Better Late Than Dead: Episode 3

This is episode three of the novel Better Late Than Dead. It is the 7th book in the Rich Larsen Adventure Series. An episode will be posted every Monday and Friday. 

Rich has returned to the home he ran away from six years earlier. He’s back living with his parents, hoping to make amends for the pain he caused them. Two years have passed since returning home. That’s where this story begins. 

Episode 3

Tension between Rich and Briggs escalated over the next two weeks. Three times, Briggs stormed from his office and slammed Rich’s work on his desk. Each time, Rich saw him coming. He did little more than raise an eyebrow. Rich knew that Briggs’ actions were meant to intimidate him. He was not about to allow himself to be intimidated by anyone.

However, Rich reasoned that he did not need this drama. At home, his mother and father had become distant. Maybe a twenty-four-year-old son living at home was causing unforeseen stress. He entertained the notion of moving away. He knew the day would come, but thought it might not come under the current acrimonious circumstances at the newspaper. And as for the relationship with his parents, it seemed to fade. Rich tried to open up an earnest conversation. However, his mother and father would say that was in the past and not to open old wounds.

It was Monday morning. Rich walked to his desk at 7:45. He grabbed the papers in his in-basket and skimmed through them. He set them aside and pulled his appointment book from his inside jacket pocket. He had a 10:30 appointment with a city councilman and a 1:45 appointment with a local union president.

The newsroom had a quiet phone booth where reporters could talk in private. Rich turned in his chair and looked at the booth. It was empty. He got up and walked to the booth. He sat and called the Augusta Times in Maine.

“Butch Hagler, please.”

Rich waited. “It’s Rich Larsen.”

“Rich Larsen! I was just thinking about you. Are you in town?”

“No, I’m calling from my hometown newspaper in Ohio.”

“I always wondered what happened to you and if you were in that mess with Sam White up in Rockland. Man, that was a shocker.”

“Sure was.”

“So, besides the local newspaper, what have you been doing? When did you leave Rockland?”

“I left Rockland just before things happened in Rockland with Sam. Actually, Sam gave me his sailboat.”

“His pride and joy?”

“Yeah, he had a baby and said he’d never sail it the way he wanted to. So I put some work into it, and on a whim or whatever, he gave it to me. I left Rockland six years ago. I sailed Sam’s boat around the world. That took four years. I was married briefly, but my wife died suddenly.”

“Oh, Rich, I’m so sorry to hear that. How long ago did it happen?”

“A little more than two years ago.”

“That’s so sad. I don’t know what else to say.”

“You’ve said all that can be said.”

“What brought you back to Ohio?”

“I need to reconcile with my parents.”

“And?”

“Not so good. I’m thinking about moving on.”

“Do you need a job or reference? I’m the news editor. A big shot now. I drive a Porsche and have a mortgage.”

Rich chuckled. “And I have a room with my parents, drive an old Jeep.”

“But ya don’t have a mortgage,” Butch quipped. “Tell ya what, Rich, you get up here the first of the month, and I’ll match whatever the Buzzardville Crossing Gazette pays plus ten percent. I’ll even put you up for a couple of weeks until you find your own place.”

“That’s music to my ears.”

“So Thomas Wolfe was right,” Butch said.

“Yep,” Rich said, “you can never go home again.”

“I look forward to seeing you,” Butch said.

“Likewise.”

Rich hung up. He walked out into the newsroom. The room was full, and typewriters clattered out the news of the day.

Better Late Than Dead; Episode 2

  This is episode two of the novel Better Late Than Dead. It is the 7th book in the Rich Larsen Adventure Series. An episode will be posted every Monday and Friday.

Rich has returned to the home he ran away from six years earlier. He’s back living with his parents, hoping to make amends for the pain he caused them. Two years have passed since returning home. That’s where this story begins. 

Episode 2

It was 4:55. Rich was the only one remaining in the newsroom. Briggs was still in his office. Rich tugged his story from the typewriter. He placed it in the out-basket on his desk just as the copygirl gathered outgoing copy from the other desks. He watched the copygirl enter Briggs’ office and place the copy she collected on his desk. He watched Briggs flirt, but could not make out the words. The copygirl left the office with a smile.

