Ch. 26 – Rico
R ico clutched his microphone, stared into the camera, and tried to smile. He really God damn tried. But even as Chuck gave him the thumbs-up, all he could think about was Jax’s face last night. She’d been terrified, or disgusted. Maybe both? He’d replayed the scene over and over on the drive home . . . and over and over in the shower . . . and then over again in bed. It’d been his personal merry-go-round of horror.
Jax had accepted his kiss. Invited it. He was sure of that. He’d felt so much fucking chemistry between them. Rico closed his eyes. He could practically drown in the feel of her lips. The velvet taste of her mouth. And then . . . she’d run like he’d transformed into a chainsaw murderer.
“Torres!” Chuck hissed.
Rico blinked. The room came back into focus. Shit. He scrambled to recover. “Good evening, I’m Rico Torres here at the Sunshine Villas Senior Living Resort for a very special day.” He forced a grin and looked at the two people on either side of him. “Nancy and Albert Jacobson are celebrating their anniversary today, but it’s not just any anniversary. ”
He bent toward the tiny, hunched woman to his right. “Nancy, how many years have you been married to Albert today?”
The woman frowned beneath a head of snow-white curls. “It’s raining today?”
“Seventy years!” Rico said into the microphone. “Isn’t that amazing?” He bent down to the elderly man in the wheelchair on his left. “Albert, can you tell me how you and Nancy met?”
“Opal said we’d get cake,” Albert huffed. “Where’s Opal?”
Rico kept on smiling. “The staff tell me that Albert and Nancy met in high school in Dayton, Ohio. They were sweethearts for a year before Albert went overseas to fight in the Korean War. They continued writing to each other while Albert was on the front lines. They married as soon as he returned.”
“What did he learn?” Nancy asked.
“They have six children, eighteen grandchildren, and nine great-grandchildren,” Rico continued. “Isn’t that incredible?”
“Chocolate cake,” Albert clarified. “Not vanilla. I want chocolate.”
“Congratulations, you two,” Rico added. “Now, let’s get this gentleman some well-deserved cake.” He stood, grinning, until Chuck gave him another thumbs-up. Then he deflated, lowering the mic.
“Well, that was fun,” he said to his two guests.
“You want to run?” Nancy asked. “No, I can’t. I’ve got two fake hips.”
“No one’s running anywhere,” said Opal the nurse. She gave Rico a helpless shrug as she took Nancy by the arm and slowly steered the old woman to one of the tables in the dining room. The staff had made an admirable effort for the celebration. A large, shiny banner hung on the wall and announced Happy Anniversary. The banner hung above a picture collage. Rico gazed at pictures of Albert standing proud and tall in his military uniform, of Nancy, her hair a rich oak, holding a baby to her chest. A whole lifetime captured in the images.
Other residents of the facility gathered at the center table, most eyeing the large chocolate cake sitting next to a few colorful envelopes.
Nurse Opal stepped up beside Rico and gave him a saucy smile. “You did your best.” She touched his arm.
“What?” he asked.
“With Albert and Nancy, the interview,” she clarified. “You did your best. I know they didn’t exactly cooperate, but people will still think it’s sweet. At least, I did.”
She lowered her eyes and nibbled seductively on her bottom lip. Her bunny-print scrubs hinted at a gorgeous curvy body. Usually, Rico would be all over a spicy creature like her, but not today. Even the thought of flirting back made him feel empty inside.
What was happening to him? Was he sick? Brain tumor, maybe?
Opal glanced up at him, registered his disinterest, and sighed. “Come on, Albert, let’s get you some cake,” she said, and took the handles of Albert’s wheelchair. She looked back at Rico.
“Would you like some cake?” The simpering hitch in her voice said, . . .and anything else?
“No, thanks. Empty calories,” he muttered, barely paying attention.
Her lips turned into a pout, but she nodded and pushed Albert’s wheelchair toward the gathering of the other gray hairs. Over the next hour, Rico interviewed two of the couple’s kids and one of their grandkids who had come by to celebrate the event, as well as the director of the senior center. He then all but collapsed into a chair at the edge of the dining room while Chuck captured B-roll of Nancy cutting the cake and the couple eating together, smearing icing on their lips .
Just another fifteen minutes, and he could return to the station and start putting this story together for the evening broadcast. Digging into his pocket, Rico pulled out his phone. Had Jax texted? Maybe an explanation? Something? Anything?
