Raw Vengeance (The Rich Fordham Series) (6 page)

He drank his pilsner alone, surrounded by strangers who appeared to be having a much better time—at least in his mind. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the bar while sipping his beer and let out a sigh in frustration. The blond bartender displayed her ample bosom through the top of her white blouse, whetting the appetite of her male patrons. She eyed him and contemplated making conversation, but apparently thought better of it as she dried off pint glasses.

No phone call, and it’s 9:25. I’m calling her
. He picked out her name from the menu on his flip-phone and pressed talk. Five rings later, the voicemail picked up, and he left a message, “Shanna, it’s Rich. I’m at The View Bar on Fifth and Haines. Let me know if you’re going to make it.” He gave his number, then hung up. Impatience gave way to hunger, so he ordered a BBQ burger and coleslaw.

Rich made a feeble effort to distract himself by thinking about his career path, trying to make the feeling of loneliness subside as the night went on. Since witnessing the horror of nine-eleven less than a month before, he felt he had to do something extraordinary. He had been reporting on everything from garage sales and babies being born to random shootings and the occasional sex pervert. But he realized he didn’t want to do it forever. If he did, he knew he’d become a news story himself—just another deadbeat reporter, a notion he dreaded.

The bartender brought him his check, and he whipped out his debit card to pay. Rich’s watch showed 12:01 a.m. on Saturday morning, two hours before closing, when a figure he recognized instantly walked through the front door. The five beers in his system did not do him any favors as he squinted to see if his eyes were deceiving him. “No fucking way it’s him,” Rich said louder than he intended.

The man in his sixties was wearing a white polo shirt, tan khaki pants, and loafers. He strolled directly over to the opposite side of the bar with the aid of a cane and placed his cell phone, reading glasses, and a notepad onto the bar before sitting on a bar stool. The bartender noticed his entrance and took his order. Once the drink came, he put his glasses on, sipped his drink, and indulged himself in a copy of
The New York Times
.

Rich needed to know who he was studying and pulled the bartender over. “Who’s the old guy reading the paper?” he asked as he gestured with his eyes and a tilt of the head. He, the man, and three others were the only ones left at the bar.

She looked where he pointed. “Beats the hell out of me. Do we look like we hang out in the same social circles?” she asked in a mocking tone.

“
Yeah, but that’s Ted Burke. At least I think it’s Ted. The guy is a legend in the world of journalism and—”

The woman cut him off. “Look, I got work to do, if you don’t mind.” She wandered off to take a smoke break.

Rich took a breath as he got up from the stool. He felt more nervous now than any of the hundreds of times he had approached women in the past. A moment later, he got himself moving, adjusted his sleeves, and popped in a mint as he approached. The man seemed oblivious to the world around him. Just as Rich prepared to give his introduction, the man asked, “What do you want, Mr. Fordham?” without taking his eyes off of the page.

The question caught Rich completely off guard, and he took a moment to gather his thoughts before answering. “Wait, how do you know my name?”

“
I used to be an investigative reporter, so I keep up to speed on things and those around me in the industry. I did local news from time to time, too, you know.”

“
You’ve watched me? I mean, holy shit, it’s really you.” For the first time, the man looked up and made eye contact with him, sending a surge of adrenaline through his veins. “You’re Ted Burke, former CBC war correspondent.”

“
That’s what they keep calling me, whether I like it or not,” said Ted as he gave Rich a discerning look. “What is it you want?”

“
I, uh, just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Rich Fordham, but you already knew that,” he said as he extended his hand. Ted returned the handshake with firmness Rich hadn’t felt in years.

“
Is it Richard?” asked Ted.

“
Never been called Richard, just Rich.” Switching subjects, he said, “I’ve followed your work since I graduated film school back in ‘92. Your reporting in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Bosnia was amazing. And you won a Pulitzer for your coverage of on international terrorism ring with ties to Al-Qaeda? You’re truly inspiring.”