I get it, Rich mused to himself. She’s my replacement. He needs an excuse to fire me, or better yet, make my life so miserable I’ll quit.

Rich stood. He grabbed his sports jacket from the back of his chair. He slung it over his shoulder and hung it on his finger. He felt a little smug. He figured it all out. He walked down an aisle between the newsroom desks. It led to Briggs’ office. Briggs glanced up. Rich stopped at the door and leaned in.

“Good night, Mr. Briggs. Mr. Briggs, I’m sorry we’re not really getting along. Before taking this job, I had offers at two other newspapers. I took this one to be close to my parents. The man who recommended me thought he was doing this paper a favor. He thought it would upgrade the writing in the newsroom.”

Briggs scoffed. “You arrogant swab of puss.”

“You ever wonder why you haven’t been offered a job elsewhere?” Rich said. “How many times have you tried to move up and been turned down?”

“I like where I’m at,” Briggs said.

“And so do I,” Rich said.

“You’re not a team player,” Briggs said. “You think you’re better than the rest of your team. You don’t strike up friendships, ask for help, have an after-hours drink with workmates, or ever ask for help. You're a snob. You think you’re too good.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. Briggs.”

“I’m not,” Briggs said. “I’m dead on.”

“If you think I’m going out of my way to prove you wrong, you’re dead wrong. The thing is, I know you better than you know me. I’m guessing you were the butt of jokes in school. Never had a serious conversation with a girl. Could never get one to look at you. It only got worse in college. You moved across the country and reinvented yourself. You model yourself after somebody who has everything you lack. You probably had a squeaky nasal voice and worked hard to develop your rich baritone voice. You put a lot into yourself, but who you really are shines through. The only reason you have this job is that it was given to you as payment to leave the owner’s daughter alone.”

Briggs rose in his seat. It was as if somebody kicked him in the stomach.

“Don’t worry. A good reporter protects his sources. Before I took this job, I was told all about it. And frankly, Mr. Briggs, it means nothing to me. I don’t care. If you fire me now, no one would ever hear it from me.”

Briggs swallowed hard. Panic was carved on his face.

“Good night, sir,” Rich said and walked away.

He walked down the steps leading to the exit. He heard footsteps behind him. At the bottom of the steps, a man’s voice called, “Larsen. Rich Larsen.”

Rich stepped outside onto the sidewalk. He turned around. A man about Rich’s age smiled. “Do you remember me?”

“Have we met?” Rich said.

“You work on the sports desk, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but I was a year ahead of you in school. Stan Ward.”

“Yeah,” Rich said, “I remember you. We had a study hall together.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Stan said. “Whatever happened to you? I heard you ran away.”

Rich flashed a crooked smile. “I did.”

“Well, where did you go?” Stan asked. “What happened to you?”

“Short version or long version?” Rich said.

“Short version now and the long version over a beer and pizza,” Stan said. “I’m buying.”

Rich followed Stan to a pizza place. It was Monday, and the place was dead. They sat at a booth and ordered immediately.

“Where’d you get that ole Jeep?” Stan asked.

“I bought it a few years back,” Rich said.

“That’s the short version, right?” Stan said.

Rich smiled. “It’s the only version.”

“I heard the conversation you had with Briggs,” Stan said.

“I intended it to be private.”

“The newsroom is like the Mormon Tabernacle,” Stan said. “When the room is empty, you can hear a mouse fart from inside a desk drawer.”

“I felt it was overdue,” Rich said.

“He’s a smarmy lowlife,” Stan said. “Sounds personal.”

“A year before you came here, this girl from the university and I started the same week. We were friends at school. I cared for her. Briggs had her in his office all the time. Business lunches. Working late. One day, she’s gone. A few months later, she had a baby. So from what I heard of your conversation, you have him pegged.”

“How’s she doing?”

