Page 2 - Unlikely Stories 5

The Forteana Suppressor

There it was, the absolute nadir: a slow news day in the depths of
the silly season. Larry Kapil, stringer for the Desperia Beacon, was
desperate for copy. High school students had taken all the summer
jobs, willing to work as a lark for low wages. Kapil, alone in a rented
room on a morning already too hot, stared at his phone. It rang.
“Hello,” he muttered, dampening his expectations with a mental
and vocal wet blanket.
“Don’t be so glum, chum!” came the familiar and annoyingly
chipper response. “I think I’ve got a lead. Listen up!”
An amateur photojournalist trying to crack the big time, Keith
Spiro let no grass grow under his feet in the search for a chance to
take a picture worthy of going out on the national news services with
his name under it. So he talked to people: in parks, in bars, on the
bus or waiting in line at the unemployment office. Kapil was the
opposite, a chronic moper, waiting for opportunity to knock while he
gained his information and inspiration from articles already published
by others.
“I met a guy at the drugstore a few minutes ago. He told me the
darnedest thing. I think we should look into it. Human interest, if
nothing else.”
“Oh, yeah? Tell me more.”
“No, it’s too complicated. I’ll pick you up and we’ll go out there
right now. If he talked to me, he might be blabbing all over town. We
need to scoop the Sentinel. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“But, where are we going?”
“Out in the bush, intrepid news hound: better put on your safari
suit! Or is it out at the dry cleaner, getting those knife-edge creases
you love so much? Ha-ha-ha!”
Spiro disconnected. Great day for hunting a snark, Larry thought.
Obviously an outdoor job. He found a baseball cap and a shirt with a
collar. The dregs of his last bottle of sunscreen just managed to cover
the back of his neck. He already had a tape recorder and a pad and
pencils ready in a shoulder bag. Nothing else mattered now, not even

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