The compliment made Ted smile, and his gruff demeanor changed immediately. “And you? What about you, now?” he asked with genuine interest.

“
Me? I’m still covering local news stories, mundane things of that nature. Although, I don’t know what I’m going to do next. I’m going through a bit of a transition period.”

“
A transition? What do you mean?” Ted laid the paper down on the bar.

“
Since nine-eleven I’ve been doing some thinking about what I want to do.”

Ted waved his hand at the stool next to him and ordered, “Sit, then talk.”

Rich sat. “I’m bored seeing the same things and interviewing the same people. The worst that ever happens around here are sex scandals and snowstorms. It gets old. The mob was how many decades ago, and everything else has been covered. If anything important does happen, there’s this asshole reporter who won’t let me have any good stories.”

“
Let me guess—Wayne Vale?”

“
Yeah, how’d you know?”

“
Wayne was there right before I retired. He was smooth as silk on screen, but I couldn’t stand his arrogance off screen. He bossed around the secretaries and staff members because he could. But he got good marks and respect from the higher-ups. You can be as big of an ass as you want as long as you’re putting money into the pockets of the executives.”

“
I just can’t wait for the opportunity to cover something big, like Pulitzer-big, but so far nothing is panning out.”

Ted let out his trademark belly laugh that carried across the entire restaurant. “You want a Pulitzer? They don’t give it for just being a pretty-boy in front of the camera, you know,” he said with a nudge and a wink.

Being on the receiving end of teasing by Ted brought a smile to Rich’s face, and he replied with a shrug.

“
Look, Rich—may I call you Rich?” he asked, forgetting he had already told him it was okay.

“
Yeah, of course. Can I call you Ted?” Rich asked as he stuck out his hand and waited for him to reciprocate the introduction.

“
Fine. Rich, it’s my pleasure,” he said as they shook hands. “Now, I’ve been there before. You’re bored and looking for a challenge. I’ve been doing this since I was your age, which I’m not going to say what year. Are you looking for advice or just to vent?”

Asking Ted for his professional opinion was the last thing on his agenda before they met, but now it seemed appropriate. “If it’s not a problem, I could always use some direction.”

“
Are you sure about that? Think very hard before you answer yes. People agree to it, but then they can’t take the constructive criticism.” Ted tilted his head down so he could see over his glasses. “I’m brutally honest, and I don’t bullshit unless I’m in a pickle.”

“
Yeah, sure,” said Rich, thinking he could take a good beating.

“
Suit yourself. I’ve watched several of your stories, and you’re good, but not great. You’ve got potential, but there are a couple of things missing.”

“
Okay, I’m game.”

“
There’s a disconnect between you and the person you’re talking to and the audience. There’s no chemistry. You create a story and a conversation, but you don’t look like you give a damn about the people you’re talking to,” said Ted, on a roll.

“
Yeah, I do. I talk to people, and I care,” Rich said.

“
See, I’m giving you advice, and you’re immediately getting defensive. Arrogance and insecurity are going to hold you back.” Rich bit his tongue and let Ted continue. “There’s a certain chemistry you need to have with your audience. What I mean is, you need to sell yourself to sell your story, inform, and entertain. Let your personality come through to the audience. That doesn’t mean that you become emotionally attached to the story, because then your own bias will come through; it’s a rookie mistake. Following me?” Ted asked. Rich nodded in agreement. “Here’s what I mean: have you ever watched the celebrities they bring in to promote products on the home shopping channel?”

“
Umm, no.”

“
The best ones are those who sell themselves, not the product. Imagine if Robin Williams came on and spoke the script directly off the teleprompter. He could easily do that, but he knows comedy sells. Instead, he tells jokes and makes fun of himself and the product at the same time. It’s entertainment. It’s what you have to do. Let your personality come through, and take the metal rod out of your ass.” Rich blushed at the aspect of being uptight, but the more he thought about it, the old man was right.