“Okay,” Stan said. “I guess. She found a job at another paper. I called her a couple of times, and she told me not to call anymore. She was sweet enough to say it wasn’t me, but just a reminder of the mistake she made. The good thing about it is that Briggs wants nothing to do with her or the kid.”

The waitress brought two mugs and a pitcher of beer. Stan poured the beer.

“What’s the long version?” Stan asked.

“It took seven years to live and seventy years to tell.” They began sipping the beer. “After I left home, I went to Maine. I worked for a newspaper. Started as a janitor. Ended up a reporter. I did that for three years. I learned to sail and sailed for four years. I came back here. I met an old schoolmate and started drinking beer.”

“That’s all you’re going to tell me for now, isn’t it?” Stan said.

“For now.”

“That’s okay with me,” Stan said. “I’d only end up being jealous of all the things you’ve done. Me, I'm stuck here.”

“What’s keeping you here?” Rich asked. “Are you married? Have a girl? Family obligation?”

“No, no, and no,” Stan said. They sipped. “I’m comfortable,” Stan said. “I don’t mind telling you because you don’t talk to anyone anyway.”

Rich shrugged one shoulder.

“I went to college right after high school,” Stan said. “Didn’t want to get drafted. Majored in English and Journalism. Dean’s list, cum laude, great future. You know I could have gotten a job at the Toledo Blade. I took the low-hanging fruit. The university gave me a great education and a great start in my career, but they didn’t give me courage and ambition.”

Rich clicked his cheek. “Those things are highly overrated.”

“It had to take courage to do what you did,” Stan said. “Leave home at fifteen.”

“You do a pretty good interview,” Rich said.

“I’m just talking, here, Rich. I need beer, pizza, and somebody to talk to.”

Rich nodded to indicate he understood. “Desperation.”

“What?” Stan said.

“It wasn’t courage, it was desperation.”

“Home?” Stan asked.

“Home,” Rich replied. “I’ve spent the last two years trying to make up for it.”

“What about your mom and dad?” Stan asked.

“They’re trying.”

“Did you really work for a guy who won a Pulitzer?” Stan asked incredulously. “Sam White,” Stan said. “The newspaper guy who was instrumental in breaking up that Commie plot to take over a couple of northeastern states?”

“I was out of the country when all that happened,” Rich said. “I’ve never bothered to catch up on it.”

“But that’s the guy you worked for?” Stan said.

“A small newspaper in Rockland, Maine,” Rich said. “He gave me the boat I sailed. He hired kids out of Harvard. He’d unteach them and send ‘em out into the world. When it came to me, there was nothing to unteach. I could barely write a sentence. In a month, I was writing for the newspaper. Then an actual reporter. Mind you, he went through a case of red pencils just on me.”

“Have you read any of my stuff?” Stan asked.

The waitress interrupted the answer by bringing the pizza. They began eating and complimenting the taste.

“Nothing better than hometown pizza?” Stan said. “What about you?”

Rich chuckled. “I was thinking the same thing. Believe it or not, this is the first pizza I’ve had since coming back home.”

“You haven’t had pizza in two years!” Stan said.

“It’s been about five or six,” Rich said with his mouth full.

“That’s incredible,” Stan said.

“Stan,” Rich said, “you’re a pretty good writer.”

“We’re talking pizza, here,” Stan said.

“You asked before the pizza came if I read your stuff,” Rich said.

“I wasn’t fishing for a compliment,” Stan said. “But I will take it. I was just asking if you read my stuff. I read yours and thought it was pretty crappy. It’s nice knowing that Briggs is the one putting all the hyperbole and shine on it. What you give him probably bears little resemblance to what is published. He ought to take your byline. What do you suppose he’s trying to prove?”

“His type live in a bubble,” Rich said. “He thinks everybody else is wrong. Eventually, the world will come around to him.”

“The owner is paying quite a price to keep Briggs away from his daughter,” Stan said.

Rich sipped his beer and stared at Stan over the top of his mug.

“What?” Stan said.

“Nothing,” Rich said.

“I know that look,” Stan said. “You didn’t invent it. I’ve used it plenty of times.”

