The note pad suddenly being slapped down on top of the desk showed his frustration as well as any word would have. The other writer in the room, who was also a mutual friend of his, sighed at this gesture.
"Still at a dead end?" he asked.
"It's complete horse shit, I swear. Every time I end up with a 'lead' it doesn't lead me anywhere. I'm about to just say 'screw it'." He took the pencil out from behind his ear and dropped it next to the note pad that he had just slammed on the desk.
"C'mon man, ya hav'ta try." He spoke more deliberately. "It's the story of the century, no joke, and you have the specific right to overseeing it for the paper. If anything, you should be all over those witnesses."
The frustrated writer gave a deep sigh as he drove his hand down his face. "I can't; most of 'em pled the fifth or are being kept away from reporters for some reason." He plopped himself down sideways in the chair diagonally across the table from the other writer. "Sure it's the 'story of the century', but I can't write shit if I can't get anything. All those national assholes are taking the story and turning it into some sort of Sci-Fi horror bullshit, connecting it to that ambassador story. Not like I can get around that with how they're puttin' it, and I don't do debunkers. Just what the hell happened is anyone’s guess."
"That's why they need a local reporter to get the story right and present the facts, no one asked you to debunk anything," the other man argued. He finally looked at the notepad, which was full of scribbled sentences and had something stuck in it. "What about that?" He motioned towards the notepad.
"This?" He picked up the notepad he had thrown down. "Last interview I can legally get at this point. If there's one good thing to come out of all this it's that we got the quiet girl to talk."
"I'm expecting gold," the other man smirked. "The quiet ones always have the best material."
The writer shared in the smirk, "And this one's no different. Now if only I can get what the hell she's sayin' I might finally have something to work on."
"Don't burn yourself out thinkin' about it," the other man advised, losing his smirk.
"Hell, like I don't learn the first time," he said, losing the smirk immediately.
"So, I assume you have a recording?" He motioned towards the small TV and multiple-format player it is set on top of across the room.
The writer stalled for a minute with discontent on his face as he looked between the notepad and TV, then he flipped the top pages up to reveal a tape. "What the hell, not like I can do anythin' else at this point. Gimme a minute." He walked towards the door and reached his hand into his pocket. "Pizza good with you?"
"Four nights and counting."
"Chinese then." He quickened his pace out of the door back to his office to get the order-out menu.
"Some things you must see to believe."
