Page 13 of Wild Wolf
“Stoking the flames on this werewolf thing is not legitimate news.”
8
“Have you seen the ratings?” Paris asked. “These are the highest-rated segments I’ve done recently. My producer keeps telling me to drum up more werewolf content. People can’t get enough of this stuff. Especially this time of year.”
“Is this real journalism?” I asked in a sardonic tone.
“It’s entertainment, Tyson. I can lie to myself all day, but that’s what this is. Entertainment. Every other network is covering this. If I don’t, viewers will go elsewhere. What do you want me to do?”
“Don’t you think this diminishes your long-term credibility?”
“People are claiming to see werewolves. I’m just documenting it. I’m not reporting it as fact. People can decide for themselves.”
“You’re adding to the hysteria.”
“Something killed that girl. The citizens need to be informed and vigilant about their safety.”
There was a long, uncomfortable silence.
“I’m just doing my job.” She paused, then added, “And a multi-part series on werewolf lore.” With a voice full of mystery and intrigue, she said, “Did you know there’s actually a group of people on the island who believe they are werewolves? I’m excited to interview these people. I think I’m going to do a story on Bigfoot after this dies down. Has there ever been a Bigfoot sighting on the island?”
“No. I don’t think so,” trying to hide my annoyance.
“I bet I could drum up a few sightings. Pay a guy to dress up in a suit and roam around at odd hours.”
“Paris…”
“I know, but you gotta admit, it could work.”
“Paris!”
“Okay, maybe that’s going too far.”
“Maybe?”
“Gotta run. Love you. Bye.”
And with that, she was gone.
“You really set her straight,” JD said dryly, having listened in.
I gave him a look.
We left the station and drove up to Oyster Avenue to grab something to eat. We settled on the Lazy Hammock. It was a breezy restaurant and bar with good grub and a relaxedenvironment. The margaritas were strong, the waitresses cute, and the prices reasonable. Overhead fans kept the air moving. Lots of reclaimed wood furniture, teal accents, and yes, even a lazy hammock.
Jack ordered the slow-cooked ribs with a spiced rum glaze, and I went with the grilled coconut chicken bowl.
We stuffed our faces and kicked around theories about the case, coming up with no real explanation.
Afterward, we headed across the island to the warehouse district for band practice. Wild Fury was scheduled to headline the Halloween Bash on Oyster Avenue. Every year, the boulevard was closed off, and pedestrians flooded the avenue. The place was packed, like Times Square on New Year's Eve. The multi-day event hosted several bands with all styles of music. Everything from pop to metal, country to punk, and good old-school rock 'n' roll.
The usual band of miscreants loitered at the entrance to the practice space, smoking cigarettes and drinking beer. There were high-fives all around and chit-chat as we passed. We stepped into the warehouse and made our way down the dim hallway that always smelled of spilled beer, weed, and a little something extra.
Dizzy, Styxx, and Crash tuned up in the practice space. Jack made a grand entrance, and a couple of cute groupies lounged on the couch, waiting for a free show—probably stragglers from the party last night.
"Dude, what is up with this werewolf stuff?" Crash asked.
I just shook my head and gave him the scoop.
