Carl's not mine, but I'm borrowing him for this story.

Interview (Before a Vampire)

By SpunSilk

"Mr. Vincenzo, I have a man here to see you..." Jamie's voice interrupted his train of thought as he stood behind his cluttered desk, but his eyes never left the wire feed he was holding in front of him.

"Okay. Tell him to wait, Jamie, I have to finish–" He glanced up in surprise. The man stood in front of his desk already, holding a handful of typed papers. Jamie at the door rolled her eyes significantly, and left, slowly closing the door behind her.

The first words out of the impertinent new-comer's mouth were, "You don't want to miss this. The Las Vegas News' first Pulitzer just walked in your door."

Anthony Vincenzo frowned in irritation. "Is that so?"

"It is so."

He had brownish-red hair, intense eyes, and all the social grace of a bull-ox – and a well-worn straw hat to top it all off. "Have a seat, Mr... " the editor said skeptically.

"Kol-chak." he annunciated.

"Mr. Kolchak." he murmured. Both men sat down.

"I'm looking for employment at your fine establishment here. I've been looking at papers around the area, and yours seems the best one, I'm lucky to have found you. And you'd be lucky to have me."

"Is that so?" he repeated incredulously. He studied the new-comer and leaned back, creaking his chair a few times appraising him. "Okay, hot shot, you got a resumé?"

"I do." He handed a single sheet over the desk.

"Kolchak." he read, "Where's that from?"

"The name's Romanian, sir."

He perused the sheet, but he also took one more glance at the man himself, and couldn't help commenting, "And this is what you wear to a job interview?"

The man glanced down in surprise. "It was good enough for New York City."

"Uh-huh. 20 years ago."

"I don't report on fashion! I do the Crime Desk." came the indignant reply. After a pause, he added generously, "Or, possibly... the City Desk."

"When someone works under me, he does what I tell him to do," the editor finished the repartee authoritatively. "That's called management." Kolchak did not reply. Vincenzo turned his full attention to the page in front of him. The sound of typing and the buzz of the activity in the newsroom behind him filtered in, muffled through the glass walls. The editor's eyebrows raised, "Quite a list of newspapers here. Hmmm... Boston Globe... Washington Post. The New York Times?" He was impressed, in spite of himself. "There are some big names here."

"That's right." Kolchak smiled, sensing he was being taken more seriously.

Vincenzo scanned the page critically. "This has all been within the last 10 years?"

He hesitated. "That's right..."

"That doesn't speak well for being very long at any one post."

"I like to keep moving up as the opportunity presents itself," he smiled confidently and leaned back into the chair. "I was building momentum the whole time. I saw each of them as... well, let's call them stepping stones."

"And now you're culminating in the Las Vegas News?" he asked with one raised eyebrow.

Kolchak did not answer.

Vincenzo frowned at the resumé. "How long have you lived in Las Vegas, Mr. Kolchak?"

"Oh, about 4 hours, sir."

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, we don't have any openings here." He handed the page back, "Good-day."

"Now, hold on –" he countered, but a sharp rap at the door interrupted, with a nod from Vincenzo, a female underling entered, putting a page in front of the boss without a word. Vincenzo scanned it and signed it and she slipped out of the office again. "Look," Kolchak started again, leaning forward. "Look." he spoke quietly. "I need the work. I need TO work... I..." he faltered. "...I gotta have a story to follow..." A quick flash of desperate need showed in his eyes before it was skillfully covered again.

The man behind the desk paused.

He knew that look; it was the same way a man eyes a cold beer in the unrelenting hot sun of the desert, the look in a dog's eye if a meaty bone is held just out of his reach. He had seen that look a few times before in other employees, but far too seldom. It was a good sign in a reporter. He pursed his lips in thought. "Are you any good?" was his simple question.

As a response, the interviewee pulled out the papers he held in his hand; a thick stack of carbon copies, dark with blocks of text, that was held together with a single over-sized paperclip. Vincenzo flipped through it quickly at first, then slowed, then stopped scanning all together and read thoroughly. Kolchak sat silently, for once, sensing this was the time when silence might be golden. Vincenzo continued reading, frowning in concentration as he read through the news stories. The phone on the desk rang. He answered it with a gruff "Don't bother me now," and returned the receiver to its cradle. Kolchak smiled smugly. Vincenzo read.

At long length, he asked, "How fast do you type copy?"

"75 words a minute, 88 with deadline breathing down my neck."

"Uh-huh." He continued reading in silence. After a number of minutes, he glanced up and caught Kolchak with a penetrating look, "This one on the extra-marital affair of a Mayor –" he glanced back at the page, " – Morrison..." he left the question open ended, but Kolchak did not offer any comment. "Would this copy have anything to do with you leaving that newspaper?"

Kolchak took an evasive breath. "Yeah," he finally answered.

"Uh-huh." Vincenzo said knowingly. He returned to the reading.

"Well! In my defense, that editor was in the mayor's pocket! The low-life. I was only doing what any good, honest reporter does! Putting the news in front of the public, no crime there! He was spending our citizen's money on this floozie, loads of it. The word needed to get out."

"And this one, on the hazardous waste spill cover-up by the biggest chemical company on the Eastern Seaboard? How about that one? Connected with your leaving that paper?"

