The Thin White Line

Have you been drinking?”

“A beer this afternoon,” he said.

“A beer this afternoon, yeah right. And you drove the car?”

“It’s the heat, you sweat it out.”

“You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“You know I can’t do that.

“This protecting your source bullshit is getting pretty lame,” Raminder said. “Especially when there’s nothing to protect.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Well, if you’ve got leads, where’s the fucking story?”

The only answers Matt had made him look incompetent or a liar. He was silent.

“That’s what I thought.” Raminder ran her hand through thick black hair. Her disquietude disconcerting. “You need to get a job, Matt. Something you get up and go to every day.” She returned the items to the first aid kit and stood. “You’re falling apart and it’s painful to watch.”

One thing he always appreciated about Rami, was her honesty, even when she was wrong. He wasn’t falling apart, everything could change in a day. Like tomorrow, when he sent his editor the photos he’d taken of the crates of weapons in the basement. The story was a bit thin, but once published you never knew who’d get spooked and come forward with information. At the very least, there would be a follow-up on the response from the Department of Defense.

Matt got up went to the refrigerator and began rummaging around in the back of the freezer. Rami was adamant about drinking and driving, but it wasn’t like he was intoxicated. His uninjured hand found the neck of the bottle of Absolut. Since he’d been caught out, what was the harm of having a nightcap?

Matt staggered into the kitchen, grabbed a glass from the dish rack, filled it with cold water and gulped it down along with the two Tylenol. He rubbed his eyes and tried to focus on the clock on the stove. Nine fifteen. He turned on his phone and checked the messages. None from his editor. He’d downloaded the photos last night, enhanced them as best he could and emailed them as JPEG attachments. The crates were distinct, and the numbers stencilled on them were blurry. Still, the box was the right size and shape to contain weapons.

“Damn.” Raminder hadn’t left him any coffee which meant she was still pissed. No coffee, a crushing headache and his stomach felt like he’d ingested molten lava. In the medicine cabinet, he found his ulcer medication container–empty. He had to either get the prescription refilled, or he quit drinking, cut out junk food and try to reduce his stress level. Better get the prescription refilled. As a substitute, he took three large gulps of Pepto-Bismol.