Burned by Passion(50)
Terry looked his way questioningly and was surprised to find Vernon holding out an envelope to him.
“For you,” Vernon Patterson said calmly.
Terry took the slim envelope and opened it. His eyes went over the contents rapidly, only to exclaim, “I’m being fired! Why?”
Vernon shrugged, sitting back in his chair. “There’s been a cut back concerning the work force. As you know the paper hasn’t been doing so well lately.”
“Yeah; but if anyone should be ‘cut back’ it shouldn’t be me,” Terry said angrily. “I do a great job here. Look, V.P. – I mean Mr. Patterson; this doesn’t seem right. You can’t just fire me.”
“Hey, Terry; orders from above,” Vernon said with another casual shrug. “You need to know that when you went on the last assignment, the newspaper changed owners. We’ve been bought by some corporate big wig and you were on the list to go. Your name was number one, actually.”
“But this is bullshit!” Terry snapped, losing his cool. He shook the letter at Vernon. “I’m one of the best you have here at the paper. There was talk a few months ago of a promotion and now this? Why on earth would they let me go?”
Vernon Patterson had lost his expressionless look, and as he sat forward to hold Terry’s gaze with a cold one of his own, he said in a similarly chilly tone, “Well maybe this has nothing to do with your professional capabilities, Mr. King, but your personal character. It seems you stepped on some toes, Terry. Someone went through a lot of trouble to take over this newspaper and the first thing they did was ask for your head on a platter. I just follow orders, so you’re history at this company. And don’t try anything funny like suing us because the way I read these guys, they’re ready to see to it you never get a job in this city again. Not in this field of work. One more false move and you’re done.”
Terry stared at Vernon. “Is that all you can say? You won’t tell me what the f*ck is going on here? Who are these people? Why would they target me? I didn’t do anything,” Terry said, unnerved by Patterson’s ominous tone. One would think I’d messed up with the Mafia or something, thought Terry with anger and trepidation.
Patterson shook his head and sat back once more inside his chair. “Like I said, I’m simply following orders. And if I know you well enough, I’m sure you’ll walk out of this office quietly. You can take your things, and leave. Have a pleasant day.”
At Patterson’s obvious dismissal, Terry felt his anger boil and he had the urge to smash something. Anything. But he was powerless, for now. But once he found out who was behind this, there’d be hell to pay.
“This isn’t over yet, Patterson,” Terry said, rising with anger to his feet.
Vernon Patterson watched Terry turn to leave. “You’re wrong, Terry; it is,” he replied.
***
Terry drove home with his mind in turmoil. He couldn’t figure out what must’ve gone wrong. He’d been on his best behavior these past several months; hadn’t written any defamatory pieces about any important figure so who...?
He had a headache trying to work out where he could’ve slipped up to get someone so powerful as his enemy. And he still didn’t know who it was! Patterson had said something about Terry stepping on a few toes. What the f*ck did that mean? He was a journalist, for crap’s sake. Stepping on toes came with the territory.
Terry parked his car close to a bar, still fuming. Five years of hard work gone down the drain. That was seriously f*cked up!
Shaking his head furiously, he decided he needed a few stiff drinks before he could figure out what the hell to do next. He stepped out of the car, and as he made to cross the street he heard someone call his name from behind.
Looking around curiously, he was able to catch a glimpse of two dark-clothed men before something like a cast-iron fist smashed into his jaw.
What the f*ck...?
Terry didn’t even get to register the enormity of the pain that shot through his face before more blows followed. Had he only seen two guys? It felt like maybe eight were coming at him. Shit! His instinct was to fight back and he made a grab for the one in front of his vision but then something smashed into him from the back. His body slammed into the hard concrete and suddenly it was a shower of blows and kicks pounding into his face, torso and pelvis. Pain, so much pain. Fists and clubs and f*ck knew what else were turning his body into a pulp. And then the punishment stopped. But Terry was already in too much agony to tell the difference.
He groaned, rolling over on his stomach and spitting out blood and maybe a few teeth. He could barely hear one of his assailants speak as he bent in close to Terry’s ringing ears.
“Here’s a message for you. Now that you’ve got a taste of your own medicine, how do you like it?” the man snarled. “This’ll teach you to mind who you mess with. Next time you feel like punching up women, you’d better remember what this feels like. Sweet dreams, sucker.” And with a harsh laugh he slammed his fist into Terry’s face one more time, knocking him out.
Terry groaned as minutes later he woke up to find people bent over him, their faces filled with concern as they asked him if he was okay. He heard a voice shout for someone to call an ambulance. Terry could barely register anything with his whole body on fire with pain. His attackers were long gone but that one message he’d been left with suddenly made everything clear.