New Reflections (Burnsmithers)

Part 13: View Me

Waylon's first thought was of Burns. If something happened to him here, Burns wouldn't know and then he would get to his car, still some blocks away, and Waylon would be missing, unless Burns happened to walk by this alley, but Waylon didn't know if he would take the same street.

Then he came back to the present. He was against the wall on the uneven, cracked ashy pavement of the alley. And in front of him, keeping him from leaving, was none other than Tim Dall, whose hand was pressed flat on the wall right next to Waylon.

"Tim?" Waylon sputtered, "What the hell are you doing?"

Tim narrowed his gaze. "I knew I had seen you before. It's you, isn't it? You're Smithers. You lied to me."

Damn it. At least he had no reason to pretend any longer. "Yes, I am."

"What was that back at the coffee place? Your whole act, you're more than working for Burns." Tim snorted. "Jeez..."

Waylon glared at him. "You should never have written that article."

"You can't tell me what I can or can't write."

"If you didn't want to chance getting on Mon- Mr Burns' bad side, you shouldn't have done it."
"What, did he send you after me or something?" Tim wrinkled his nose. "I told you last night, if you want to sue, do it to the Enquirer."

Waylon despised the nerve of him to not care at all, and to pin all the blame on the paper, despicable as it was. It was more so only Tim for writing it and Paul for approving it. "What did you think would happen if you printed garbage and Mr Burns got hold of it? There is no reason we cannot sue you for defamation. It is not only me that you would have to deal with." He thought of Burns' team of lawyers. In reality, though, he was baiting Tim, because he had planned to go to the Enquirer and the bar to get Tim fired, citing the information he had learned during the conversation in the coffee shop. Burns had said he would like that Tim would cease any future articles about him and/or Waylon, and had asked Waylon to take care of that.

"Well, what do you want, then?" The gravity of the situation seemed to be sinking in.

Waylon smirked. "You can't write anything else about either of us, or if you do... just don't."

"Is that all?"

"Quit the Enquirer, and while you're at it, the bar too." That would make his and Burns' lives easier. He thought about what Josh at the Enquirer had said about Tim's incompetence, and then what Tim himself had said about not doing his job at Galley Reel.

"I didn't like that place. Didn't like the goddamned bar either. Both shit pay. You're doing me a favour."
"What will you do instead?"

"I don't know. My cousin said she'd hook me up with a gig in Philly."
"Philadelphia? Really?" He was genuinely curious- the city was rather far.
"I write a blog online, but I don't make anything from it." Tim had stepped away from him, no longer as aggressive. "I was thinking of getting out of Springfield. Out of the state."

Waylon found himself agreeing. Sometimes he wanted to go elsewhere, himself, but he had no desire to move away from Burns. "Do that, then. But if you-"

"Fine. I told you, I won't write anymore about you or him. I don't want to now. Kind of ruined it, since you've interfered." Tim shoved his hands in his pockets.

Waylon tensed, waiting to make a break for it, though Tim's disposition had mollified. "I- I'm going to go," Waylon told him, "remember what I said." He glanced a last time at Tim, brushed himself off, and ran out of the alley before Tim could change his mind, or his behaviour, again.