"When we come back from commercial, my colleague Myra Connelly will be here to report on tonight's traffic and whether or not your tap water is good to drink. But, ladies and gentlemen, that's all from me tonight. I've been Vic Sage, and remember, the Hub needs you."
I flashed my winning grin, which morphed, stiffened and straightened into a sullen frown as a loud buzz signified tonight's broadcast was over. A chorus of voices suddenly violated my eardrums - a harsh cacophony that I was used to. I vacated my seat and offered it to Myra with my patented Magical Disappearing Smile. I was weirdly warm and the seat would be too. Her disgusted grimace knifed me between the shoulder blades but I kept walking, eyes on the swivel as I searched for my halfwitted producer. He was, to nobody's surprise, comfortably inebriated in his office and rediscovering the magic of gravity.
"Fermin."
The creature stared at me lovingly, despite his proclivity to throw things at me when sober. I fished within his grasp for the bottle and set it next to his vomit-covered shoes, which he had somehow placed neatly on his desk. An impressive accomplishment. I ignored his betrayed gaze - it was like a puppy dog's - and snapped my fingers.
"Fermin," again. His bewildered expression turned to one of transfixion as he returned his stare. I extended my arms wide pointedly.
"What's the big idea? I told you weeks ago that I had places to be on Christmas Eve."
Fermin was, despite his numerous and character-defining faults, remarkably concise when drunk and prompted. He must have been especially unsober tonight as he took a few dozen seconds to collect himself, eyebrows furrowing in deep contemplation. I allowed the philosopher half a minute before snapping my fingers again. He jolted.
"Ah! Sage. I'm sorry about that, I am. But nobody else wanted to work tonight."
"I didn't want to work tonight, you miserable fool."
"Well, I can't help it if everyone else flew out of town and Darla got sick."
"You got her sick. You quite literally could have helped it."
"Potato potato."
Fermin was no use to me. Four hours of potential investigation wasted by this clown, and I couldn't even air my grievances, let alone my lungs. His office stank like a senior citizen's bedsheets. I gritted my teeth as I refrained from grabbing his collar. Freed by the elixir of Liver Cancer, Fermin had no such qualms and placed his somehow-soaked hand on my cheek.
"Victor. It is what it is."
"What it is is a waste of my time, pig fuck."
Hurt, he withdrew his hand, and stared confused at his makeup-covered palm. Shit. I took a glance at my reflection in the window behind him. My bruises were visible, plain as day. The Hub was loud behind the window, buzzing with silence. My reflection called me a moron. I responded in kind and thrust the bottle back into Fermin's hand, causing his gaze to return to one of complacency.
"Merry Christmas, Vermin. Now drink yourself to death."
"Will do," he responded cheerily.
How he was running a mayoral campaign as well as a news station, I had no clue. By the time I was out of the KBEL building and into my real work clothes, it was 15 past midnight and the cloud of true night was forming. The haze of uncertainty that descends upon you in the wee hours, no matter where in the world you are, the fog that reminds you that you'll one day die and asks you if you should traipse off into the unknown - it had settled upon Hub City. I dodged a pedestrian and traced a line of footsteps in the snow into an alleyway.
