Nick punched in the cell number of the sheriff's communications desk sergeant, whom he had known for years. They always spoke cell to cell, both of them wary, and both of them knowing that their organizations could easily track their calls in and out of their respective buildings. Nick never wanted to put his sources at risk, or let his own people know what he knew until it was time.
While he waited, a photo editor hurried up to his desk. "Nick, you going over to the jail? We got a photographer over there already who was staking out some perp walk. Now we hear they've got an officer down and the guards are beating the hell out of the prisoners who are trying to heist a van in the sally port."
"Yeah," Nick said, waiting for the sergeant to click on his cell phone. The editor nodded and hustled away. Nick was shaking his head. News was always nothing but gossip until you checked it out, but even the so-called professionals were still human and loved that need to know something first and then go spread it. The chirping in Nick's ear stopped.
"Yo, Nick. A little slow on the uptake these days, heh?" Sergeant Jim Langford's voice announced on the other end of the line.
"Hey, Sarge," Nick said. He'd never blocked the caller I.D. on his cell, wanting his contacts to choose whether to answer or not. It always gave them the option of an unspoken No comment.
"What's jumping? The rumors are flying that one of your own might have been wounded over at the jail."
"Shit, Nicky. Would I sound so bright and bushy-tailed if it was one of ours? Hell, no. Somebody made a hit on some pervert who was being transferred in for court. Prisoner was dead before he hit the ground, from what I hear."