> LadyJane > Meet The Hatchet: Part 4

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Meet The Hatchet

by LadyJane

I arrived at The Beat praying the Hatchet decided to do what most people do on a vacation and go home. I put on my sunglasses, took a deep breath and pushed open the glass door.

The first thing, which hit my senses, was the shrill of the phone ringing off the hook. I peered over my sunglasses and grabbed my messages in my tray. Stuffing them in my pocket, I glanced over my shoulder. The glassed office, which overlooked the whole newsroom, was empty. Sighing, but taking no chances, I crouched down and ran down the cubical formed hall to my own sanctuary.

"Sneaking off are we." I slid to a halt. Pale blue Gucci pumps were glaring at me.

Straightening, I smoothed my shirt. Opening my mouth, a run on apology was waiting to tumble out.

A smile strained at Hatchetís lips. She shook a finger in my face, pointed to her office and sashayed past me. I rolled my eyes to the ceiling and tried to look sufficiently contrite.

Hatchet was sitting in her leather high back chair facing away from the door. I crept into the office. Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I shifted my weight from one foot to the other.

"Your work has always sold newspapers, which is always the best job security."

My mouth tightened at the corners and I tapped my foot.

"Iíd watch yourself!"

"Listen, I was working on a story."

"A story?"

I spoke to the chair and held out my hands pleadingly. "Yes, itís this great piece on the county jail."

"Really, what is it about?"

I turned around and leaned against the desk.

"Donít lean against the desk!"

I jumped up and glanced over my shoulder. Her chair was still facing the other direction.

"Thatís creepy, how she does that." I mumble.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing, listen, Iím still in the initial phases of the groundwork for the story. I donít have a bunch of details to give you."

Hatchet swiveled around and laced her fingers together. Her silver hair was twisted up in a knot behind her head. I didnít know what was more disarming, gazing at the back of her chair or her flawless face staring at me.

"Listen, I hired you because I knew you could sniff out the news not throw me a load of crap. I want to know what happened today!"

I tried to shield the shock from my face, but the color draining from it gave me away. There were no chairs in Hatchetís office, other than the one she was occupying. My shoulders slumped. I heaved a sigh and blurted out my story. Hatchet watched with little emotion while I song and danced my way through my day. When I was finished, she wet her red lips.

"Something smells."

A guilty look crossed my face as I tried to sniff the air around me.

"Not you." She sighed.

I took a deep breath of relief, but began to reflect through the events of the morning. "I know, but why would I be arrested than released?"

"What are you working on?"

"Nothing really," I placed my hand on my hip and cocked my head. "Thereís the Highland Park Rivalry, the Flower Show piece and the Peterson article."

"Thatís it."

"Yeah, thatís all that I know of."

"Well, I think you need to think who youíve pissed off, besides me, and start from there. I need the Peterson Article by the way."

"Iím still waiting on an interview time."

"Well, since it will be in this Sundayís paper, Iíd get on it if I were you. Close the door behind you."

"Thanks," I say, grateful that I managed to keep my job for another day. I back out of her office, shut the door and race down to my cubicle. The short feeling of relief is replaced by the dread of what could be really happening.

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