Bailey Bristol [Samaritan Fil The Devil's Dime (epub)

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.Plenty of fodder for his first series of Times articles under the byline that had recently foisted him into the national spotlight.From the Salt Mines by Jess Pepper.The move to New York City had necessarily interrupted his investigative rhythm, and now that he was settled into his new office, his veins thrummed with a familiar adrenaline surge.Jess Pepper was impatient to get a story out.From the corner of his ever vigilant eye, Jess saw heads in the outer office turn in surprise toward the industrious sound coming from his windowed domain.He knew he was putting someone in the typing pool out of work, but never before had he entrusted his writing to a middle man.Or woman, as the case may be.And he certainly wasn’t going to start now.From the sounds of it, the typing pool had plenty to keep their pretty little fingers busy.The scenario for his new article hit the pages polished.No stopping and starting.Jess could think two paragraphs ahead while he punched out a perfectly paced story – already mentally edited – on the shiny Blick.The clacking stopped as words continued to race and tumble in his mind.The story needed facts.And facts meant research.Jess rolled the platen forward and read for the first time the words his furious fingers had planted on the page.It was good.And definitely worth an hour or two in the newspaper’s morgue to flesh it out.All too soon the young violin teacher delivered her three little charges into the hands of their nanny and headed toward the streetcar stop that she knew took her near her new rooming house.The afternoon had fairly flown.Her three little students had been thrilled with the entire excursion — the ride uptown to Carnegie Hall, the backstage tour, their skipping trek down the long ramp to the orchestra pit.Everything about it had their bright faces transformed with wonder and delight.She’d wanted to take them onstage, but the stage manager had taken one look at the three bobbing heads and denied permission.She’d hoped to cajole him into changing his mind, but not only would he not budge, he had a stagehand escort them to the door.She was offended, miffed, with no opportunity to express it, lest she embarrass herself in front of her students.But when that scroungy, mangy, cocksure confidence man had approached her on Park Row, she’d let him have it with both barrels.All her disappointment at being kept offstage at Carnegie Hall had come rushing out in clipped, terse words, and she’d delivered a tongue-lashing that had the man shrinking before her very eyes.Oh, it had felt so good.But cocksure? Where had that word come from? Was she even allowed to think it? The young woman felt the flush singe her cheeks.Adelaide Magee was no prude, but if anyone had been able at that instant to read her mind, she’d have to dye her hair, change her name, and move to Timbuktu.Cocksure, indeed.New York City was having a bad influence on her already.They were trying so hard not to stare at him that he almost laughed.The newly transplanted investigative reporter walked self-consciously through the typing pool to the main staircase.He felt eyes on his back, saw the whispering behind discreet hands, and realized he wasn’t as anonymous as he’d thought.Clicking typewriters seemed to lose their rhythm as he walked past.Women began furiously flipping through steno pads as he neared the longest bank of desks in the typing pool.How would they know if they’d found what they were looking for, when their eyes seemed bent on another task? The task of looking him over.Ogling him, if truth be told.“Well, I declare,” a chirpy southern voice suddenly erupted to his left.“Why, shugah, he looks like some kinda wild west sheriff to me.You shore he’s a—” An unnatural bevy of coughing sprang up suddenly, drowning the unguarded words.They could just get used to it.He was not going to cut his hair.Jess kept walking, wondering which he should be most grateful for—the southern belle’s outburst that made them all avert their eyes in embarrassment, or the fact that he was interesting enough to cause a ruckus.From the well-honed corner of his eye he assessed the voluptuous beauty who had modulated her tone but still managed to keep the focus on herself.She caught his eye, raised an eyebrow, and dropped a seductive wink that had Jess working hard not to break stride.She was a corker, all right.He supposed he’d have to find another route to and from his office.Running the gauntlet wasn’t altogether annoying, just annoyingly distracting.As Jess reached the foyer and began his descent, he worked hard to drag his mind back around the points he’d left his desk to research.He patted his pocket, checking for a handkerchief.He’d been warned he’d need it when he entered the dusty, mold-ridden basement of the Times.Adolph Ochs himself, the day he’d welcomed Jess onto the paper’s staff, had walked him to the stairwell that led to the cavernous basement.But at the top he’d stopped, turned, and admonished Jess to be wary [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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