Page 2 of Reptile Dysfunction

I stare across the table at him, my gaze unwavering so he knows I’m serious, but straight off the bat, Eddie seems uncomfortable.

“Well,” he begins slowly, clearly not sure where to start. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I have to tell you, this isn’t Chicago. There aren’t really any tough stories. I mean, you’ve read the paper, right?”

I sigh. I’ve read the paper, much to my dismay, and I already know it’s the kind of local rag that’s more advertisements and gossip than real journalism. I think the most exciting thing that happened in the issue I read was that someone was having a yard sale.

But I’m not about to let that discourage me, and the sooner Eddie learns that, the better.

“No offense,” I tell him as politely as I can. “But I was hoping for some real journalism. Come on, there’s got to be something.”

Eddie raises a bushy eyebrow, and I can tell I’m not exactly getting through to him.

“Well, this is more of a human interest kind of paper,” he explains. “Think Conjoined Twins Adopt Cerberus Puppy or Fae Folk Host Block Party. That kind of thing. Or here! Have you taken a look at Fred’s Thoughts? It’s a huge hit!”

He pulls this week’s paper from the corner of his desk and opens it up before sliding it across to me.

“You’ll meet Fred soon,” he tells me, pointing to the column. “If you haven’t seen him around already. He’s the zombie fella with the limp.”

I don’t even have to read the column to know it’s garbage. The column from last week was little more than some inane rambling about the number of dandelions in the local park. The one before that was about string cheese. It’s the furthest thing from real journalism I’ve ever seen, and therefore, the last thing I want to spend my time on right now.

But the look on Eddie’s face tells me he doesn’t get that at all.

“I’m sure I’ll find something to write about,” I tell him with a smile, hoping it’ll be enough to buy me some time.

Luckily, Eddie seems satisfied with my answer and he soon shows me to my desk where I’ll be starting work on Monday. I already know what I’ll be doing when I get there though, and it won’t be any feel-good human interest stories. I’m going to uncover something in this town, I can already feel it.

As I make my way back toward my apartment, my thoughts wander back to the journey here.

Courtesy of Mayor Wendall, the banshee had said of the free WiFi. He’s got his fingers in many pies.

The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that wasn’t just an offhand comment. She knew I was heading to the Herald, and I’m sure in a small town like this, it’s no secret that the paper just hired a new reporter. Could that have been a vague tip-off? Could Mayor Wendall be the hard-hitting story I’m looking for?

As I walk through the streets of Curiosity, I’m convinced all is not as it seems. It’s a small town, sure, a quaint one at that. But in my experience, there’s always something lying just beneath the surface of any town. Whether that be in Chicago or in Curiosity.

Besides, I investigated and wrote far too many exposés in my five years at the Tribune to trust politicians, and I bet there’s something worth looking into here. Could the Mayor be doing some dodgy deals with the internet provider? Is he a shareholder in the company maybe? Was he bribed? Or are there some privacy breaches going on? So many possibilities run through my mind as my investigative journalist brain kicks into gear.

I don’t know what the story is yet, but the more I think about it, the more sure I am that there’s something here to uncover. And it all starts with Mayor Wendall.

2

MASON

The black coffee I’m sipping on is a treat, putting me in a great mood to start my day. I take the last drink, setting the cup down on my desk as I stand and get ready to leave.

“Deborah,” I call out to my assistant, straightening my tie as I do. “How do I look?”

Deborah rolls her eyes in jest as she looks up from her laptop. “You look great, Mayor Wendall. You always do.”

I grin, smoothing back the yellow and black snakes that are beginning to tremble atop my head now that the coffee is kicking in.

“Thank you, that’s what I like to hear,” I joke back, but I have to admit it’s nice to be appreciated here, even if it’s partially in jest.

Gorgons aren’t exactly the typical choice for political office, but here in Curiosity, I have a whole town full of people who like me, even putting up with my vanity from time to time.

“I know it is,” Deborah tells me with a wry smile. “Now you should get going, the inauguration is starting in fifteen minutes, and Ajay doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Right,” I say, remembering the last time I was late for a meeting with the minotaur and I had to face those horns. “I’m off.”

I make my way out of city hall, and even though I’m at risk of running late, I make sure to stop and greet every citizen I pass. This is the greatest part about my job — connecting with the people, serving them as their mayor, and making sure every one of them knows that I genuinely care about them. Because I do. Not just as constituents, but as friends.

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