got to work, worked, had lunch, finished work, hit the gym, headed home, showered, had dinner, played around a bit, and went to bed. He was quite proud of his physique, he felt as if he really had something to offer the ladies, if it got down to that point. The only problem was that it hadn't gotten down to that point in some time. One of his female friends at work, Kristen, told him that it was "Time to get back out there baby boy!" She was 23, which confused him because he was clearly her senior. Some of the kids these days had some interesting expressions, if you were to ask him. Nobody did though.
He snapped out of his reverie in time to notice Jacob Calovskie looking at him from across the room. Jacob, or JC for short, was the EIC and thus the only person in the room to be feared. Frank had no fear of anyone, but maintained a healthy respect for JC on account of the fact that JC had a tendency to fire one person a year for no apparent reason other than a basic demonstration of power. Thus Frank attempted to maintain an air of respect, to the degree that his own psyche allowed him to. He decided to type something about this latest bit he'd been working on for a few weeks now. Apparently, the brothels in SF were alive and well. Frank wasn't too bothered by all that, as he viewed everyone's right to make a living at whatever they figured they were good at. However, there was growing evidence of an enlivened slave trade that had been growing underground, as they had a tendency to do. Vicious rumors were circulating that the Taiwanese Mafia was actively abducting women from the street, in broad daylight, and shipping them to these brothels to become sex slaves for money.
To be continued...
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