Laney Scoops the City

Laney Scoops the City

Laney Travers walked down the ill-lit corridor and paused outside the doorway to her virtue's doom. Apartment twenty-nine again. Heaven help this well-raised girl. Well, maybe not

Heaven

...

Mike's voice sounded in her head: "News - real news - is what someone doesn't want you to know, Laney sweetheart. The rest is fuckin' propaganda. Keep searchin' for truth among the bullshit. Rigour, determination, guts - that's the only kinda newspaperman to be. Or newspaper

woman

. Remember that."

He'd knocked back his bourbon and rapped the glass onto the bar, to punctuate his point.

Laney held to the words as a lifeline. She gripped her shoulder bag as a more practical form of security, the pepper spray rattling against the other items installed there. "I like you, kid," her mentor had told her another time, "hell, you're like the daughter I never had. But you sure you're ready for this job?"

It burned that he'd even ask. Mike Dennehy, the most respected newshound on the

Chronicle

, had taught her everything worth knowing. "I'm not some sweet little ingenue," she protested, "even if I still look it. I know how to track down a story."

"You've got the smarts," he said, "and the tenacity, more than any cub reporter I ever knew, but I'm talkin' like a father here. In this game you gotta go the extra mile. And that can take you down some sleazy alleyways. Sometimes you gotta get dirty."

"Hey, I can get dirty," she'd insisted.

In front of that door, her fingers curled to rap on the peeling surface, her words returned to haunt her. She fought the tide of memory from her abortive first attempt to interview Jake Milazzo. For three days now she'd lived with those images.

That time around his stoner roommate had let her in, greeting her inquiry as to Milazzo's whereabouts with hazy good-humour. "He's in there," the guy had said, lazily indicating one of the interior rooms. "Go on in, he'll be glad to see you." He'd even opened the door for her and she'd ventured inside in good faith. How gauche.

Nothing had prepared her for the sight which greeted her - the hulking form of Milazzo, naked on a bed and throwing his muscled bulk into the woman positioned hands and knees in front of him.

His companion was a big-breasted blond woman with heavy mascara and a snake tattoo uncoiling up one arm. She was taking her pounding fearlessly, hair draped down over her face. On becoming aware of Laney's presence she flung it away and aimed a stare of flinty defiance at the young woman.

The sweating ex-con noticed Laney a moment after, and slowed only fractionally in his shafting motion. "Who the fuck are you?" he demanded with a scowl, gripping his partner's waist and resuming his thrusts at their original force.

"I'm..." Laney made to retreat, mortified to have stumbled upon the scene's harsh intimacy. "Sorry, I'll..."

"You're that reporter's been callin' me," he said, seizing the blonde, shoulder and ass, and pile-driving her so that her breasts swung like udders. "Stay where the fuck you are, girl, and tell me what you want."

"I'll come back..."

"You'll say what you gotta say or you won't get another fuckin' chance." His enjoyment of her embarrassed voyeurism was more than clear.

Laney forced herself to look away from his hard slamming of the blonde, trying to re-grasp the thread of what she was doing in his apartment. "You know why I'm here," she managed, face burning.

"Remind me." He said it through gritted teeth as he fucked. Laney's eyes kept being drawn inexorably back to his straining naked form. "And be careful what you fuckin' say, girl. I don't know how much English this one understands."

"You talked to my associate at the paper, Mike Dennehy, about the whole... you know, business. He said you wanted to talk."

"Maybe I did. Where's

he

? Why's he sending a fuckin' teenager?"

"I'm twenty-four and his colleague. Mike... He's ill in hospital. I thought maybe you'd talk to me instead."

Milazzo paused in his sexual rampage, perspiration beading on his brow as he scrutinized Laney. He had close-cropped hair that accentuated his face's hard contours and the blazing power of his stare. Everything about him intimidated. Retaining eye-contact with the young journalist, he grabbed his blond plaything by her hair and shoved her face side-on against the covers, humping furiously down into her as she moaned. "You thought wrong then, didn't you? I talk to him or no one. Now I'm fuckin' busy here, or are you too dumb to see that?"

Laney's pulse was rushing as she tried to communicate over the crazy scene. "He said there were things you wanted to say. I can..."

