Ch. 15 – Jax
O n the drive up the coast, the tension in the van felt like an unwanted hitchhiker. Chuck seemed to have sprouted a permanent frown on his thin lips. In the passenger seat, Rico stayed glued to his phone, skimming through documents and muttering to himself.
Tucked in the back seat next to the rattling bag from Pets, Pets, and Pets!, Jax knew to keep her sarcastic mouth shut. Stifling her roughly bazillion questions, she instead studied Rico. She was surprised to find that the light from his phone screen pulled shades of caramel from his dark eyes. Without that lazy, overly confident smile on his face, he looked like a different person. Someone strong and serious. Someone who evoked her curiosity.
“Take this exit,” he said softly, looking up from his phone. A few minutes later, he directed Chuck into a Byzantine industrial park filled with large gray buildings, massive pipes, and rows of large, circular tanks. A dull hum rose up from the sewage treatment plant and seemed to invade Jax’s bones.
“Go around to the side,” Rico instructed. “I don’t want them to see the van.”
Chuck carefully crept around the buildings and pulled into a quiet, shady area next to some sort of locked outbuilding.
Rico turned to Chuck and spoke in a quiet, firm voice. “I’ll record the intro, lay out my findings, and then we go in. Record with your phone. We may need to move fast. They’ve probably already warned security.”
Chuck nodded.
Jax’s heart thudded in her chest as she unbuckled her seat belt. She felt all kinds of terrified and excited at the same time. If this was investigative journalism, she was getting high on her first hit.
“What can I do?” she asked, reaching for the handle of the side door.
“Nope,” Rico said. “You’re staying here.”
“But—”
“This could get dangerous,” he cut her off, turning in the front seat to meet her gaze.
“Listen to him, kid,” Chuck added. “It’s hard enough for me to keep him out of trouble. We can’t be worrying about you, too.”
She glared at Rico. “You told me to walk in your shoes.”
“Jax.” He used her actual name. “I need to keep you safe.” The fierce protectiveness in his eyes threw her off-balance.
She sat back in the seat. “Sure.”
A look of relief swept across his features. “Thank you. It’ll be fine. Probably.”
With those comforting words, Rico unbuckled his seat belt and hopped out of the van. Chuck quickly followed. Jax slid open the side door.
“Rico,” she called. He turned, squinting in the sunlight. “Be safe. ”
He smiled. It wasn’t the cocksure grin he seemed to think could make vaginas weep. This smile was warm and authentic. It was gorgeous.
“Just going where the facts lead me,” he called back. He waved, then the two men trudged forward, turning a corner to approach the front of the main building.
Jax watched them disappear. Sucking in a big breath, she slowly counted down from ten. When she hit one, Jax quietly slipped out the side door of the van. She appreciated Rico’s concern for her, really she did. But real reporters didn’t play it safe. They didn’t stay behind.
Rico was taking a risk to get his story, and she would do the same to get hers.
Keeping to the shadows, Jax crept around the side of the building until she gained a clear view of the front of the sewage plant. Rico stood next to the plant’s welcome sign, raking a hand through his hair, as Chuck moved a little to the left to get a better angle with his phone. When he nodded, Rico began to speak.
“I’m Rico Torres, and I’m standing in front of the San Diego Waste Treatment Facility,” he started. “For nearly twenty years, a man named William Turnbill served as the manager of this facility. However, five years ago, William retired, and his nephew, Jeff Turnbill, took over as facility manager. And that’s when beachgoers started getting sick . . .”
The front doors of the building flew open and a large, meaty man with a receding hairline stomped out.
“Get the FUCK out of here!” the man bellowed. A slight woman with an updo teetered after him in a tweed pencil skirt and heels.
“Mr. Turnbill, do not say a word!” she ordered him.
“I heard you’ve been snooping around here,” the man growled as he approached Rico and Chuck .
From her hiding spot, Jax flinched. The man was as thick as a bull and seemed ready to trample the two men standing in his way.
But if Rico was afraid, he didn’t show it. Instead, he turned toward the oncoming man.
