It's morning in Chicago. I awaken chipper, the sun shining, music coming up from the streets, loud and bright against the sound of traffic. After a quick shower & comb, I am dressed with an apple in my hand, a coat over my shoulder, and am making my way down to Michigan Avenue, picking up a copy of the Trib and opening to my story, smiling as I continue on.

"Mornin'," I wave to Janes as I stroll past his office. I can hear his footsteps following as I get to my desk down the hall.

"Ahh, Bets, top of the mornin' to ya," I smile at our secretary, placing the apple on the corner of her desk.

"Niafer!" Janes says. "Rumor has it there was a death at the MacRoth house last night."

"I know nothin of the sort," I reply smiling. He throws a copy of the Chicago Daily on my desk. "Janes! Be still my heart- you ain't changing sides here are you?"

"Page 8B, left side," Janes says. I open the paper, a picture of my nemiesis, Martin Snyde staring back at me with that caniving grin. I frown, turning to the headline, reading it as Janes recites it back to me aloud.

"Two Dead at MacRoth Gala". I whistle lowly. No contesting this- pictures of the cops with the 2 dead bodies right next to the article.

"I see," I reply slowly, searching for words.

"You ain't seen nothin because I didn't read this story in my paper!" Janes shouts back. I see Besty raise an eyebrow at me from her desk behind Janes' back.

"Look Janes," I tell him. "Let me be straight with ya. You got a decent paper here- hard-workin' Chicago citizens don't want to open the papers every day reading 'bout death and gore. I took a step back and said to myself, 'Joe- what can you do to make a difference'. I came in here last night, I stayed up late, and got your story-" I pass him the Trib from my back pocket, open to my page- "MacRoth gala an elegant affair. Somethin you can read to the kids. Readers dream of being someplace they can dress up all elegant an' all. Your paper is giving Chicago citizens hope." I look up at Janes with large, earnest eyes and a slight smile, wondering for a second if he could actually buy this mad story.

Sadly, he didn't buy a word of it. His face became the color of the apple.

For the next half hour, Betsy typed away loudly as Janes screamed.

"And finally- You are on suspension for the week. The only event you'll be coverin is the Chicago World Fair- nothing more from you Niafer- one week." Janes stormes back down the hall as I take out a kercheif from my pocket, wiping the spit from my brow.

"Here, buster," Betsy says, tossing me the apple with a sympathetic smile. "You need this more than I do."

"Thanks, toots," I tell her, taking a bite as I grab my coat & notepad. "If anyone cares I'll be out on the town." I set the apple back on her desk. "Say hello to that husband of yours. Tell him to call an ol' pal sometime, won't ya?" She smiles, grabbing the apple and taking a big bite.