He pulled his flush-faced plaything from the covers and himself out of her, dragging the eagerly compliant women from the bed and putting her on her knees. Laney could not help but glance at his cock - impressively huge in its erect state and glistening from its endeavours inside the pussy it had been fucking.

"Now you listen to me, hot-shot," he said, grabbing his lover by the hair and pushing her face onto him so that his raging phallus was obscured from Laney's vision. He continued speaking with the blonde's head bobbing furiously up and down at his groin. "I got plenty to say, but you think I'm gonna trust some little bitch fresh outa college, think again." He pumped his ardent fellatrix vigorously on himself, glaring at Laney all the while.

She stared at the sight - the woman's brassiere ripped from her breasts and loosely circling her stomach, the only other clothing on her body a combination of stockings and garter belt. Attractive in the sluttiest street-whore kind of way.

"The only thing I trust you to do is get on your knees and suck my fuckin' cock along with this slut," Milazzo said. "You wanna do that? You wanna get that pretty mouth around my cock right now?"

"No, I..."

"Then get the fuck outa my apartment. Misty here knows how to work my dick, and that's all the use I got for anyone today. Take it or fuckin' leave it."

Laney retreated, stumbling into the door frame, as the stoner roommate laughed. She left the apartment in bafflement, the wet gobbling of Jake's companion replaced with fervent gasps. The fucking had recommenced.

What a rotten guy. What a despicable piece of human crap. Humiliated she had rushed from the apartment block to her car, vowing not to venture down Mike's 'sleazy alleyways' again.

Yet here she was, lurking outside the same apartment door...

God, I can't do this. It's wrong.

Her nerve deserted her and she turned away, clutching her bag to her chest. She'd taken a couple of steps when Mike's face floated before her, mouth and nose obscured by the oxygen mask, tubes from a bank of life-support machines all that kept him hooked into the world.

"Hey, you'll be out of here in a week," she'd insisted, squeezing his forearm. "Fighter like you..."

He lifted the mask from his face to croak a few words. "Not done yet, kid," he breathed. "Just sorry I didn't nail that lead. Milazzo was ready to spill..."

"Relax, Mike," she said, her investigative instinct firing up even as she calmed him. "He'll speak to

me

."

Her attempt to pacify her ailing senior colleague proved sadly misguided. He gripped her arm as tenaciously as he could in his weakened state. "The hell you will. Milazzo's a thug, a fuckin' piece a' shit. You're not goin' near that low-life..." Shortage of breath overtook him and the nurse intervened, frowning at Laney. The young reporter held Mike's hand until his breathing turned more regular.

"I'll drop it," she lied. "All that's important is your getting better. You're through the worst." She hoped it was true. Bypass surgery had taken its toll on Mike - the least she could do was assure him she'd stay safe. But to let the story go...

The possibility of corruption lurking in the city's mayoral office was an enticing one and if this Milazzo guy was truly the key, it demanded pursuing. "He did time," Mike had told her weeks before, "for attempting to burgle the home of Gus Ferrante's chief opponent in the mayoral race. Total coincidence that Milazzo's cousin worked on Ferrante's campaign?

Bullshit.

Milazzo was doing Ferrante's dirty-work for him. When the cops picked him up, he took the fall and I've heard his hand was forced. If he

was

screwed over, then maybe he's ready to talk to the right person." If anyone was the 'right person' it'd be Mike. He'd built a career on winning potential sources' trust.

Over weeks he provided Laney with further insights. "This guy has an axe to grind, but he's saying nothing worth shit. Still feeling me out. Our beloved Mayor's time is running out and this Milazzo guy's got the goods on him. I can smell it. Something's holding him back though. If one of those

City

jerks screws the pooch on this story before I get somethin' concrete, I'll be mightily pissed off."

Laney returned his wry grin. The '

City

' was

Chronicle

journos' parlance for the

City Post

, their down-market rival, and the term was never used with anything less than contempt. "They do it every time," Mike grumbled. "Print rumours, so the subject has time to cover his tracks. Well not on this story."

Days later he murmured to her at her desk: "Milazzo called me, wants to talk. This bastard's ready." But she noticed the pallor of his face and the sweating, and five minutes later she was urging a colleague to call 911, cradling Mike while they waited for the ambulance to arrive. She wiped tears from her eyes and hugged her arms to her chest as the paramedics wheeled him into their vehicle.

Didn't even get his story. It's not damn well fair.

