Chapter 5 5

The number of advertisements published by the Los Angeles Post ranks first among all American newspapers.Even in an age when most print media is in the doldrums, it's still raking in big bucks for its operators.I saw its towering newspaper building, located in the city center, occupying an entire block. Strictly speaking, the Los Angeles Post is not in Los Angeles.Its four-story, aging building is located near the Purbank Airport in Sun Valley, in the metropolitan area but not within the city of Los Angeles. The Post's parking lot is not one of those multi-storey underground car parks.It is a square, surrounded by railings connected by chains, and barbed wire is also erected on it.

Instead of smiling, uniformed guards, a sullen young man sits on a deck chair under a dirty parasol, listening to rap on the radio while keeping an eye on the entrance.He was about nineteen years old, with a shaved head, a gold ring on the left nose, jet-black nails, baggy black jeans with a cut at the knee, and a baggy black sweatshirt with a letter on the chest. There is a row of red words "Heaven is not afraid, he is not afraid". He kept a sneaky eye on each car that came in, as if evaluating which parts would fetch a good price at the scrap yard.In fact, he was paying attention to the employee notice card on the windshield of the car, preparing to guide the visiting guests to the parking place.

The notice card is renewed every two years, and Joe's notice card is still valid.Two months after Flight 353 crashed, he handed in his resignation.But the editor-in-chief Santos just refused to accept it, and arranged for him to stay without pay so that he could work immediately once he returned to the team one day. He wasn't planning to come back, not at all.But now he needs to use the newspaper's computer and Internet. The reception room still hasn't spent any money on refurbishment, gray-brown paint, iron chairs with blue plastic cushions, iron-leg coffee tables with imitation granite tops, and two copies of the day's post.

On the walls hung a few crudely framed black-and-white photographs by Hennett, a Post legend and award-winning photojournalist.Most of the photos are about turmoil, including a city on fire, the streets are full of looters; the avenue after the earthquake, with ruins and tiles; a Latin American woman jumped from the sixth floor of the fire and died in the middle of the street ; The heavy rain washes away, the hillside stratum slides, and a magnificent building is crumbling.All in all, no news enterprise, electronic or print, has made its name out of positive reporting. Sitting behind the reception counter is Bidowe, who acts as both receptionist and security guard.Dowe has been at the Post for twenty years, ever since it was founded by a wildly cocky billionaire who wanted to compete with the politically and business-friendly Times.At first, the newspaper office was located in a brand-new building in Century City, and the entire space design was written by famous designer Stephen.Dowe was then one of the guards, not the receptionist.But no matter how crazy this tycoon is, he can't afford to spend money like water.So he sold the luxurious office building and moved to the shabby place in Rigu.The staff was also greatly reduced, and Dao Wei was retained because he was tall, thick-backed, and boasted that he had the computer skills to type 80 characters per minute.

With the passing of time, the Post has finally made ends meet, and Mr. Stephen, who is full of ideals, has also designed countless breathtaking interior decorations, and was even praised by "Architectural Digest".In the end, he passed away suddenly, even if he was as talented as him, he could not escape death.Just like that billionaire, although he has a lot of wealth, he will eventually die.Just like Bi Daowei with a wide smile, he is versatile and will always be called by the Lord one day in the future. "Joe!" Dowe laughed, rising from his chair and reaching out his big hand from behind the counter.

Joe shook his hand and said, "How are you, Dowe?" "Carver and Martin graduated from the University of California with the highest grades in June this year, and now one is going to study law and the other is going to study." Dowe continued, as if this is just out of the news, and it will be in the Post tomorrow front page.The biggest difference between Dowe and the billionaire employer is that Dowe's pride does not come from his own achievements, but from his children. "Rongli is in her sophomore year at Yale with a scholarship. This fall, she will take over the job of editor of the student literary magazine, hoping to become a novelist like Baoanna. Her works Julie always read again and again because suddenly Thinking of Flight 353, Dowe's eyes suddenly dimmed like clouds covering the moon. He remained silent, feeling sorry for himself for boasting about his children in front of a man who had lost his children.

