In the corner of Starbucks, on his laptop, Shelby stroked his goatee and deleted the adverb from “violently whipped.” He sipped his latte, lightly stirred. He considered calling the end of the whip “sharp,” but he didn’t need readers thinking that their intelligence was under review. The Starbucks was empty, so Shelby read the sentence aloud to himself.
“The monster whipped the pale victim’s soft back.” Shelby adjusted his round glasses. “Back.” There had to be a better word than “back.” And “soft” sounded patriarchal. He held down the backspace. “The kidnapper laughed; the whip left long marks on the victim’s spine.” Shelby didn’t have evidence that the kidnapper laughed, but the detail added dramatic effect.
He cut it.
Perfect: objective, distant, and impersonal. Plant nothing else. This was why God wanted Shelby to be a reporter. Shelby saved the .docx and adjusted his beret over his black, curly hair. He wore a blue collared shirt, a gray vest, and jeans. He closed his Mac, slipped it into the computer bag that he slung over his shoulder, and pushed in his chair. He waved at the brunette barista on his way out.
“Any new dirt?” Sky asked from behind the counter, cute in that green apron she hated. Shelby lifted his latte.
“Just name a celebrity.”
Sky grabbed a rag to wipe the counter. “How’s the report?”
“Finishing up,” Shelby said. “I like to think people still squeeze in some reading between cat videos, so we’ll see what happens.”
“They do! Your stuff on CNN is great!”
“You think so?”
“Yes!” Sky tossed her rag into the sink. “Without insiders getting their hands dirty, nobody would know what was happening out there. Talk about screwed.”
Shelby sipped his latte to hide a grin. “I’ll be glad when the assignment is done though. The video is awful.”
“You’ve endured a lot.”
“Someone has to get inside all the details.”
“Did they ever find the kidnapper?” Sky asked. “They think it happened around here.”
“It’s old news, from last week.”
“I know it’s unappreciated, but thanks again for what you do.”
“There’s so much going on under people’s noses…”
“If I did what you did, I’d burn the world down.”
Shelby tapped his chest. “The secret is remembering what’s inside.”
“Do you like being a reporter?”
“It’s interesting,” Shelby said. “I’m good at it.”
“Wait.” Sky lifted a finger and slipped out from behind the counter to wrap Shelby into a hug. It was the first in months. “We should go out.”
Shelby squeezed her. “We should.”
“Will you cancel again?”
“I thought you let that go.”
“I’m glad you’re putting that English major to use.”
Sky stepped back and out of his arms. “What about Friday?”
“What time do you get off?”
“Eleven.”
“Late shift.”
“We could do Waffle House.”
“Over IHOP?”
“Oh, you’re one of them.”
“And you’re not?”
“Friday at eleven.” Sky held up two fists. “We’ll fight it out.”
Shelby tapped his fist with hers. “Date. Set. Match.”
“If I have to remind you, it will never happen again.”
“Good thing reporters jot everything down.”
Shelby tipped his beret on the way out; the brass bell rang. Near the windows, couples outside worked on laptops at tables. Facebook. Facebook. Article? Shelby stopped and glanced at the screen again. The girl stood up; Shelby quickly resumed walking toward his white Altima. Lots of people were interested in the kidnapping: Shelby felt like he contributed to a social movement. He tossed his paper cup into a trashcan, unlocked his car, and from his shoulder slipped off his computer bag into the backseat. He started the engine and gripped the wheel. The kidnapper used a signal whip. The walls were covered in garbage bags. The victim’s age? Shelby never used names. The kidnapper — black outfit, ski mask. Was there something Shelby missed? No, just the facts.
Driving home, Shelby felt his cellphone buzz. He sighed and raised his hip to reach into his back pocket at a stoplight. He lifted the phone to his ear. “I’m driving.”
“Can you bring a burger?”
“You know I’ve got work.”
“You loved demolitions as a kid.”
“I’m into building now.”
“Your boss won’t fire you for coming out to the site for ten minutes.”
The light turned green. “Is that a promise?”
“Two whoppers. No fries.”
Shelby closed his phone and slammed on the breaks to avoid plowing into the back of an SUV.
“The light’s green!” He honked. Shelby thought about throwing his phone out the window, but he’d lose his job if he lost touch with the world…
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That was kind of amazing!