“Mr. Turnbill, just before your uncle retired, he submitted a detailed plan to the city for what he termed ‘a much needed’ retrofit and repair of your existing piping infrastructure. The city approved a $70 million bond for the project. Did you ever implement his plan?”
“Don’t answer that,” the woman in the tweed skirt snapped. “No comment.”
Rico didn’t slow down for a second. “Sure. How about this? Mr. Turnbill, in his request for repair funds, your uncle noted that much of the current sewage infrastructure was working beyond capacity and nearing the end of its usability. Part of the funds was meant to add capacity as San Diego’s population continues to grow. Did you ever install additional infrastructure?”
The man clutched his hands into huge fists. “You think it’s easy running a huge plant like this? You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about!” His voice shook with rage. Jax, who had only known anger as soft, icy tones from Mom Clarissa, felt her heart quake.
Rico kept going. “Are you aware of reports over the last five years of a steady increase in waste pollution readings in the ocean? Or that several beachgoers have reported illnesses after visiting beaches close to this plant?”
“That has nothing to do with us!” Jeff Turnbill barked.
The woman’s hair was coming undone in the windy day. “The San Diego Waste Treatment Facility is one hundred percent committed to the safety of the communities it serves. We are proud of our two-decade track record and the city’s confidence in us. ”
“Mr. Turnbill, there are only six companies in the entire world who make the equipment you would need to expand your facility to meet the city’s current waste management needs,” Rico said, raising his voice over the woman’s. “I called every one of them and no one has worked with your company in the last decade.”
“I . . . I . . .,” the man hollered. Sweat trembled on his upper lip. “I swear to GOD you’re gonna regret this.”
Chuck tensed and his free hand crept to the inside of his jacket. Jax dug through her pockets and pulled out her key chain, which included a long aluminum self-defense spike. If this man tried to lay a hand on Rico, she’d fly from her hiding spot like a hellcat. She’d been studying hard for her human biology final and knew exactly where the spleen was located.
Rico spoke fast. “Mr. Turnbill, you’ve submitted reports to the San Diego Board of Directors claiming that your equipment is in full working order. However, I have original copies of those reports and they show that your equipment is under severe duress. I also have email correspondence that shows you are, in fact, aware of ongoing leakage from your facility. Do you have a response?”
“Jeff, don’t say another damn word!” the woman ordered. Small though she was, she grabbed the man’s arm and tried to tug him backward.
“You have, let me see, three vacation homes?” Rico pushed forward. “The one outside of Paris looks especially nice. Your lifestyle is truly impressive for someone on a government employee’s salary.”
Jeff Turnbill’s face flushed a furious red. “You’re gonna destroy me!” His voice cracked. He might have been crying. Jax looked again. Yep, definitely crying. Tears streamed down the big man’s twitching cheeks. Whether those tears were from rage, guilt, or fear, Jax didn’t know .
What she did know is that Jeff Turnbill was 1,000 percent going to take a swing at Rico. His fisted knuckles grew white. God, what if he’s armed? Jax thought, a pit of fear gaping open in her chest. She took a step out of her hiding spot, the spike clutched between her index and middle finger.
Two security guards rushed from the building. One stepped in front of Jeff Turnbill. The other started barking at Rico and Chuck to leave.
“No comment!” the woman in heels shouted one more time. She grabbed Jeff Turnbill’s arm, and the big man seemed, extraordinarily, to lean on her small frame for support as he staggered toward the building. His heaving shoulders sunk in defeat.
Jax released the breath she hadn’t known she was holding, then scurried back to the van. She could barely feel her hands as she scrabbled at the door handle. Her knees felt wobbly when she pulled herself into the van. And all she could see was Rico, strong and stoic, as he stood his ground against a man who clearly wanted to murder him.
The two men returned to the van a short time later. Chuck’s frown lines seemed carved an inch deeper into his forehead. Rico was breathing a little heavily, and she could detect a light flush in his copper cheeks.
“How’d it go?” she asked, trying to keep her voice even.
“Don’t ask,” Chuck grumbled.
“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” Rico said, though he couldn’t quite manage his normal, carefree smile.