"How's Lena?" Joe asked Dowe's wife. "She's fine...she's fine, yes, fine." Dowe nodded with a smile to hide his uneasiness. Joe was annoyed at this pitiful response from his friends, and it had been a full year and still was.The pity in their eyes is pure sympathy.But to Joe, it seems to be blaming him for not being able to get his life back to normal just yet. "I've got to go upstairs, Dowe, and take a moment to do some research, okay?" Dowe's expression suddenly brightened. "Joe, are you ready to come back?" "Maybe." Joe tricked him.

"Come back to work?" "In consideration." "Mr. Santos must be delighted to hear that." "Is he here today?" "No, on vacation. Fishing somewhere in Vancouver." Joe feels relieved not to have to lie to San Do-do about his true motives. "One thing that interests me is the twists and turns of human stories. It's not my job, so I want to find some information." "Sandos wants you to feel at home first, so go up there!" "Thanks, Dowe." Joe pushed open the swing door and walked down a long hallway.The walkways were stained and worn green carpet, the paint was peeling off the walls and the sound-absorbing ceiling was faded.The bustling scene is a reflection of the vicissitudes of the Post in Century City over the years.A guerrilla tabloid, impoverished but honest.

On the left is the elevator room. The two elevator doors are also scratched and full of holes.Most of the first floor is used for archives, clerical rooms, classified advertisements and sales departments. At this moment, it is a quiet weekend.So quiet that Joe felt like a trespasser.He could imagine that anyone who met him would not believe that he was really back. While waiting for the elevator, Dowe hurried up from the reception room and handed him a white sealed envelope, much to Joe's surprise. "I almost forgot about it. A lady came here a few days ago and said that this is some information in a story, and I want to give it to you personally."

"what story?" "She didn't say that, only that you knew all about it." Joe took the envelope as the elevator doors opened. "I told her you stopped working here ten months ago," Dowe said, "and she asked me for your phone number. Of course, I said don't give out your phone number or address casually." Joe stepped into the elevator and said, "Thanks." "I told her I would pass this on to you or call you. Then I found out you moved and got a new phone." "It shouldn't be very important." Joe pointed to the envelope and said comfortingly, after all, he didn't intend to return to the press.

