Chapter 143 - The Mucky Muck (1/2)
The offices of the Muckraker magazine feel true to the ”vision and mission” of such a highly esteemed publication. It's located in the basement of an old art deco building, on the boundaries of the city's own china town, with nothing but a little signage by the entrance door announcing its existence. Inside is a small ”editorial room,” a common area where four or five desks are arranged around a single inkjet printer, where an editorial staff of a grand total of seven, not including Gary Smulder, bang on their antiquated yellowed desktop computers the week's journalistic masterpieces.
It's into this wonderful world of ace-level reporting that Gary Smulder enters, his face brimming with expectation. At the desk nearest the inkjet printer sits a corpulent gray-haired man, quickly typing on the computer keyboard what can only be presumed as the magazine's next cover story.
”Hey, Patrick, guess what I have in my hand?”
Patrick does not even stop typing; he continues pounding the keyboard, his face limned with the phosphor glow of the monitor. ”I can guess, but I'm sure reality is much stranger than guesses.”
Gary laughs; he plunks himself in the squeaky office chair nearby and makes himself comfortable. He surveys the cramped office. Ted, the senior features editor, is slathering a slice of bread with chunky peanut buŧŧer, right on his workstation. Liza, who does graphics design and layout, paints her nails a murderous red. Gary makes mental note to hit on Liza later; maybe, finally, she'd agree to giving him a blowjob, or maybe more. Liza's resting bitch face looks exceptionally bitchy today, and Gary presumes a fight with the old boyfriend, which might mean Liza is more receptive to the idea of cheating on his boyfriend. Tonight might be the night, after all.
But Gary's lurid train of thoughts is cut off by Patrick's hoarse voice. ”So what is it in your hand, then? Somebody's severed dɨċk you found in a garbage can in the back alley behind Pizza Hut?”
Gary, again, laughs; to be on Patrick's good side, you always must show appreciation for his comedic talent, although the talent that Patrick has so far excelled in is finding absolute malice on everything and everyone.
”Much, much better than a severed dɨċk, Pat!” Gary brandishes the notepad, as though it was some kind of trophy. ”I have here the week's explosive cover story!”
Patrick looks at him, his eyes bearing the old ”I've heard that line before and I'm sick of it” jadedness. A beat, then he actually says, ”I've heard that line before. So if you're saying this is cover story material, you better be sure, or this will be the last time you're ever making be a bit excited.”
”Does the name Miguel Tan ring a bell?” Gary says, his eyebrows arching.
Pat's bushy brow furrows. ”Miguel Tan? Hmmm. We surely know a lot of Tans, usually ȧssociated with truckloads filled with cash. So which Tan would this be?”
”Miguel Tan, Pat. Come on. Gabriel Tan's brother. THE Gabriel Tan, the country's most eligible bachelor and at the head of a global conglomerate with interests in shipping, property development, electronics, retail, and I don't know what else.”
Patrick stares at him. ”If this is about Gabriel Tan, you better have a compelling story.”
Gary grins. ”What can be juicier than a deadly love triangle? Involving the brothers and Gabriel's new fiancée?”
”What?” Patrick finally stops typing. He stares at this upstart who so desperately tries to sell him gold. He's no idiot; he easily connects the dots as soon as he hears the names of the brothers tied up with a woman. Men throughout history has always fought over booty, be it the glimmering kind or the type that involves an attractive member of the opposite sėx. ”The brothers fought over a woman, and one of them almost dies. How did you come by the information?”
Gary shrugs, like he's been discovered to be an absolute genius hiding under a rock all this time. ”I just happen to have this natural talent for sniffing out blood.”