The verbal beating didn’t deflate his ego as badly as he thought it would. Contrarily, it gave new insight and inspiration to his career. For the first time in five years, he felt refreshed and that a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “I appreciate the advice. I really do.”

“
Good. Once you’ve figured it out, come talk to me, and we’ll see how you’re doing.”

“
One other thing: as I said, nine-eleven got me thinking. From what you’ve seen, do I have what it takes to become a foreign or a war correspondent?” Rich asked.

Ted raised an eyebrow at the question and replied playfully, “Baby steps, young grasshopper, baby steps.”

“
But isn’t that what you did? You started off as a grass-roots reporter, and then you got promoted to an investigative reporter, then you got on with CBC.”

Ted laughed again, “Those were different times. I was the only reporter who was single and multilingual. There was this gorgeous Spanish gal, but she had kids and stayed put behind the anchor desk. Point is, start with investigative reporting and start networking. By that I mean sources. You need reliable sources that won’t dick you around when you need them. After you’ve built up a solid reputation, then you can look into being a foreign correspondent.”

“
I’m fluent in the languages of the countries that we have major economic ties with, and I already have a short list of sources,” Rich said in an effort to prove he could do it.

“
If you really want to do international, you need to stay single, and it’s a bitch trying to keep a family together. Trust me, I know. I’ve been divorced four times, twice from the same woman. If you’re embedded and cover wars, you’ll get kidnapped, shot at, tortured, get hate mail and death threats. You’ll see human nature at its very worst and see horrific scenes of savagery. That’s your job, though–you uncover the shit that all the assholes of the world create and try to give it a voice, plain and simple. If you don’t give them a voice, no one else will,” Ted said philosophically.

Without any hesitation, Rich said, “I can do that. I don’t care if I get married or have kids.”

“
You say that now, but people change, especially when they see people around them having families. It’s depressing.” Ted held up his cane and said, “See this? I’ve had this thing ever since I was released as a hostage in Vietnam in April of ‘75. I was beaten every day for five years, and I lost over a hundred pounds. The other two journalists I was traveling with resisted and got a bullet through their skulls. When I was released and got back into the States, people at the airport said I was a traitor and spit on my shoes. Are you still interested?”

Rich’s determination to make something of his career won out. “I can do it. Just tell me how.”

Ted raised an eyebrow. “First, work on what I mentioned about your on-air demeanor. Sell yourself as well as the story. Second, get your feet wet in investigative reporting. This is time consuming and requires you to learn about subjects and people who can be downright nasty. You cannot fear confrontation, or you’ll be eaten alive. It’s dog eats dog. Third, once you’re competent with the first two, give me a call. Here’s my number and email; I’d like to see how far you’ve come in a few years.”

Ted slipped him a business card and paid for his drink.

“
I’m sorry, Ted; can I buy you a beer or something? What are you drinking?”

“
No worries, but I’ve got a tee time at nine in the morning, so I need to get some rest. Rich, it’s been a pleasure talking to you, but I’ve got to go.” A second later, he walked out the door and disappeared.

The bartender made an announcement for last call, so Rich got up to leave.

Rich could have conversed with Ted and picked his brain for a week. He flew higher than a kite, and he knew he wouldn’t get any sleep, but he didn’t care. To get advice from a journalist for whom he had the utmost respect was priceless. All he needed now was a strategy.

CHAPTER 9

Rich prepared his scuba gear on the dive boat. Watching others don their equipment and being in the company of fellow divers invigorated him as he made last minute adjustments to his weights and harness. He finished by squirting defog fluid into his mask and rubbing it all around with his fingertip.

The last-minute weekend getaway to the Cayman Islands was worth it; Rich had been obsessing over his conversation with Ted Burke, and he felt he had made little progress. An escape is exactly what he needed, even if it was for a short duration. With little arm-twisting, he talked his best friend and video cameraman, Gabriel Amiri, into being his dive buddy and entertainment. Gabe entertained the eight other divers with his impressions of Stewie Griffin from
The Family Guy
.