He turned back to the dispatcher who was now talking in his ear, and tucking the phone between his shoulder and head, he started typing up the information.
As he hung up, Janet said, “So why did Rodriguez call you out for it?”
Mac nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I said. With a few additional comments,” he said.
That made Janet smile. His foul language was newsroom legend. He turned back to the phone as the Tacoma police department finally answered the phone. He typed a few things, then hung up.
“They’re done,” he said. “Nothing particularly interesting. But Rodriguez? I want to talk about that when we’re off deadline for the day.”
Janet nodded, more focused on his copy on her screen than on him. Blotter items were easy to screw up. And they were the last thing written for the newspaper, and the least scrutinized — bait for a libel suit. Mac made a point of not screwing them up.
While she edited his copy, Mac studied his boss. He worried about her. Last fall had been rough. She’d been kidnapped and held hostage. She’d had to face her past growing up in an isolationist Christian community. Her house had been blown to bits. She met her 20-year-old son for the first time and learned he was part of the group stalking her. That was a lot. Maybe even an overwhelming amount to deal with.
Life had stayed difficult. He had watched her struggle to regain her balance personally and professionally. There was little he could do about the personal life. The professional part pissed him off. The harassment, kidnapping and all-too-public revelations of her personal life had set her up as a target for a lot of right-wing Christians in the city, and even some media people who ought to know better. He personally thought they did know better, but were willing to use this as an opportunity to throw shit at Janet Andrews because she was one of the most respected journalists in the state. Fuckers.
She was carefully building a relationship with her son, Timothy Brandt, who Mac privately thought was a little shit. And since Timothy was living at the Fairchilds, he had more exposure to the kid than he wanted. Brilliant, Mac conceded. But he was a real prick.
Janet was also rebuilding her house while living in an apartment not far from the office. Everything she owned was gone. The house, the garden, her thousands of books. Mac suspected it was the loss of the books that really hurt.
And she was in a long-distance relationship with FBI agent Stan Warren who was trying — unsuccessfully so far — to get a transfer out to Seattle.
That was a lot, so it was understandable that she was stressed and closed off. But Mac thought it wasn’t all that shit, but something else. Something she couldn’t, wouldn’t, talk about. And that worried him.
So, when she was done with the paper for the day, he sent his usual message suggesting coffee at the coffeehouse across the street. Not that he’d drink coffee. But they kept some cans of Mountain Dew on hand for him.
Janet nodded and headed for the door. Mac followed her. She was a tall woman, approaching 40, and she worked out, so she had a long stride and determined walk. Coffee. She is on a mission, Mac thought amused, do not get in her way. Her brown hair was still in a braid, so he figured it hadn’t been a particularly stressful morning. He had learned to judge how the morning went by how messy her hair got. She never raised her voice, never got angry at a reporter. Her tell? Running her hand through her hair. On a bad morning, the braid was practically gone, and she had hair in her eyes, which she impatiently brushed out of the way. Those were the mornings everyone walked lightly and got things done on time.
The coffee house was a dark place, with a counter to order drinks at and a case of pastries. Janet didn’t even bother to order, she headed for a corner table in the back, and the barista brought her coffee and set a can of Mountain Dew in front of Mac. He thanked her and got a short nod back. It amused him. The coffeehouse really hated that Mountain Dew. But they liked Janet.
Janet sipped her coffee while Mac told her about Rodriguez’s concerns. His “twitch.” When he was done, she said, “Have you heard of the Bundys?”
He shook his head.
“Sovereign citizens? Constitutionalist sheriffs?”
“No.”
“Sandy Hook?”
“The school shooting? Of course,” Mac said.
“OK, that was when people really started paying attention to people stockpiling weapons,” Janet said. “But out here? There’s always been anti-government groups operating going back to the posse comitatus groups and John Birch Society in the ‘50s. Right wing, anti-federal government. They believe that local control supersedes all other agencies. The Bundy family in Nevada are locked in a battle against BLM —Bureau of Land Management — for instance. And they’re all gun hoarders. The 2nd Amendment is their Bible.”
Janet looked at Mac thoughtfully. “I’ve wanted to do a story about them forever,” she said. “But never had the right reporter to do it. I think you could.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a vet, you like and understand guns. And you’re skeptical of all government and paranoid to boot,” she said promptly. “You’ll fit right in.”
“Fit in with the lunatics?” he said amused.
She just grinned at him.
“Get yourself informed,” she said. “And then see if you can find that club they belong to — or clubs. That’s new. And I have just the person for you to do a feature on. Sheriff in Skagit County is a constitutionalist. And he’s refusing to enforce any newly passed laws regarding guns, not even background checks and registration requirements.”
She paused. “And stay on top of what’s going on here. That’s an odd group
