Desperate Measures

4

The Chronicle had a no smoking policy. Pittman could never understand how Burt managed constantly to have the recent smell of cigarette smoke on him. His office reeked of it, but there weren’t any ashtrays, and there weren’t any cigarette butts in the wastebasket. Besides, Burt’s office had glass walls. If he was breaking the rule and smoking in here, the reporters at the desks outside would have seen him.

A big man, Burt eased himself into the swivel chair behind his desk. Wood creaked.

Pittman took a chair opposite the desk.

Burt studied him. “Been drinking too much?”

Pittman glanced away.

“I asked you a question,” Burt said.

“If you were anybody else…”

“You’d tell me it was none of my business. But since I’m the one asking… Have you been drinking too much?”

“Depends,” Pittman said.

“On?”

“What you call too much.”

Burt sighed. “I can tell this isn’t going to be a productive conversation.”

“Look, you asked for nine days. I’m giving them to you. But that doesn’t mean you can run my life.”

“What’s left of it. You keep drinking as much as I think you have and you’ll kill yourself.”

“Now that’s a thought,” Pittman said.

“Drinking won’t bring back Jeremy.”

“That’s another thought.”

“And killing yourself won’t bring him back, either.”

Pittman looked away again.

“Besides, I’m not trying to run your life,” Burt said. “It’s your job I’m trying to run. I’ve got something different I want you to do, a special kind of obituary, and I want to make sure you’re up to doing it. If you’re not, just say so. I’ll keep you on the desk, answering obit calls and filling out forms.”

“Whatever you want.”

“I didn’t hear you.”

“I came back to work because you asked. If there’s something you need, I can do it. What kind of special obituary?”

“The subject isn’t dead yet.”