Taken By The Bull

Chapter 4

Something about all of this reminded Staci uncomfortably of her less stellar moments at high school; that sense of having to spend time with someone she knew didn’t like her, of having no choice but to smile and nod and play the game despite the fact that she didn’t know the rules.

Still, she reminded herself as she closed the door of the rental car and slipped the strap of her sensible black bag over one shoulder, this wasn’t high school She could get up and leave at any time – and most importantly, Dawn had no power over her. No gang of like-minded friends to back her up, no teacher to tell a skewed version of events to, and no bell to wait on before she could leave.

Using the reflective window of the car as a makeshift mirror, she smoothed down the fabric of her white fitted shirt and made sure it sat evenly over the hips of the knee-length black pencil skirt. A little formal, perhaps, like her hair pinned up with an abalone clip, but – it was good to be formal, sometimes. Especially when dealing with interviewees who might be a little… Difficult. And, no matter what happened, Staci was quite sure that Dawn was going to be difficult.

With a small sigh she turned, putting the comforting refuge of the car behind her as she made her way from the parking lot to the coffee-shop across the road, passing underneath the sign that bore its name; Cafe-Nation, she thought. Cute.

As she drew nearer, she saw a familiar spill of blonde hair falling over the black-clad shoulders of the woman sitting at one of the tables in the little garden outside. Of course. Why drink hot drinks in the calm of the air-conditioned interior, when they could sit outside in the searing noon-time heat? Well, at least there was a parasol shading the table; but there was no calming breeze today, and not a single cloud in the arching sky above.

Heels clicking on the reddish paving stones below, she made her way towards Dawn Ashleigh with a light step and a false smile. Put your best foot forward, like Mom always says.

“Good afternoon!” The cheeriness in her voice as she greeted Dawn was so far from how she really felt, it almost felt like some kind of lie; but a necessary one. “What a nice little place.”

“Oh, isn’t it?” Dawn stood, casual and stylish in a two-piece black silk suit that had the elegant look of Italian tailoring; as cool and collected as a house cat licking its paws. “My daddy owns shares in the place. Daddy has excellent taste.”

She’s one of those grown-ass women who calls their father ‘Daddy’. I’ve always thought that was more than a little creepy.

Staci cautiously shook the hand that Dawn held out to her, and felt a certain kind of firmness in the grip. The kind of firmness that suggested that Dawn did this a lot, and was perfectly okay with asserting authority right from the get-go. It was rather a relief to let go and put her hand back on the strap of the bag at her shoulder. “I hope the coffee is as good as the décor!”

Small-talk. Not something she was exactly… Skilled at. It always felt too forced, too unnatural; like wearing a suit that didn’t fit, like walking in high-heels on uneven ground.

“The baristas know exactly what they’re doing.” Dawn smiled, tilting her head to one side. “Come, sit down. Let’s have a nice little girly-chat.”

Oh, lord. Kill me now. “That will be lovely.” With a smile of her own, Staci lowered herself into the painted white-steel chair, keeping her back straight, her knees together – as studied and cautious as if she were in a deportment class from the fifties. “Do I have your permission to record the conversation, Miss Ashleigh?”

“Oh, please call me Dawn.” So familiar, so sweet – as if that nasty little scene at the ranch yesterday had never even happened. “And of course you have permission. It’s what you media-types do, isn’t it?”

“Sadly, yeah. You’re never quite off the clock when you’re an investigative reporter.” Staci slipped the zip of her bag open; no buttons or fasteners, no hooks and belts on the little satchel. She always had to have the tools of her trade at easy reach, after all.

As she took out the voice recorder in its slim leather case, something caught on the little latch that held it closed and came out with it. Dragging along like a fish on a hook, clattering slightly when it touched the table top, was something small and silver on a chain. “Huh?”

“What’s that?” Dawn leaned forward, as curious and forward as a cat. “That’s Steve’s.” Her eyes narrowed instantly, tone sharpening slightly. “Why do you you have it?”

“Oh, oh – this?” Staci unhooked the chain from around the leather holder and dropped it back inside her bag quickly. She hadn’t expected to start off on this note – and she didn’t like it when the unexpected happened while she was on the job. “I found it on the ground a little way out of the ranch after my second interview yesterday. Forgot I had the thing.”

“Hmm. Give it to me, I’ll see he gets it back.” Dawn put her hand out, in the direction of Staci’s bag; not far enough to be demanding, nowhere near enough to be rude, but certainly enough to be insistent. “It belonged to his father, you know. So you can’t have it. He’ll want it back.”

There was something about the way Dawn said that, that made Staci feel as if she was being accused of thievery. Don’t take it personal, she told herself. After all, I’m not about to hand it back to her because I figure SHE might be planning on keeping it. So we’re even. “No, that’s okay,” she replied, keeping her tone light and breezy in an attempt to pass the matter off as nothing. “I’ll hand it back to Steve or Seth when I see them next.”

“Sure,” Dawn shrugged. “You do that.”

Putting the incident from her mind, Staci put her bag back on the floor beside her, and removed the voice recorder from its case. She set the slim silver device on the heavy glass table; all data had been stored on an SD card and wiped from internal memory, so it was clean and empty as a crystal vase awaiting flowers.

That interesting little conversation she’d caught accidentally was just a little fragment of that data; tagged as being important, stored in its own little folder. If she did end up finding anything that would validate her gut feeling that Steve was hiding something… Well, she might need to find it easily again. If not, it would end up stored on a hard drive along with hundreds of hours of other clips she’d recorded over the years. Without anything further to back it up, it didn’t amount to much. Still – Staci never deleted anything for good.

She tapped the power switch, and almost immediately the green light blinked on; another tap of the same button, and the light turned red. And, it’s go-time.

All the while, she studiously avoided Dawn’s gimlet stare.

She tapped the power switch, and almost immediately the green light blinked on; another tap of the same button, and the light turned red. And, it’s go-time.

“So. Anyway. An ‘investigative’ reporter, hmm? So what does that really mean?” Dawn was saying; only half the sentence caught by the recorder. “Exposing the s*x lives of politicians?”

“Well, I’m sure that some do. Really, it just means finding new stories that you know will interest the core demographic for the station.” Though Staci was aching to ask her questions, get her answers and get the hell away – it was probably for the best to try and put Dawn at ease. To remind her that Staci wasn’t a rival, she was a professional woman doing her job. “Finding the stories, and getting as much relevant information in as little time as possible.”

“That’s just fascinating.” Was there a hint of sarcasm in those words? Studying Dawn’s expression as she smiled, Staci wasn’t sure if she was merely being paranoid. “I thought you were more the – stand in front of the camera and talk type.”

“I’m happier behind the camera. My boss likes me in front of it. We compromise.” Okay, now; time to get to my questions. “So-”