Friends In Unlikely Places

Journalism was a cutthroat business. You had to be the first to get the scoop. People rarely do shared bylines. More often than not, the philosophy is “My story, my byline. Get your own damn scoop.” Everyone knew that, but Darcy “Scoop” Reese and Yvonne Jennings all the more so. They were among the Morning Telegraph’s best reporters and also the bitterest of rivals, always vying for the top spot as Reporter of the Year. Yvonne was a tough-as-nails, no-nonsense go-getter, and she was annoying. A lot of people hated her for that. Darcy hated her most of all, and she hated him in return, with a burning passion that would rival the heat of Hell itself. It would take a series of events for Yvonne and Darcy to see each other in a whole new light. In one of the most trying episodes of her life, Yvonne would find solace and comfort in a very unexpected place and from a very unexpected person.

It was a very busy Monday and potential stories were coming in hot. Phones were ringing, interviews and conversations were being held, and the bullpen was filled with the constant clackety-clack of finger against keyboard. There was also the distinct sound of pencil scratching against paper as reporters took notes down as fast and as furiously as they could. In the midst of the flurry and craziness of work, the Telegraph’s mail clerk walked up to Yvonne’s cubicle. She’d been so busy that she didn’t hear him approach.

“A letter for you, Ms. Jennings,” the clerk announced, handing Yvonne an envelope.

“Thank you, Miguel,” Yvonne said, holding out her hand without looking up. “You may go now.”

“Thank you, miss,” the clerk responded and went on his way, making his rounds throughout the office and distributing mail to different departments.

After Miguel left, Yvonne inspected the envelope, checking who it was from. It was from the Two-Seven. That was weird. Her source would usually meet her in an underground parking lot a la Deep Throat. She felt like the female Bob Woodward. For months now, Yvonne had been digging into the criminal activities of a secret society of good Chicago cops turned bad called the Order of the Shield. The Order of the Shield was once a harmless little club of closely knit friends within the Chicago police force, not unlike the Musketeers of old. In fact, their motto was “Un pour tous, tous pour un.” One for all and all for one. As the brotherhood grew, however, and more and more cops were inducted into their circle, the organization began to stray from its previous path and went down a much darker road. It became a secret society with nefarious dealings and intentions.

Yvonne Jennings had gone toe to toe with corrupt politicians before and exposed one of the city’s deadliest gangs. This was just another story for her. It was just another news day. Another article to write, another feather in her cap. She had no fear. Or so she foolishly thought. As soon as she ripped open the envelope, a white cloud of powder exploded into her face, making her gasp and cough. Everyone around her hurriedly got up, scrambling away from her and the potentially deadly poison. It wasn’t clear yet what the substance was. Was it ricin? Was it anthrax? A hazmat team was called in and the office was closed for the day. Yvonne was rushed to the hospital, just in case.

“Alright, people!” Alex Thornton, the Telegraph’s editor-in-chief, said, shouting above the chaos and panic. “Pack your bags and go home! You will be working from home while we look into this! You will be notified once it’s safe to return.”

On his way out, Darcy heard his coworkers mumbling and whispering.

“Leave it to Little Miss Diva to have the office shut down,” Benjamin Diaz said. “That was clearly a death threat. Too bad it wasn’t real. I would’ve liked for it to be real.”

“Tell me about it,” another colleague, Caitlin Howe, said. “Karma’s a bitch, ain’t it? She got what she deserved. What a diva!”

“Serves her right,” another mumbled.

It was true, Yvonne Jennings was not the easiest person to work with, but she had just had hear life threatened. She was still human, and no human being, decent or otherwise, deserved that. Darcy also hated bullies and people talking about other people behind their back.

“Listen,” Darcy said forcefully, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Maybe you’re all just jealous! Jennings got a death threat because she was doing her job. And she was doing it right! It struck a nerve somewhere. You want death threats too? Go do your jobs and do it well! Now, stop bitching and mind your own damn business!”

The entire lobby full of reporters and editors went silent. They were stunned speechless and confused. They least expected Darcy Reese to defend Yvonne Jennings, of all people. That was new and unexpected. What in the world was going on? What was the world coming to? Why would Darcy Reese stand up for Yvonne Jennings?

“Maybe he has a huge crush on her,” Howe mused. “Maybe it’s an enemies-to-lovers kind of thing.”

“Hah! Please! She’d never fall for that stupid dork,” Diaz derided, laughing until he coughed and choked. 