When the elevator door was about to close, Dowe blocked the door with his hand. He frowned and said: "Not only can you not be found in the personnel information, Joe, no one here, including your friends, no one knows how to contact you." You contact." "I know." Dowe hesitated for a moment and continued, "Are you depressed a lot?" "Almost," admitted Joe, "but I'm crawling back." "A friend will give you a hand to make climbing easier." Joe nodded his understanding. "Remember," said Dowe. "Thanks." Dowe took a step back, and the elevator doors slammed shut, carrying Joe up. The third floor is almost entirely used as an editing room, and it is divided into small studios, so the whole space cannot be seen at a glance.Each studio has computers and telephones.Swivel chair and some necessities. It's all the same as the Times' newsroom, only it's bigger. The only difference is that the furniture and decoration of The Times are newer and more fashionable than the Post. In the environment over there, the smell of asbestos and formaldehyde in the air has been filtered out, which makes the air here have a strange smell.And, even on weekend afternoons, the Times staff is much busier than the Post's. Over the past few years, Joe has had two offers to serve at The Times, but he declined both.Although the Times is a big newspaper, and the advertising is the highest.But Joe believed that the Post would allow him to do more, to do more in-depth reporting.The Post has always been a sanctuary for bold, maverick journalists. It never takes politicians seriously. It assumes that every public official is either corrupt or incompetent or sexually deranged and power-hungry.Therefore, it is often tired of being famous. Years ago, after earthquakes to the north, seismologists discovered a fault that ran right through downtown Los Angeles and near a series of neighborhoods in the San Frando Canyon.The editor once circulated a joke that if the earthquake destroyed the downtown Times and Hitani's post, what disaster would happen to the city.The joke says: without the Post, the citizens of Los Angeles would have no way of knowing which politicians and public servants are corrupt, bribery and bestiality, but the biggest tragedy is the loss of the Sunday Times newspaper, which weighs six pounds each.Nobody knows which store is having a clearance sale. If the Post was a wolfhound irritated by the smell of the rats and chasing after it—and it was—Joe thought it was his non-partisanship that enabled him to do so.What's more, its targets are almost as corrupt as the public believes. Michelle was a prominent columnist and editor for the Post, and the two met here, fell in love, and shared the joy of being a part of a small business.She was pregnant with their two babies and worked countless days and nights here.Now Joe found that in this building, nostalgia for Michelle was everywhere.He cannot control his emotional stability, nor can he convince himself that life has a purpose and is worth fighting for.He is at the Post and can no longer concentrate on his work. Joe went straight to his old studio, thankful that the old friend didn't meet him. His place has been replaced by Ke Randy, Randy is a good man, if he sees Joe sitting in his place, he shouldn't be surprised.A photo of Randy's wife, their nine-year-old son, and six-year-old daughter Libeth was taped to the board.Joe stared at it for a while, then looked away. After turning on the computer, he reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope from the automotive department.He stole it from the glove box of the pickup truck in the cemetery.There was a valid registration card inside, and to his surprise, the registered owner was not a government unit, nor a law enforcement agency, but a large company called Medes.God, he didn't expect this to be just a business venture.Brick and his two trigger-pull friends in Hawaiian shirts didn't look like cops or Feds at all, but they seemed more cop-like than any corporate executive Joe had ever known. He then entered the Post's vast digitized archives, which contained every word and every article, including photographs, that the Post had published since its inception. He typed in the term Mendes and got six hints, which were just small items in the business section.Joe quickly went through it from beginning to end. Meadows is a New Jersey business that started out as an air ambulance service in several cities.Later, it expanded into a professional courier service throughout the country, specializing in the delivery of emergency medicines, carefully preserved blood and tissue samples, and expensive and fragile scientific instruments.The company even secretly transports highly infectious bacteria and viruses that they collaborated to develop for public agencies and military units.Therefore, it maintains a considerable number of aircraft and helicopters. helicopter?And an unmarked white van? Eight years ago, Meadows was purchased by Delaware Techno Corporation.It was a large corporation with wholly owned subsidiaries in the pharmaceutical and computer industries.Its computer-related products are all developed and manufactured by the company itself.Most of them are software related to medicine and medicine research and development. When Joe searched for Tech, he got forty-one catalogs, mostly in the business section.The first two articles are boring and boring. They are all investment and accounting terms, which makes it a pain to read.Joe copied the four longest articles to read later. While the printer was printing these materials, he scoured the Post for any articles that had ever appeared about the crash of Flight 353.A series of headlines and dated material is presented on the screen.Joe had to force himself to create the archives. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to picture the waves crashing on the beach in Santa Monica.Finally he gritted his teeth, and he quickly scanned through these directories page by page, trying to find all the passenger lists.Tastefully, he skipped quickly over photos of the crash scene, showing the wreckage of the plane broken into pieces and distorted beyond recognition.The gray sky was drizzling, and investigators from the National Transportation Commission, wearing protective clothing, prowled the prairie where the plane crashed. Joe was looking for the leader of the National Transportation Safety Board's action team, Barbara, the director of the investigation, and her fourteen experts. Several articles were accompanied by photos of the crew and passengers, with Michelle and her two daughters being given prominent status as family members of Post members. When he moved into the apartment eight months ago, Joe packed all his family photos into a big box, sealed the box, and put it in the back of his only storage room. His reason