Unsung

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Before leaving the café that afternoon, Garrick and I made plans to meet at the Tribune's office before school the next morning. So, at an hour too early to mention without yawning, I drove up to a stone and brick building in a mostly-forgotten suburb of Los Angeles.

If there hadn't been a steel sign out front that read "Los Angeles Tribune," you'd never know it was the paper's official operation center. In fact, the "s" was hanging on by sheer gravity, leaving the sign in danger of reading much differently.

I guess the rumors were true: The print industry really was dying.

Walking up to the front door, a travel mug of steaming coffee in hand, I stopped and peered up at the five stories in front of me.

You can do this, you can do this, you can do this...

But all the mantras in the world couldn't give me the confidence I needed for what I was about to do. How did you prepare yourself before confronting the guy who had single-handedly tried to destroy a man's life, and probably wouldn't hesitate before ruining yours, too?

"Fancy meeting you here," a voice said into my ear.

This time I didn't even startle. I'd felt him walk up behind me.

"You're late," I said, mock seriously, showing him my phone.

"By a minute," Garrick responded, circling around me with a grin. "Who knew you were such a stickler for being on time? Can I make it up to you with a muffin?"

"Depends," I said, cocking my head to the side as I looked at the bag he was holding. "Is it gluten-free?"

His face fell.

"No," he answered, looking inside the bag as if for confirmation. "Please tell me you're not one of those crunchy granola, gluten-free, sugar-free, taste-free girls?"

"Nope. Just the gluten-free kind," I said, easily.

"Not even a little gluten?" he teased, taking out what appeared to be a blueberry crumble of some sort.

"Not unless you want to kill me," I said, putting my hands up in front of me to ward off the offending pastry. "Allergic."

"Wouldn't want to kill a girl on the first date," Garrick said as he looked around for a trash can and then promptly deposited the whole bag inside.

"You didn't have to throw them out," I exclaimed. "You can still eat them. I just can't."

"Nah," he said. "What if I have to give you mouth to mouth later and I have gluten lips? That would just be awkward."

"I don't think this meeting's gonna turn physical," I said, looking back at the Tribune's entrance. "But I appreciate you looking out."

We began to walk toward the building and I silently prayed that the door to the newspaper was unlocked. I'd taken a gamble coming here so early, leaning on the old adage that news never slept. I mean, someone had to be there this early, right? Either following up on a scoop or rushing to get a layout laid out. And considering how far Cliff had gone for his article on Cain, I thought he might be one of those guys who got to work before everyone else.

Worst came to worst, Garrick and I would just have to hang out until he got in. Which actually could be just as good. Maybe better. It would be more enjoyable company at least.

When I pulled on the handle though, the right side of the double doors slid open easily, depositing us into an empty lobby with an elevator bank at the end of a small corridor. A directory encased in glass on the wall told us that the paper took up the top two floors. I had no idea which one Cliff worked on, but decided it couldn't be too hard to figure out when we got up there.