Then the steely part of this girl from rural upstate came to the fore and she made a vow.

You hang in there, Mike. I'm gonna get it for you. Front-page headline. Water-tight.

Even his warning in the hospital had not dissuaded her. That was before she met Milazzo.

Low-life...

Mike hadn't been lying.

Now as she hovered at the guy's door all over again, images of his rutting form were etched in Laney's memory. That and the sweat trickling down his muscled body as he screwed his bitch in the reporter's squirming presence. As for that cock - she'd only caught a glimpse, but good God...

She'd wanted to forget the whole business, but Mike was still fighting to recover. She couldn't let him down. She couldn't let the

City Post

print some half-assed version which would see the Mayor covering his ass. Jake Milazzo might be a shameless bastard, but he was truly their one hope. And maybe the scheme - the

crazy

scheme - she had devised would convince him to share.

Steeling herself, she knocked... and waited.

"Who is it?" Milazzo's voice was uninviting.

"Laney Travers. Didn't you get my message?" She'd purloined his number from scraps of paper on Mike's desk.

"You again? Didn't you get

my

fuckin' message, last time?"

Laney breathed deep. "I've got a proposal - something I think you'll want to hear. Give me five minutes of your time, Mr Milazzo, and if you're not interested then I'm gone." She gripped her handbag close to her, fingers brushing the pepper spray reflexively. Her heartbeat was thumping in her throat.

Aeons seemed to pass before the chain on the inside was scraped back and the door was wrenched open. "Get in," Jake said. "Five minutes."

He had jeans on this time; his torso was sweat-soaked, but there was no indication of a reason similar to last time. She walked inside, peering about discretely. The apartment itself was in the state that she remembered - all empty pizza boxes, beer cans and stale discarded clothing - but there was no sign of either roommate or exotic female companion.

Jake slammed the door behind her and she had the instant sense of being trapped. He simply walked past her, however, resuming the activity which had rendered him so slippery. He'd been bench-pressing, it transpired, and Laney watched as he slid back onto the leather bench, settling himself beneath a heavily laden bar.

"Spot me," he said.

"Sorry?"

"Doncha speak fuckin' English? Get your ass over here and watch me do one more set. Make yourself useful."

Laney moved tentatively to the bench and observed as he curled his palms around the bar, heaving it and its huge discs from the cradle, lowering it to his chest. She stared at those shifting packs of muscle as he pumped his set, and at how perspiration glossed his body's rippling surface.

Time on the building sites since he had come out of prison had tanned his shoulders deep brown (Laney recalled Mike telling her that Milazzo worked construction), while reinforcing that iron brawn. The raw power with which he pushed up the bar and the control with which he dropped it had every sinew straining. His stubble-shadowed face, not unhandsome, was contorted with effort.

He counted twenty reps before pumping the bar upwards one final time and setting it back in its bracket.

"Done," he said. "Get me a glass of water."

"What? Yeah, sure..." Laney stared around confused for a moment, before locating the kitchen and a water glass by the faucet. She brought him the refreshment he had demanded and observed nervously as he drank it down, trying not to fixate on the tightness of his jeans around his crotch.

"So," he said, setting down the glass and casting an appraising glance over her formally attired body, "Lois fuckin' Lane... What you got for me that you didn't last time?"

Now that the moment came, Laney almost faltered. But she had prepared for this moment and was ready to see it through.

Sometimes you gotta get dirty...

"I want to make a deal," she said, trying to mask the quake in her voice. "I think you want to tell your story and I get all the reasons why you're holding back. You don't know me and have no reason to believe I'd keep your name out of it if my editor was demanding that I confirm my source."

"'Bout the size of it," he said, eyes lingering on the straining buttons of her tight silk blouse. Deliberately tight.

"You want certain people to suffer, right?" she pursued. "I know you spent time in prison and kept other people out. You want to name names, but since Mike's not here, you need to know that you can trust me instead."

He met her eyes and for the first time it was her mind he was appraising, rather than her body. "Yeah, and I don't see how I can do that."

"I think I do." Christ, was she really going through with this?

Now or never, girl.

Her hand delved into her bag past the pepper spray and found the crucial item. "I'm going to give you this." She withdrew the digital camera from the bag and handed it to him.

Jake stared at the object she had placed in his palm and then back at her. She'd surprised him. "Lemme get this straight..."

