Chapter 2 

Joseph White sat at the security desk in the lobby of the Los Angeles Dispatch weekdays from nine to five, his immense form menacing all who entered the building.  He was paid to scrutinize the foot traffic, confirming credentials before allowing entrance to the building.  Bedeviling Luther Shehee was merely a job perk.  Joseph watched surreptitiously as Luther’s pathetic form struggled through the revolving door.  A snort erupted as Joseph placed his hand over his mouth in an unsuccessful attempt to suppress an emergent grin.  The two men did not make eye contact, but as he passed, Luther pointed at Joseph and said,  "One word, wise-ass, and they find you in the alley!  Understand??"  Luther didn't stop to acknowledge a response, but if the elevator doors hadn't closed, he would have seen Joseph White's huge hands trying to cover his face, his mountainous body shaking with convulsive laughter.

Deadlines, a fact of life for Luther after twenty-plus years in the God-forsaken newspaper business, lately had become an albatross strapped to his neck, as he struggled, usually in vain, to write something of significance.  Displayed on his computer screen were the remnants of story lines he’d threatened to develop; bones scattered across the table after a feast.  Silently he scanned the list, hoping something would jump out at him.  Jewell wouldn't stand still for just anything.  The Pulitzer on his office wall attested to his success, so maybe he could play fast and loose just this once.  Luther scanned his short list of topics:  Bobby Knight (again)... nah, too pedestrian; Ray Carruth held possibility, but Los Angeles was still divided in the wake of the O.J. trial… surely there was a football player somewhere who was actively using his wife as a blocking dummy… nothing seemed to hold much promise of success in his alcohol-induced convalescence.

Then, like one of the pervasive lightning bolts currently residing in his brain, an idea appeared.  Why not write about what you know?  It was one of the most basic rules in journalism school.  Before he knew it, his fingers were at the keyboard, flying on wings of necessity:

         A clear and present danger?

by Luther Shehee

There are times in a man’s life when he must journey deep within his soul; delve into that pit where demons reside, search them out and vanquish them.  He must tempt the fates, examine his conscience, fight blow for blow with the most fearsome of beasts, himself.   When there are demons to be overpowered and tortured psyches to be soothed, what better venue than the squared circle?

Blah, blah, blah... yada, yada, yada... etc., etc...

Yes, it was pablum, but, damn, it felt good!  Fingers flew across the keys, oblivious to pain.  As if by sleight of hand the story emerged, complete with the magic Luther had come to rely upon.  He scanned it briefly and without bothering to edit, pressed Send.  With a flash, the contents, at the speed of light, found their way through cyberspace to Jewell McCullough's in-basket.  Luther slipped the Seiko off his wrist and started the countdown.  Two minutes and three seconds later, his phone rang.  Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new record!  This wasn't good. 

A sheepish smile appeared on his lips as he muttered into the phone,  "Yes, darling?”

Luther abruptly moved the phone away from his ear.  “Be right there, hon".

Tugging at the knot, Luther loosened his tie and grabbed his coffee cup, pausing to contemplate his immediate future. If he was compelled to yet again engage in verbal combat with Jewel, a little more caffeine couldn’t hurt. I really need to get some help.