Scott's confirmation. Hugh Sidneys, the Pee Wee Herman sounding beancounter from First State. What did he want?
"Yes, of course, Mr. Sidneys. How can I help you?" He opened his notebook. He had just had his story nixed and he was ready to go home. But Sidneys . . .maybe . . .
"It's just that, well, I'm nervous about this . . ."
"No need to apologize, Hugh." Scott smiled into the phone to convey sincerity. "I understand, it happens all the time. What can I do for you tonight?"
"Well, I, ah, thought that we might, maybe you could, well I don't know about help, help, it's so much and I didn't really know, no I shouldn't have called . . .I'm sorry . . ." The pitch of Sidneys' voice rose as rambled on.
"Wait! Don't hang up. Mr. Sidneys. Mr. Sidneys?"
"Yes," the whisper came over the earpiece.
"Is there something wrong . . .are you all right?" The fear, the sound of fear that every good reporter is attuned to came over loud and clear. This man was terrified.
"Yes, I'm OK, so far."
"Good. Now, tell me, what's wrong. Slowly and calmly." He eased Sidneys off his panic perch.