“What did you use it for?” Rich said.

“Okay,” Stan said, “what am I missing?”

Rich tilted his head.

“Briggs has something else?” Stan asked.

Rich shrugged.

“What is it?” Stan leaned across the table.

Rich smiled. “If I knew, I wouldn’t tell a guy on the sports desk. Seriously, I don’t know. But figure it out. Do some digging.”

“Wait a minute,” Stan said, “is this anything like the thing with Sam White back in Maine. Are you a plant? The owner of this paper has been accused of being a commie. Everybody knows he has socialist ideas, but…”

“Don’t go out on that limb,” Rich said. “I like you and don’t want to see you full Tail Gunner Joe on me.”

“Remember,” Stan said, “I don’t possess the courage to go out on a limb.”

“You covered the city golf tournament last week,” Rich said. “You made golf interesting.”

“Thanks,” Stan said.

“Nouns and verbs so strong you don’t need adjectives,” Rich said.

“I’d have used vigorous instead of strong,” Stan said.

“Why sports?” Rich asked.

“I played or tried to play everything, but I was lousy at everything,” Stan said. “I love sports, and I always thought I could bring the love I had for it to the reader.”

“And here’s where you choose to ply your craft?” Rich said.

“One might think that’s a lack of courage or ambition,” Stan said. “But I get just as big a kick, if not bigger, to write with the same vigor that I would if covering the World Series. Do you understand me?”

“That’s exactly the way Sam White thought,” Rich said. “You’re in good company.”

They finished the pizza and pitcher of beer.

Better Late Than Dead: Episode 1

This is episode one of the novel Better Late Than Dead. It is the 7th book in the Rich Larsen Adventure Series. An episode will be posted every Monday and Friday.

Rich has returned to the home he ran away from six years earlier. He’s back living with his parents, hoping to make amends for the pain he caused them. Two years have passed since returning home. That’s where this story begins. 

Episode 1

It was summer. It was hot. The air conditioning could not keep the second-story newsroom comfortable. All the men in the newsroom had their shirts open at the top, and the women wore summer attire more suited for a picnic.

Rich sat at his desk typing a story he hoped to finish by 5:00. It was 3:55. His phone rang. He picked up the receiver.

“Rich Larsen.”

“Larsen, this is Briggs. Come to my office.”

Briggs was the news editor. He had worked at the newspaper for twenty years. He dyed his hair black and had a comb-over. He fancied himself a ladies’ man. If he hired three reporters, two would be female and attractive. One of them would end up living with him until she found another news editor at a larger paper. Rich disliked that environment. His former boss, Sam White, back in Rockland, was all about good reporting and writing. Rich thought the guy he was about to see thought ‘adverb’ was the root for ‘advertising.’

Rich rapped on the door and stepped into the office. Briggs sat in a white shirt unbuttoned at the neck with his sleeves rolled up. His shirt was soaked with perspiration around the armpits. He bobbed his head and smirked.

“What’s up?” Rich said.

“You know I have you in here more than anybody out there,” Briggs said.

Rich said nothing. Where is this conversation heading? He wondered.

“Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” Briggs asked.

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at. I don’t keep track of who goes in and out of your office.”

“Look,” Briggs said, leaning over his desk, “the only reason I hired you is that some professor at the university knows a guy who knows a guy who said you were good. And the owner said so.”

Rich stood up straight. He looked around the office as if he hoped someone might hold up a cue card so he would have something to say.

“You’re not getting it, are you?” Briggs asked. “Don’t you ever read your articles after they go to print?”

“Yes, sir, I do,” Rich said.

“I take your screed and turn it into a polished piece of well-written news.” Briggs attempted a half-smile.

Rich felt as if he were being lectured by a high school English teacher in front of the class. Everyone in the newsroom is listening, he thought with certainty.

“Haven’t you ever wondered why you haven’t got a raise?” Briggs asked, tapping a pencil against his desk. “You could make my job a lot easier if you’d learn from your mistakes. Your reporting is blah. You don’t have what it takes to craft a story. We have volunteer folks out in the community who send us better stuff than you write.”

