Paul Cullen, a naive reporter, stumbles into the Media lime light while covering a string of murders in the city. As life would have it, this young man learns more about the inner workings of the Mayor's Office and the devious criminals that govern the local streets than he could ever learn from college. The young reporter is ill prepared to deal with the events that start unfolding on his night shift and is quickly overwhelmed by the ambitious, calculating brutality of the city's quiet meetings and backdoor deals. Emotionally haunted by the frightening reality that surrounds him, Paul finds hope in an unlikely ally - the daughter of a slain victim - Ellen Moran. Struggling together to survive, they attempt to discover the bloody truth behind a serial killer's motives and the incumbent Mayor's battle to keep his political career alive. A career that lives and breathes on the television screens of the city's voters and becomes the only tool the young couple have to fight with.

Headline News

Backdoor DealsBy K.J. Ashton

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 K.J. Ashton
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4389-7778-2

Chapter One

Across town stood Paul Cullen, a news reporter for channel thirteen, a tall man of twenty-eight endowed with square shoulders and a youthful face.

Hearing an echoing crack, Paul glanced towards the sky. "Thunder?" he mumbled. "Not tonight Buddy," responded the portly vender. Focusing back to the situation in front of him, Paul handed the vender four dollars and took the hotdog. "Ketchup and relish are at the end," burped the vender as he pressed past Paul for the next customer. Paul smirked sarcastically as he squeezed the bread of the hotdog that felt three days old. "Thanks a lot," fell from his lips.

Stepping off to the side of the vendor's roach line, Paul breathed a sigh and tried to relax. Looking at the food in his hands he quietly consoled himself, 'At least I will have a hot cup of coffee, a hotdog and a moment of peace before the city's nightlife starts to come alive on the streets tonight.'

The graveyard shift was the only slot open for a fledgling reporter just out of College. In Paul's mind, it was a matter of paying your dues and earning his bones in the news industry.

Reflecting, he remembered his college professor lecturing, 'Successful reporting is easy, you simply find something that grabs the people's attention and report on it!' It sounded simple enough to Paul at the time, but was proving to be harder in real life. The only question left in his mind was how long would it take and how much this simple success would cost him personally.

This night felt different than the rest to Paul. His gut told him his shift would only deliver one of two endings. One would drag on with no end in sight. The other ending left him with the expectation of something more than the usual price to pay.

Stepping away from the curb and heading towards the channel thirteen news's van, Paul could see the driver Steve perched behind the wheel. His appearance gave the impression he hasn't shopped for new clothes since the eighties and the blank look in his eyes left one wondering if anyone was home - ever.

Paul smirked as he crossed the yellow lines in the street and continued thinking about Steve. 'Another misfit college student - just looking for a way to pay for his tuition. Not a bad guy, just one in need of a haircut and soap.'

As Paul opened the door to jump in, the police scanner blurted out "Shooting on the eastside, Female, Sully's Bar Washington Street." Steve pumped out the obvious "Lets roll!" and threw the van into drive. With that Paul chucked his hotdog and coffee out the window and buckled in.

'So much for the food and peace', he thought. It was probably for the best as he looked into the passenger's side view mirror and watched the three day old bread bounce in the street.

Paul leaned forward and started scratching around the glove box for a microphone. Retrieving the microphone and a hairbrush, Paul reached out the window and adjusted his hair in the passenger's side mirror. Catching Steve chuckle he responded, "Its show time and I might as well look my best."

It didn't take long to reach Washington Street and even less time to make it to the bar. Paul noticed the crime scene was already swarming with the men in blue; but mentally noted they were the first news-channel to arrive and a crowd had gathered on the fringe of the yellow tape and appeared to be growing.

Stopping the van in the middle of the street, Steve slammed it into park. Instinctively Paul jumped out and headed for the center of the action, knowing Steve would be in hot pursuit with the camera. Trying to slip under the police tape, Paul felt a cop grabbed his shoulder "That's close enough buddy," he ordered. Paul stopped and questioned, "What's going on?" pointing the microphone to the policeman's jaw.

The cop smiled indignantly "J-walking, now get back under the tape." With a shove, Paul found himself on the wrong side of the tape and the wrong side of the story. Backing up into Steve's camera Paul cursed, "Damn Cop is not going to stop us." Steve lowered the camera and spoke, "You find a way through, and I'm going high." With a nod of his head, Paul turned and noticed a clear view of the scene from the sidewalk. Breaking through the crowd and onto the sidewalk, Paul panicked over the time it took and feared their chance for a scoop was slipping away.

Quickly scanning the tops of the heads he found Steve. He was perched on top of the news channel van, thumbs up and camera on. Paul now realized why Steve parked in the middle of the street. 'You earned your tuition tonight', Paul thought.

"This is Paul Cullen with a breaking report for News center thirteen." With a quick glance to the covered body lying behind him he continued, "It was suppose to be a night of celebration, but for this unlucky woman, it was her last". Mustering up the most sympathetic face he could, "Pandemonium has struck this evening when a patron of this bar was ruthlessly gunned down in the street!" Being pushed by the crowd Paul continued, "Police are uncertain as to a motive, but by the looks of the scene here tonight, why is not as important as who would do such a cold blooded act." Steve pointed down the street to the arrival of another channel's news van, and gave the thumbs down to let Paul know there exclusive party was about to be crashed. Steve then changed Paul's attention by pointing past his shoulder.

The EMT's were lifting the sheet-covered body onto a gurney and rolling back towards the ambulance; Saint Bridget's Hospital was painted on the side of the ambulance. Paul knew where his next stop would be.

People began gathering in force. The pointing fingers and look of fear across their faces told Paul this was the story that people wanted to know about. This News story would get him off the night shift and into prime time.

Paul raced back to the van, "Steve!" he said winded. "Get me back to the news station right away." "What? Why?" Steve questioned. "I need to switch to my car so I can get to the hospital without the other news stations knowing were I am going" Paul replied.

Jumping in the van and throwing the microphone into the glove box, he waited for Steve to enter with the camera and grabbed the tape from inside. "No one is going to scope this story from me." With that the vans wheels screeched down Washington Street and back to the News Station. The white lines of the road blurred into a solid streak as the city light's flashed in his eyes. For a brief moment, Paul could feel his future taking off and his career kick-start into the limelight.

Near the barroom door of the crime scene stood a seasoned detective. A barrel chest man with strong hands and a piercing stare that probed past the murky lies of the unlawful. To his friends he was known as a practical joker with a wicked laugh; to his enemies he was known as the arresting officer that could not be bought.

His eyebrow sharpened as his eyes shifted wildly back and forth upon the crowd. To the inexperience observer, he appeared confused and overwhelmed by the flashing red and blue lights. But to the seasoned hunter, he was alert and on the prowl. Constantly searching the faces of the spectators for the look of a killer, a clue, a sign, or the face of a murderer reveling in his kill.

"Detective Ford," came from inside the barroom and broke his concentration. With a final glance at the mayhem the detective walked inside and approached his fellow...