is that the wound will be difficult to heal if it is often rubbed. Now, in the process of his survey, their appearance was presented on the screen. Although he was mentally prepared, he still felt unable to breathe.A promotional photo of Michelle, taken by the photographers of the Post, captured her beauty, but failed to capture her tenderness, wisdom, and charming smiles, which cannot be covered by a mere photo. But it's still Michelle.Photos of Chrissy at the Post's Christmas party for the children of employees were also published, with bright eyes and a toothy grin; Know the secret of magic. Qiao's heart was pierced like a knife, and his emotions almost lost control.He moved the mouse to erase their images from the screen but couldn't erase their appearance in his mind.They have never been so clearly in front of my eyes since I archived the photos. The waves hit the beach, today is the same as in the past, yesterday is now the morning, rising and sunset, the moon waxes and wanes, these eternal rhythms are running meaninglessly. The only sane response is to ignore it. He moved his hands away from his face, sat up straight, and tried to concentrate on the computer screen.Joe was worried that his actions would attract attention, and if an old acquaintance came to ask what happened, he would have to spend a lot of time talking. He found the passenger list he wanted, and the Post listed those who lived in Southern California among the dead, which saved him a lot of trouble.Joe printed out all of these lists, each with the name of the town where the deceased lived. "I'm not ready to have a long talk with you yet." This is what the mysterious woman told him, so it can be seen that she must have something to tell him in the future. "Don't be depressed, you'll see like everyone else." What do you see?He was at a loss. What would she tell him to ease his pain?Impossible, impossible. "...see like everyone else, like everyone else!" "what else" The only reasonable answer is the family members of other passengers who died on Flight 353.Alone as he was, and she had talked to them. Jo didn't expect her to come back for him, and with Brick and his two henchmen on the run, she couldn't live long enough to visit him and satisfy his curiosity. When Joe finished searching and bound the printed materials, he remembered the white envelope that Bi Daowei handed him at the elevator door. As an interview reporter for crime news, his name is often in the newspapers.So I often receive some inside stories from newspapers.They solemnly claim to be victims of a secret satanic ritual infestation; or that they know of a tobacco tycoon plotting to spike nicotine into baby formula; or that their neighbor across the street is actually a spider-like alien Creatures, just pretending to be a Korean immigrant family to hide. On one occasion, someone insisted that the mayor of Los Angeles was not a human being, but a robot controlled by the voice-activated department of Disneyland.Joe lowered his voice and said to him, "Tell you, we've known about this for years. But if we post a word, the people at Disneyland will kill us all." He said so Reasonable, the guy was stunned and speechless for a while. Therefore, he thought that this letter must also be some gibberish news, but when he opened the envelope, there was only a piece of white letter paper folded into a king fold, with a line of words typed neatly on it: "I have tried to Contacting you, Joe. My life is in your hands. I am a passenger on Flight 353." Didn't everyone on the flight die?He did not believe that the letter was sent by a ghost from another world.There is a signature at the bottom of the letter: Du Luosi.The phone number under the name is for the Los Angeles area, but no address. Joe's anger was slowly rising, his cheeks were flushed with anger, and it was likely to be out of control.He was almost so impulsive that he wanted to grab the phone and give this Miss Du a hard fix.Tell her that she is a vicious scum, addicted to fantasy all day long, a spiritual vampire who only absorbs other people's misfortune to satisfy her own sick needs. But suddenly, he remembered the first sentence Brick told him in the cemetery.At that time, the other party didn't know that there was another person in the white van. When Joe got in through the open door and looked for the mobile phone in the glove box, Brick mistook him for one of the men in the Hawaiian shirt.He said, "Did you catch Rose?" Rose! Because Joe was frightened by the two gunmen and worried that the woman would be caught, he didn't find anyone in the car, let alone how important what Brick said was.After that, everything happened so quickly that he had almost forgotten what Brick said, until now he suddenly remembered it. Dorothy must be the woman with the Polaroid camera taking pictures of the cemetery.If she was just a deranged paranoid patient, how could Meadows or Techno have invested so much manpower and money to find her.Jo thought of the beautiful appearance of the woman in the cemetery, her frankness, her calm expression, and her terrifying eyes.She is by no means crazy. Qiao stood up, her heart was beating wildly, and the paper in her hand was also shaking.He left the studio and walked down the aisle to see if anyone else could share this new development with him. "Hey! Look here, you guys read this note. Some things are so wrong. Jesus! It's all wrong, it's not like we said, someone didn't die after the crash, got out of there alive. We have to Find out what happened. They said there was no survivors, no survivors, the plane was destroyed. What else did they tell us? Is it true? What was the real cause of death for the passengers on the plane? Why did they die? Why?" Before the others saw him standing there in frenzy, before he looked around for familiar faces, another thought crossed his mind.Rose's letterhead made it clear that her life was in his hands, so he had to be careful. In addition, he also has a very crazy idea, although it is unreasonable, but Joe firmly believes that if he shows the note to everyone, the note will become a blank sheet of paper; If he puts his driver's license in their hands, it will become his own; if he takes them to the cemetery, there will be no bullet casings on the grass, and no tire marks on the ground.No one ever saw the white van, and no one heard the gunfire. This is a mysterious mission entrusted to him, and he is none other than him.Joe suddenly felt that seeking out the truth was not only his responsibility, but also a sacred mission that should not be shrugged off.This would be his life's goal, perhaps as an unknowable form of atonement. He actually didn't know what was going on, it was just this feeling that made him unforgettable.He walked back to his seat trembling all over, wondering if he was really crazy.