“What’s the matter?” asked Lucy, ready to duck for cover.
“Bear Sykes—that’s what’s the matter.”
“The interview didn’t go well?”
Ted snorted.
“It wasn’t an interview, it was a lecture. Sykes told me the kind of coverage he wants in the future, and he pretty much let me know that the Pennysaver’s continuing survival depends on it. And he had a bunch of young fellows from the tribe to back him up, too. Guys with nothing better to do than look tough.”
“Wow. I guess power’s really gone to his head. Sue said he’s been throwing his weight around at the day care center, too.” She paused, remembering the selectmen’s meeting when Sykes had presented the Metinnicuts’ petition. Ellie had called him an errand boy when he’d run out to fetch the architect’s model of the casino. “It looks like he’s really consolidated his position as tribal leader,” she said. “You should’ve seen him at that demonstration yesterday. And the cops just played into his hands—those arrests will unify the tribe even more.”
“I dunno,” said Ted, perching restlessly on the edge of his chair. “Somehow I have a feeling that Curt Nolan must be turning over in his grave. He took pride in his Indian heritage. I don’t think he’d like what’s going on. Sykes and his boys looked more like the Mafia than anything else.”
Lucy’s and Ted’s eyes met; they were both thinking the same thought. Before either could express it, however, the door opened with a jangle. They both looked up. Lucy recognized Jack O’Hara.
“Hi,” she said, stepping behind the counter. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’d like to speak to the editor. You can say Jack O’Hara from Mulligan Construction is here.”
“I know who you are,” said Lucy with a big smile. “I covered the meeting.”
“I’m sorry. I should have recognized you.” He grinned apologetically. “I’m afraid I have a terrible memory for faces.”
Yeah, right, thought Lucy. She was pretty sure he’d gone into that meeting knowing exactly who would be covering it; Chuck Canaday would have primed him.
“We’re pretty informal here,” she said, tilting her head at Ted. “That’s Ted Stillings. He’s the editor and publisher.”
O’Hara pushed open the gate next to the counter and walked over to Ted’s desk.
“Nice to meet you, Ted. Like I said, I’m Jack O’Hara from Mulligan Construction.” He stuck out his hand and Ted shook it. “Mind if I sit down?”
“Not at all. What can I do for you?”
O’Hara spread his feet apart and leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs and shifting his gloves from hand to hand. Lucy had the feeling she’d become invisible; O’Hara was talking to Ted man to man.
“As you probably know, Mulligan Construction has been selected by the Metinnicut Nation to build their casino. It’s a big project, and we know it’s bound to he controversial. This is a small town, and people in small towns don’t usually like change very much. They like things to stay the way they are and I guess that’s understandable.”
Ted glanced at his watch, signaling it was time to skip the preamble and get down to business.
O’Hara cleared his throat and continued. “I understand just how influential a local newspaper like the Pennysaver can be in a situation like this, and I want to be sure we’re all on the same page here. If you have any questions, anything at all you’d like to ask me about the project, I’d be more than happy to answer.”
“Well, that’s real nice of you,” said Ted, reciting his stock answer. “I’ll keep it in mind and give you a call if I have any questions.”
O’Hara didn’t take the hint. “A project like the casino can mean a lot to a town like this. It will give the local economy a big boost, believe me. And more business means more advertising, right?”
“Hadn’t really thought about it,” said Ted. Lucy could tell he was getting a bit hot under his collar.
“We happen to be fairly big advertisers ourselves at Mulligan,” continued O’Hara. “I’m not sure of the total budget, but I can assure you it’s substantial. And we’re very selective. We place ads where they’ll get the most results. And of course, we tend to favor publications that support our general goals. We play ball with people who are on the team, if you know what I mean.”
Lucy watched, waiting for Ted’s reaction. This was the second time someone had tried to pressure him in one day and she knew he must be pretty fed up.
“We’ll be happy to run your ads,” Ted said, spitting the words out. “As for supporting your goals or playing ball, I don’t work that way. The paper’s a public forum and we try to give equal coverage to all sides.”
O’Hara looked down at his shoes, then turned his gaze on Ted. “I understand your reluctance,” he said, practically winking at Ted. “I can assure you we would definitely make it worth your while to write a positive editorial. I understand that your opinion is valuable—more valuable than you might think.”
Ted sat there, his eyes bulging and his mouth gaping like a goldfish. “Are you saying you would pay me to write an editorial in favor of the casino?”
“Oh, no. You misunderstand me,” O’Hara said smoothly. “We would work something out. I hear you have a son in college—perhaps he could win a Mulligan scholarship? How would that be?”
“Get out!” roared Ted, rising to his feet and pointing to the door. “This discussion is over! Get out of my office!”
O’Hara maintained his casual manner as he stood up and crossed the floor to the gate. He pushed it open, then paused.
“You’re making a mistake,” he said, slapping his gloves against his hand. “We can make things pleasant, or we can make them very unpleasant. It’s up to you.”
“Are you threatening me?” Ted took a few steps toward O’Hara.
“I think I’ve made myself clear,” O’Hara replied, opening the door.
A moment later