Two nights and a day passed and Yvonne was finally released from the hospital after some close observation. The result of the hazmat team’s investigation also came back. It was neither anthrax nor ricin. It was just baby powder, pure and simple. Everyone was notified via SMS and via email that it was now safe to return to work. Darcy called Thornton to say that he was coming in late. Yvonne had very little friends and she was estranged from her family. He volunteered to pick her up at the hospital and drop her off at her apartment.

“Grace told me you defended me from the others at work the other day. Thank you, for that,” Yvonne said. “And for this. Why are you doing this though? What’s in it for you?”

“Nothing,” Darcy said. “I don’t expect anything out of it. But I hate bullies and gossips. And despite our past rivalry and your annoying, overbearing attitude, I know you’re a decent human being deep down inside. Also, I figured you need a friend at a crazy time like this.”

“Thank you, again,” Yvonne said with the ghost of a smile. “You’re a decent human being too. Come on, I’ll fix you some breakfast and coffee before we head to work.”

“We?” Darcy said. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no! Absolutely not! There is no ‘we’ here. I am going to work. You are staying home. Your life has just been threatened. You are not going back to work. You’re staying home where it’s safe.”

“Safe?” Yvonne scoffed. “Hah! That’s a good one! Look. I’ve had my life threatened before too. Didn’t stop me from going back to work and coughing up story after story. If you think I scare easily then you don’t know me at all, Reese.”

It was true. Yvonne Jennings was no stranger to death threats. She just treated them as hot air for the most part, but things were getting more and more serious. Just a few weeks before receiving the powdered letter, someone had delivered a big box at her apartment. She didn’t remember ordering anything off of Amazon or any other online stores. The box was as big as her, tall and narrow. It took two people to carry it up the stairs. When she opened the package, she found the strangest thing inside. It was a black casket that had been custom made just for her. She was a little bit disturbed by it but remained unshaken. She kept gathering evidence after evidence and writing article after article, exposing the Order of the Shield bit by bit. Nothing could stop her. Not even disconnected brakes or strange phone calls with nothing but heavy breathing on the other end.

“It’s your call,” Darcy said with a shrug. “I wouldn’t say no to breakfast though.”

Darcy and Yvonne left the hospital and went straight to Cedarworth Apartments where Yvonne lived. They were greeted by the doorman.

“Morning, Miss Jennings!” the doorman said. “Welcome back! Um, somebody sent you a bunch of flowers. They’re upstairs, in front of your door.”

“Thank you, Hans,” Yvonne responded.

At the mention of flowers, Darcy felt a twinge of jealousy and he felt his face redden. His ears were hot. Did Yvonne have suitors or boyfriends? Maybe Caitlin was right. Maybe he did have a crush on Yvonne. Maybe it was something stronger than just a crush. Soon enough, however, those feelings of jealousy faded, replaced by fear and a heavy feeling of dread that both reporters felt. Whatever Yvonne Jennings had uncovered, it was deep and it was way bigger than either of them. She was in troubled waters and he couldn’t let her face it alone. He couldn’t let her drown. What the doorman had neglected to mention was that the flowers were not in a bouquet but in a wreath—a funeral wreath.

“Alright, change of plans,” Darcy said. “You’re staying at my place. Come on, let’s go.”

“Are you sure?” Yvonne asked. “I mean, I hate to impose. I could just stay at a Motel 6 or a Best Western or something. I have discounts at Travelodge.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Darcy said. “I live alone in a three bedroom apartment. I turned one bedroom into a home office and the other one serves as a guest room. You can sleep in the office or in the guest room, your choice. You can also sleep in the living room, too, if you’re more comfortable there. It doubles as a pullout bed. I have sheets, blankets, and pillows you can borrow.”

“Fine, fine,” Yvonne said. “But on one condition.”

“What’s that?” Darcy asked.

“I’m taking my stuff with me,” Yvonne said. “And I don’t mean clothes. I have a whole board full of newspaper clippings and documents tying everything together.”

“Alright,” Darcy agreed, nodding. “Go get your stuff. We’ll work on it together, you and me.”

“Are you sure?” Yvonne asked.

“Positive,” Darcy replied. “You’re way in over your head here and I want to help. This is big. This might even be the next Watergate.”

“You’re willing to do a shared byline?” Yvonne asked again, sounding skeptical.

“Yes, I am,” Darcy said. “Now, come on. I’ll help you with your stuff and then we’ll get out of here. Oh, and don’t worry about the yarn and the thumbtacks. I have a lot in my home office.”

“If you insist,” Yvonne said with a sigh and a shrug. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Darcy responded with a smirk.

