31. Mila
31
“Ella, I'm so glad you were willing to hear me out and help with this.”
We’ve been working for the past three hours, putting everything I’ve collected into something that can actually be presented. It’s one thing to have a couple of names and some vague accusations, and another to have what’s necessary for an actual news broadcast. The more information we went over, the more excited Ella and her team got.
Ella Washington, a tall, elegant woman with thick black curls and intense, almost black eyes, directs her made-for-TV smile at us. “Mila, of course! I loved having you work with us for your internship, and I'm so glad you chose me and Channel 7 to help you get this out. There won’t be any hiding after this. Your name and face will be out there in the public. Are you sure you're ready to handle that?”
I nod, determined. “It’s not just about the story for me. My family and people I care about are caught up in this.”
She exhales sharply, a little laugh. “So I see. Your backup has made that clear.”
Her eyes skate over Scrapper behind me, who is standing with two other bikers, Bull and Mad Dog. Rule number one right now is that nobody is on their own. The three oversized bikers look very out of place during after-hours at the television studio, but I feel a heck of a lot safer with them here. I wish Reaper and Mack were here, but they’re following other leads while we put this together. They promised that any brother will treat me the way they do. I'm safe. I just want all of my boys.
“Let's get this show on the road,” says Faith, who's also here with us, ready to push stuff out onto our social media as soon as it’s ready.
Ella glances over at Faith. “Just remember that Channel 7 has the exclusive right to first broadcast.” I like Ella, and I think she’s serious about reporting, but she’s also serious about her job at the network.
Faith rolls her eyes. “Of course. I know how this works. Let's nail some bad guys to the wall.”
“Okay, crew!” Ella claps her hands to get everyone's attention. Even though it's late at night, she's pulled in people to help create the segment for airing on the morning news.
It still hasn't really hit me that my work is actually going to get broadcast. That my investigation, as haphazard and wild as it's been, is going to go out there for everyone to see. When I was recovering at home this past summer, I had all sorts of ideas of how this would go, and this isn’t even close to any of them.
“Did your dad get Danny somewhere safe?” I whisper to Faith. All three of my boys insisted that when Eagle-eye says things are going to happen, they will, but still, I have to be worried. I'm his little sister. That's just how this works.
Faith nods. “Don’t worry, he’s safe in solitary confinement right now. One of Dad’s friends is working there tonight and won’t let anything happen.”
“Mila.” Ella calls me over from the editing workstation, where some of her people are busy turning our information into a presentation that will actually catch people's interest.
Here we go.
While one woman is working on organizing what I've brought into a format she can use on the screen, assembling pictures and picking out the juiciest quotes and implications and so on, Ella brings me over to a green-screened sound and video studio set up in the room next door. Everything's kept close together for scoops like this. It's almost like you can see all the data flowing from workstation to workstation as each person does their part in putting it together. It's exciting. It's what I hope I get to work with someday.
But right now, I can't let myself get drawn into the technical skill and professionalism that's happening around me. This is for Danny and all those other people who've been wronged by the system. I just hope I remember what it feels like to be right in the middle of this when I'm doing this for a job. To remember that the bigger the story, the more people are stuck in the middle of it.
A makeup team roll right up with a movable vanity, basically, and start prepping me for screen time. All I can do is sit here and let it happen, tapping my feet impatiently. I know I need this for the little interview Ella's going to put me through in a few minutes, but this definitely isn't my favorite part. While Scrapper's grinning at me wearing a pound of makeup, I just want to get to the facts. This is why I want to be the person digging all of this up, and not the one who sits and reports on it, and why I’m leaning towards print or internet when I graduate, but I'll do what I need to do.
“Good?” asks the man that just finished applying mascara and blush as he steps back.
A woman in a severe office dress and horn-rimmed glasses looks me up and down with such intense scrutiny that I don't dare move until she gives an approving nod. “Good enough.”
I don't have time to decide if I should feel offended or not before they wheel me right into position across from Ella, who's obviously fully made up already. She smiles in support and approval. “You look great. You're going to be fine.”
I don't have stage fright. Compared to what I’ve been through the past couple weeks, this is nothing. I smile and nod because she’s expecting it. This whole experience feels so rushed and so surreal that I don't know exactly how to handle it anyway.
“You look fucking gorgeous,” says Scrapper from just off-stage. Next to him, Faith is getting it all on her phone, prepping for her own release. He grins. “Should doll yourself up like that more often.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t hold your breath, I feel like a literal doll.”
“Just enjoying the view, that's all.” He makes a gesture of zipping his lips shut, then winks.
And then my attention is on Ella as she starts her interview. I put all my concentration into answering her questions and trying to seem like I actually know what I'm doing on TV, and not like I'm just a student who doesn't even have her degree yet, sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. We do several takes for each question, right up until the camera crew gives us the thumbs up.
I'm just getting off my chair when there's a loud crash in the hall outside the press studio. Everything stops for a moment as all heads turn to the noise. “Scrapper?”
“Looking into it, babe. Hang back.”
Him, Bull and Mad Dog close in on the door to the outer studio. Scrapper opens it carefully and peers outside. My brain goes straight to the worst case scenario, but it was probably something that was stowed incorrectly or something. We walked past an awful lot of equipment and props through the studio warehouse on the way here.
“See anything?” asks Bull. He hasn't drawn his gun, but he's pushed the side of his cut back and is resting his hand on the handle. If you're behind him, it's not obvious, so maybe the people here haven't figured it out yet, but it's got me nervous, that's for sure.
“Nothing yet. I'm gonna?—”
And that's when something explodes down the hallway