Kolchak scowled, but eventually gave up an answer, "Yeah."

"Uh-huh." He read again.

"That editor was worried about offending the third largest employer in the state. Can you believe it? Biggest chemical company my backside!" He crossed his arms resolutely. "That corporate trash threatened to move the whole company out-of-state if my story went to print! That's the truth; the health and wellness of a small city's population didn't measure up against the states's tax-income revenue for one company! Better to dismiss the only reporter with the guts to bring it to the public's attention. Sweep the whole thing under the rug!" he fumed.

Vincenzo continued reading without comment.

Kolchak shifted positions in the chair nervously in the silence. "I've had real bad luck with a string of unreasonable editors, I will admit to that," he grated, then his demeanor changed abruptly, "But, I can tell right away that isn't the case with you! I can tell already that we two will get on famously!"

Vincenzo finished reading, and the sheaf of papers slapped down onto the desk. He frowned at the floor and said nothing for a moment. Kolchak watched him closely. Finally he spoke. "Good copy."

"Thanks."

"Good background and digging, too. Skills I see too seldom in a reporter these days."

"Thanks again."

"Look... Mr. Kolchak..."

"Carl."

"Look, Mr. Kolchak... I can see you're an idealistic cuss. I admire that. I'd like to help you, but I can not hire you."

"Now, hold on! Not so quick, now... You need me." He became animated. "There's a battle going on out there! Haven't you heard? There are forces out there that are victimizing the populous – victimizing! There are bad guys out there thinking they're getting away with murder, sometimes literally! And our only hope in that battle is the Free Press. The Fourth Estate, that you and I work under, both of us. The public is counting on us. This fight is on-going and you're going to find yourself out-manned! I can help you! In a battle at sea, you don't want to show up with a shotgun; you want a cannon! You want someone of my caliber!"

Vincenzo smirked. "In a battle at sea, I agree. But in battle – or even in peace-time – a loose cannon is a hazard to anyone on the ship's deck!"

"Loose cannon? Me? No, no. No." He shook his head. "No. A crusty newshound, nothing more." He added with a determined air, "And nothing less."

"I'd like to help out a fellow newsman, I really would. But I'm sorry. I'm fully staffed here. My hands are tied."

"If it's – ! If it's a question of finances, I'm flexible. I will take your normal package, pay, whatever. No need to be paid what I'm worth ––"

"I have no openings. I'm sorry." he answered truthfully. Another rap on the door, Vincenzo responded "Yeah!" and a balding man stuck his head into the office.

"Er... sorry to interrupt."

"That's fine, Faulkland. We're finished here. What is it?"

"There's news, Mr. Vincenzo, and I'm afraid it's not good. Samson's skipped town."

"What?!" He was on his feet in a flash.

"He just called. He's already half way to L.A."

"But that's crazy! What happened?"

"Gambling debt, that's what I heard," the man backed out of the office with Vincenzo following him, "There has been some talk in the newsroom. He had to leave –" the conversation moved out of the hearing of the small glass office. Kolchak pivoted in his chair and watched with great interest as the excitement on the other side of the glass wall played out. Vincenzo was quickly surrounded by a small gaggle of reporters around one of the desks, offering what they could for information, and he was visibly aggravated. Kolchak winced (with a grin) at the editor's booming frustration. After a number of minutes of discussion between them, a flurry of activity followed with instructions being given to various people amid protests and resistance. Kolchak shook his head in mock sympathy watching it all.

After the crisis, a weary Vincenzo re-entered his office and seemed almost surprised to find the out-of-work reporter still sitting in the chair across from his desk. Kolchak was smiling an impish grin. "Looks like the stars alined." he commented happily.

"What?" Vincenzo asked, his mind firmly elsewhere, with other troubles.

"You have an opening now."

"Oh. Why is it you think Samson was a reporter?"

"Oh, come on, you're an editor. Reporters are your bread and butter. Why else would you be so upset to lose the guy suddenly?" He did not answer. Kolchak added coyly, "As an added benefit, I don't gamble. The only risks I take are to get a story."

Vincenzo grunted his approval.

The two men sat in silence; one with a skeptical, appraising frown, one with confident delight.

At length, The larger man spoke. "All right." he acquiesced. Kolchak slapped his knee celebratorially. "I have a top-down management style, you will report what I assign and all copy will cross my desk. Stories will print – or not – on my discretion. You will sit across from Jamie." he indicated which one with a jerk of the head.

"Yes, sir!" He leaped to his feet and headed out.

"Kolchak."

"Yeah, boss?" His head bobbed back into the office.

"You commented just now, 'it looks like the stars alined'. Are you into the Zodiac?"

"No, no," he laughed, "I haven't got a superstitious bone in my body! No, I live in the real world. I believe in only what I know to be fact because these eyes have seen it, nothing more. I'm a great sceptic."

"Good."

"We two will work well together, I have a very good feeling about this!" He left the office with a spring in his step and headed towards his new desk.

Vincenzo watched him shake hands cordially with a skeptical Jamie through the glass. He thought, Well, we can use some new blood, lately things have been a little routine around here. This one might shake things up a bit... maybe...