They worked together wordlessly, taking down the article clippings, pictures, and documents from Yvonne’s evidence board and packing folder after folder and Manila envelope after Manila envelope of evidence that tied everything together. It felt like something out of a political thriller.

“Are we taking your car?” Yvonne asked.

“No,” Darcy said. “Too risky. Someone could have followed us here. They could have bugged my car and put a tracking device on it or cut my brakes. I’m calling an Uber.”

“Good call,” Yvonne said.

After dropping Yvonne off at his own apartment and making sure that she’d settled in, Darcy called another Uber to take him to the Morning Telegraph office. While at work, Darcy called every few hours to check on Yvonne to make sure she was safe. He also met with Alex Thornton and suggested they work on the exposé together like Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein. Two heads are better than one, after all. Thornton liked the idea very much and gave them the green light.

In the days and weeks that followed, their cold civility thawed and melted, giving way to a warm and genuine friendship—maybe something even more. They had an arrangement. Yvonne would work from Darcy’s home office from Monday to Friday and then they would work together at the Telegraph office on Saturdays, comparing notes and connecting the dots. They also worked together late into the night on most days.

One night, as they sat in front of the TV and ate Chinese takeout in Darcy’s living room with the volume on low while taking a break, they got to know each other better. They talked about their hobbies, childhoods, their families, their hopes and dreams, the paths that led them to pursue to the truth as journalists, and many other things.

“So, Darcy, huh?” Yvonne said. “Is that a homage to Mr. Darcy?”

“Very perceptive,” Darcy said with a smile. “My mom is a retired English professor and named me after Fitzwilliam Darcy from Pride And Prejudice.”

“That’s cool,” Yvonne said.

“What about you?” Darcy asked. “Who were you named after?”

“I was named after my grandmother,” Yvonne answered. “She was a nurse. I guess that was my parents’ way of not-so-subtly suggesting I be a nurse. They were disappointed when they learned that I wanted to be a journalist instead. My grandma’s probably turning in her grave as we speak.”

“Is that why none of your family is speaking to you?” Darcy asked.

“No, no, that’s not it,” Yvonne answered. “My parents were disappointed, but after some time had passed, they became more and more supportive.”

“Then why’d they stop talking to you?” Darcy pressed.

“It was my stepdad,” Yvonne confessed. “We had a…um… An aff… Look, I appreciate your friendship and your concern, but… Can we please not talk about this? Can we talk about something else instead?”

“Yeah, sure, of course,” Darcy said apologetically. “If it’s something deeply personal, then I won’t push. I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. I’m just naturally curious is all.”

“No need to apologize,” Yvonne assured him. “I get it. I’m the same way. There are just some things I’m not ready to talk about yet.”

“Got it,” Darcy said with a nod and an understanding smile.

“Question for you,” Yvonne said to change the subject. “If you weren’t named Darcy, what would you have been named?”

“I would’ve been named Richard Henry,” Darcy said with a laugh and a shake of his head.

“You look like you could be a Henry,” Yvonne said. “Or Richard.”

“Trust me, that’s not a compliment,” Darcy said with a chuckle.

“Why not?” Yvonne asked.

“Well, my father was a history professor and he loved the late medieval and Renaissance periods,” Darcy explained. “The Plantagenets, the Tudors, the War of the Roses… So he had his mind set on naming me after Richard III and Henry VIII.”

“Oof!” Yvonne said with a laugh. “A conniving hunchbacked villain and a fat, ill-tempered, capricious spoiled man-child of a king who had his wives either divorced or beheaded? Yeah, that’s not a compliment.”

“No, not a compliment,” Darcy agreed with a laugh. “At all!”

“Hey, Dar?” Yvonne said.

“Yeah?” Darcy said.

“Thank you for this,” Yvonne said. “For opening your home to me and for making sure I’m safe. And for helping me take down the Order of the Shield. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Your friendship is thanks enough,” Darcy said. “No need to thank me more. I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

In the weeks and months that followed, Darcy and Yvonne grew closer and closer as the death threats increased. They strengthened each other through defeats and dead ends and celebrated victories together—the corruption of the police force coming to light, the arrest and disbanding of the Order of the Shield, the trial, and ultimately, the secret society’s key leaders and members being locked up. It would be years before Darcy and Yvonne would hear from any of them. The sweetest victory for Darcy, however, was when Yvonne said yes to him and agreed to be his girlfriend. He couldn’t be happier; and to think they started off as bitter rivals and enemies. Some people have friends in high places, others have friends in low places, still others have friends in unlikely places like Yvonne Jennings and Darcy Reese.