“Sir,” Rich said, “I just get my story and write.”

“Well, the reason you haven’t got a raise is that you don’t write well. If you’d take the time to read what I edit and put in print, you might see where you could improve.”

“I’m sorry that I put that extra load on you,” Rich said apologetically.

“No raise in almost two years—doesn’t that tell you something?” Briggs said.

“If you want me to quit, just say so.”

“You see, Larsen, it’s not smart to ask someone to quit or fire someone who is hired as a favor to the owner.”

“Well, sir,” Rich said, “I’ve read what you’ve edited, and by the time it hits the print, it’s pretty much unreadable.”

Briggs slammed his hand on the desk. “You smug punk,” he snapped. “I should give you your walking papers now. I checked you out. I don’t know where you went to college, but you dropped out of school around here a few years back. How’d you ever get a diploma—two box tops of Cheerios and fifty cents?”

Rich heaved a deep breath through his nose. He blinked slowly. He didn’t mind harsh criticism if it was actually directed toward improvement. However, he was certain the real reason for the harshness was jealousy. Briggs had never learned to write well and never had to.

“Get back to your desk and start putting an edge and pizzazz in your writing,” Briggs ordered. “I don’t want oatmeal. I want bacon and eggs. And I want the bacon to sizzle.”

“Sizzle,” Rich smirked.

“Yeah,” Briggs said. He leaned back in his chair and smiled. He laced his hands behind his head. “Some people would say it’s hot; others would say it sizzles. That’s the difference between good writing and what you sent me.”

Rich clicked his cheek. “I worked under a man named Sam White for three years,” Rich said. “He won a Pulitzer and taught at Harvard. He taught me everything I know about writing. He told me I was pretty good. I only know one way to write—and that’s the right way. Is that what you wanted to see me about?”

Briggs flicked his hand like he was shooing a fly. “Get back to your desk.”

Rich slowly backed away. He hesitated just outside the doorway. He was about to say something, but did not. He returned to his desk and continued typing his story.

Better Late Than Dead: Preface

 Hello, everyone.

I thought it would be appropriate to post the preface to the next novel to be serialized on The Jittery Goat. Its title is Better Late Than Dead. It begins tomorrow morning, and episodes will be posted every Monday and Friday. 

Preface

Two years passed. Rich lived in his old room. However, the seven years he had been gone were impossible to make up for. It was like living with pleasant strangers. Each went out of their way to show how kind and forgiving they were. Deep inside, Rich felt an underlying resentment, a resentment he understood. There were conversations, but Rich never felt that a true meeting of the minds had occurred. The fact was that he ran away from home at the age of 15 because he could no longer tolerate the emotional and verbal abuse he and his parents inflicted on each other.

They did everything they could to convince him they had changed, but the years of abuse inflicted on each other left scars that could not easily be hidden. 

Rich always felt as if the lid holding their emotions and anger in check was about to erupt. He was careful with every word, look, and deed. Nothing had really changed. He was always on guard. Never able to be himself. And he was certain his mom and dad were under the same stress. 

Rich found employment with a local newspaper. It was larger than the one he worked for in Rockland. The writing and reporting were not nearly as good. 

There were several reporters about his age. Just out of college. But Rich was years ahead of them in many ways. They had four years of college. Rich had seven years of writing and living. He faced things they only read about. He sailed around the world, faced dangers, corrupt people, and challenging situations; he found good people, fell in love, and was married. He coped with fear, insecurities, and deaths. Collectively, the people he worked with had not experienced what he had. 

No one at the newspaper knew he was a published writer. He never felt like he was part of the newsroom the way he did in Rockland. 

During his first six months at the newspaper and since returning, he finished his second novel. It was short. His publisher paid a small advance. After the advance was paid back, he earned a small quarterly check. 

Rich helped with farm work.

One night, Rich lay in bed. It seemed strange. He felt as if he were 15 again. He murmured, “Nothing has really changed. I have. But nothing here has changed.”