"You talk, I let you film." She swallowed back her trepidation. "Whatever you want to film. I keep your name out of the paper, you keep your home movie to yourself. Then neither of us can afford to fuck over the other." Her own use of the f-word shuddered her whole body.

Jake poked at the camera, staring at her through the view-finder and swiftly working out how to operate it. He held it in his lap and considered her again, God knew what lurid thoughts reeling through his mind. Laney figured she was about to find out.

"You get your story - I get whatever the fuck I like from you..."

"Uh-huh." She realised with a shock that her nipples were straining against the fabric of her brassiere. "

And

you get your side of things out there. Gotta be a good deal, right?"

"Yeah, it's a

real

good deal." He clicked the camera and peered again through the viewfinder. The red light let her know it was on, capturing everything. "So let's not waste time. Show me what you got, all of it."

Laney's mouth was dry. What a way to land a story...

"How about you go first?" she suggested, picking her tape recorder from her bag.

"No dice, girl." Jake's jaw was rigid. "Start undressing."

"What about your roommate? Shouldn't we..."

"He's out of town. Now strip,

bitch

."

Laney wasn't sure which shocked her most - the command or the mode of address. Bizarrely compelled by both, she set about unbuttoning her silk blouse, fiercely aware of his gaze as she exposed her upper body. The garment slithered from her shoulders to his grubby carpet, and his eyes feasted. Her breasts were ample, slightly out of proportion with her slender body and cradled neatly in satin lingerie. Everything had been chosen to maximize her appeal.

He said nothing, but his expression spoke a volume. Her pencil skirt went next. She unzipped it neatly and it dropped away so that she stood in a more tasteful version of what his companion had worn three days prior - garter-belt and stockings setting off her pretty blue-flowered panty.

"Tell me something now?" she ventured.

He massaged his denim-clad crotch. "Get it all off. I'm not a patient man."

Oh God...

Modesty served no purpose now, so Laney did not even turn away as she unclipped her brassiere. It sprang free of her, her breasts shifting under the release, and she let it tumble.

His eyes glinted approval at the sight of her naked breasts. "Squeeze those peaches," he said. Her heart thumping its quickened rhythm, she took herself in both hands and massaged for him, trying not to let her inner girl show in her face.

He rubbed his bulging crotch more firmly, gaze fixed disconcertingly on her as she palmed her soft, pliable mounds. "Damn, I'll bet you've been a little cock-tease in your time, right?"

"No," she said, adding inwardly,

Sometimes

.

"Yeah, you have. But today you're gonna make good on it. I'm gonna pay you back for every cock you ever teased." He aimed the camera at her, red light glinting as it soaked up all the action she was providing. "Lose the panties. You can keep those other bits on - I like 'em."

Laney froze for one instant in her exhibitionism, then she swallowed the knowledge that the lens was capturing everything. She'd initiated this deal. The point of no return was way behind. Forcing herself to hold his stare she hooked her thumbs into the band of her panties and peeled them off, stepping free and putting her trimmed self on show. A few items of hosiery acted as no shield.

"Damn," he said again, gripping the camera one-handed while massaging his denim-etched cock. "Eighteen months in prison, I dreamed of pussy like that. What I'm gonna fuckin' do to it... Bring it here."

Laney tried to disguise how much his brazen words startled her. She walked to him, slightly askew in high-heels, and he sat forward on the exercise bench, reaching with his non-camera hand. His fingers stretched unapologetically between her thighs and the middle one stroked a slick line along her lips. "Wet already," he observed. "Turn around."

She did, still gasping from his contact with her labia. His rough palm tested her butt cheeks with a firm squeeze to each. "Fuck yeah, that's one fine ass. Turn around and straddle the bench."

"What?"

"Put your legs either side of it, standing."

She did, shocked and shamed by her own wetness. He lingered a moment at her pruned pubic tuft, his face mere inches away from it... Then he set aside the camera, seized her ass cheeks with both hand and pulled her to him, thrusting his tongue into her pussy.

Laney's entire body tightened. She nearly dropped the tape recorder and clutched it frantically, as this stranger's tongue explored her. After the initial invasion he withdrew, and his thumbs parted her so that the flat blade of his tongue could slide back and forth against her splayed lips. His actions were beyond bold - they were damned outrageous... and they sent electric sensation throughout her body.