No new messages. Should he call her? Everything in Rico wanted to see her again, beg to know what he’d done wrong. But the memory of her face stilled his hand. Had she been afraid of him? Or disgusted? Dark, ugly fears rose inside him. What if Jax had concluded that he wasn’t good enough for her?
His phone rang. Rico nearly dropped it.
Jax?
The screen showed an unknown caller with a Yucca Hills area code. His heart still flooded with hope. Maybe she was the only member of Gen Z in the entire country who had a house phone?
“Jax?” he blurted after accepting the call.
“What?” responded a whispery, most-definitely-not-Jax voice on the other end.
“Oh.” Rico’s heart slowly sank in his rib cage. He cleared his throat. “Rico Torres, who is this?”
The caller ignored his question. “I hear you’ve been asking around about The Rose and Thorn and the mayor.” The caller kept his voice low as if trying to obscure his identity.
Rico perked up. “You’ve got something for me?” He’d spent last week putting out feelers all over Yucca Hills, trying to dig up anything he could find on the mayor.
“Look into Porter Development Co.,” the voice said.
Rico leaned forward in his chair. He had to be careful. The source sounded nervous. “What’ll I find if I do? ”
The voice on the other end of the line went quiet. Rico waited, wondering if he’d pressed too far, too fast. Cultivating sources was often a delicate balancing act.
“Hello?” he asked. Had the caller hung up?
“Porter gave Bishop huge campaign donations,” the voice spoke. “Not directly. Through a dark money political PAC. But if you dig enough, you’ll find the trail.”
Rico let out a long breath. “And what does that have to do with The Rose and Thorn?”
Another long pause. Then: “The Terrace.”
“Terrace?” Rico repeated. “How do you know all this?”
“I . . .I worked on the mayor’s campaign. That’s all I want to say.”
“Okay,” Rico replied smoothly. The source was getting spooked. He needed to back off. “I’ll look into it, I promise. Can I call you back at this number if I have more questions?”
“I could lose my job if anyone found out I was talking to you,” the voice said.
“I appreciate that,” Rico responded. “I can walk you through steps to encrypt your communication if you want to reach me again.”
“Theo is a good man,” the voice said, then the line went dead.
The caller hadn’t agreed to another conversation, but he hadn’t said no, either. He was obviously struggling with his conscience. Rico felt it in his gut that he could get the source to say more. But first, he needed to show that he was willing to put in the work.
Rico opened his notes app and typed:
Porter Dev Co.
Black $ pac.
Bishop campaign donor.
Terrace .
He smiled. Now that he knew where to look, he’d be a bloodhound, following the trail of Porter Development Co. wherever it led. Rico sat back in the chair. As soon as he returned to the station, he’d recruit an army of interns to start combing through every spec of info on Porter and The Terrace, whatever that was.
Rico groaned. Shit! He couldn’t do that. He was still in human interest story purgatory. His producer, Diane, would never sanction an investigative story of this nature, especially not after he’d gone behind her back and published the sewage story last week. Rico couldn’t pull any interns to help him with background research. He couldn’t ask the legal department to submit document requests or assign junior reporters to follow secondary leads.
He was entirely on his own.
Didn’t matter. Rico squared his shoulders. He’d just have to put in more hours. Do all the nitty gritty himself. It’d take longer, but he’d get his story, and when it was ready, Diane would have no choice but to let him run it.
“A bit of advice from someone much older and wiser,” a voice spoke next to him.
Rico startled, his eyes shooting to Albert, who faced him. A ginormous piece of cake sat on a plate in the old man’s lap.
Rico gave the man a shaky smile. “You said you had advice? Okay, shoot.”
“If someone offers you cake, take it.” Albert shoved a plastic forkful of the frosty dessert into his mouth.
Rico laughed. “Empty calories.”
“They’re not empty if you enjoy them with friends,” Albert argued, leaning back in his wheelchair.
Rico shrugged. “Fair enough.” He eyed Albert. “Can I ask you something? ”
“Sure, young man.”
“What’s the secret to lasting love?”
Albert laughed, ate another bite of cake. “When you find a woman who makes you want to be a better version of yourself, you keep her. And if she can cook, all the better. Nancy never could cook, but I love that woman anyway.”
Rico smiled and patted the elderly man on the shoulder. “Thanks, Albert.”