"Hey, I thought you were gonna come in late today? Wire in the copy?" He looked at the New York clock on the wall. It was 9:15. Scott broke the promise he made to himself to come in late.
"Yeah, well, I underslept." He brandished a thick file of computer printouts. "Before I write this one, I want Higgins and every other lawyer God put on this green Earth to go over it."
"Since when did you get so concerned with pre-scrutiny. As I remember, it was only yesterday that you threatened to nuke Higgins' house and everyone he ever met." Doug pretended to be condescending. Actually, the request was a great leap forward for Scott and every other reporter. Get pre-lawyered, on the approach, learn the guidelines, and maybe new rules before plow- ing ahead totally blind.
"Since I broke into a bank last night!" Scott threw the folder down on Doug's desk. "Here. I'm going to Rosie's for a choles- terol fix. Need a picker upper."
When Scott came back from a breakfast of deep fried fat and pan grilled grease he grabbed his messages at the front desk. Only one mattered:
Higgins. 11:00. Be there. Doug.
Still the boss, thought Scott.
Higgins' job was to approve controversial material, but it gener- ally didn't surround only one reporter, on so many different stories within such a short time span.
"Good to see you, Mason," snorted Higgins.
"Right. Me too," he came back just as sarcastically. "Doug."
He acknowledged his editor with only slightly more civility.