That doesn’t mean I don’t want to punch Andrew in the teeth.
JACK
Victoria and I roll along the steeply climbing hills of San Francisco during hours only bakery employees should ever see. They say big cities never sleep, but San Francisco practically snores this time of morning. It’s us and delivery people out and about, for the most part.
We pass by a row of yellow school buses, their lights aglow in the fog. Soon it will be another day in the city, just another day of study for the children and work for the adults. It will be another day for Victoria and I, as well, but with a key difference. This caper, this mad jailbreak and redemption story, is coming to an end. When that happens, I’m not sure where Victoria and I will stand.
Andrew, the Factory man, has been most generous. The luxury sedan in which we glide through the silent streets was hired by him. I have to admit, it runs smooth as glass and purrs like a kitten.
We’re on our way to Jolene Pierce’s office at the San Francisco Chronicle. Supposedly, she also has information that will exonerate me. I’m anxious to hear about that, because the last thing I want to do is go back to prison.
“I know you’re angry, but everything’s going to be okay.”
I turn a worried frown on Victoria as she continues speaking. “As soon as we turn over that evidence to Pierce, it will be over. Xtera will be done for.”
Yes, Xtera will be done for. They’ll be looking at federal charges and investigations which will cripple their ability to do business. Not only that, but I’m sure class-action civil suits will suckle up any remaining assets they might retain.
I can see the late-night television ads already.If you or someone you know took Xtera pharmaceuticals products, you may be entitled to compensation…
So Xtera will doon be nothing more than a bad memory. Circling the drain. About to get cut off from life support. That’s great news.
Or maybe not. Some of their other drugs were good drugs. I’m sure someone will pick up and manufacture them. That will be a good source of income to pay damages to the victims.
What’s got me worried is what happens to me and Victoria once it’s all said and done.
Do we go our separate ways, or…or what?
I decide to just not speak of the matter until after we’ve dealt with the reporter. As we pull into the sparsely-populated parking lot outside the Chronicle’s offices, I feel a stab of panic. Technically, I’m a fugitive from justice, an escaped convict. Victoria is wanted, too. If this whole thing were a trap set by the Factory to get us caught, then we were about to walk right into the steel jaws.
I’m too nervous to bring up any of this, especially our relationship, such as it is.
I still worry. What if this whole thing was a job to her? I’ll just have to wait and see what happens after I turn over the evidence, and I don’t want to expect the worst.
We walk into the San Francisco Chronicle’s expansive lobby, the sound of our feet on the marble ominous. The sun has just barely begun to peek above the horizon. A puffy-eyed receptionist peers up from behind a fog of steam rising from her coffee. She gives us the smile of a service-industry employee forcing politeness despite the early hour and lack of coffee.
“Good morning, and welcome to the San Francisco Chronicle. Did you have an appointment?”
“We do,” I say, smiling back. “Sorry to bother you first thing in the morning.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s what I’m here for. What was the name of your contact?”
“Jolene Pierce.”
She chuckles softly. “Jolene, Jolene, Jolene. In the office bright and early, as usual.”
“I guess the early bird gets the worm,” Victoria says.
“More like the night bird sleeps in her office, if she sleeps at all. Fourth floor, left corner office. If you’re lucky, she’ll be awake.”
We thank her and take the elevator to the fourth floor. It all feels so official now. They say print is a dying medium, yet when a big story breaks it tends to do so in one of the major metropolitan newspapers. It’s hard to ignore. The written word communicates over time and space. Our accusations of Xtera are about to become immortal.
My heart hammers in my chest when the elevator lets us out in a hallway leading to an office suite. Rows of mostly empty cubicles and the smell of fresh coffee greet us as soon as we enter the door. I glance over at the corner office and see an ebony-skinned hand scribbling away at something.
“Jolene’s office is that way. Looks like she’s waiting for us.”
We move across the thin carpet, passing bleary-eyed reporters who may have spent the night in the office just as Jolene did. We enter her tidy office, and her umber eyes dart up with suspicion.
“Right on time, welcome.” She gestures at the seats opposite her desk. “Pardon me if I don’t get up. I sprained my ankle playing tennis the other day.”
