CHAPTER 5
NOT THE PRESS

SO TODAY WAS FINALLY the day. More like, today had to be the day. Sloane had fucked off for longer than she liked in a city she longed to get away from. She had to start gathering info for this assignment today. She'd basically been lying to Bobby every time he called and pretended her mom was shouting for her whenever he asked for details.

Sloane did her usual routine for any working day. She got up an hour past dawn, showered, shaved, and brushed her teeth. She blow-dried her hair and worked it into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. She shoved her legs into a pair of jeans that were too small and a white sweater that made her look positively innocent, along with a pair of antique gold hoops in her ears. She made herself toast with – bleh, her mom kept almond butter around the house rather than regular ol' peanut. It would have to do. She ate the toast with a frown, washing it down with some coffee and a swig from the Grey Goose. No one was there to watch her bad habits. Frank had probably already gone to work and Everett started school at seven AM. Sabrina wasn't even up yet when Sloane finally walked out the door.

Autumn in New York rivaled the temperatures in Vermont. It was practically almost winter here. Frost covered the windshields of every car parked on the street and Sloane could see her own breath in the air. Leaves that were still hanging by a thread on their branches were coated with ice. Sloane hugged her parka closer and buried her red nose inside the collar. Her hands felt like they were going numb. Serves her right for forgetting her gloves back at home.

Home, she thought with a sigh. She missed Jerry.

There were just about a hundred police departments in all of Queens, basically one on every block. But while on the phone with Bobby last night, they combed through some articles and found the name of the lead investigator on the case. "Lawrence Fogelman," Bobby had read aloud. "He speaks to the press in every single article we've seen, and yet, he's done jack shit regarding the case. Seems like the kind of guy who loves the limelight without doing any actual work." Sloane had to agree with him. Lawrence, or Larry for short, worked for the 104th Precinct in the Ridgewood neighborhood. She was going to give him a visit this morning.

Well, not if her hands were frozen. Sloane had encouraged herself to walk, like any New Yorker, but she was going to be an icicle before she got to the next block. It took her ten minutes, but she managed to hail a cab to take her to the precinct.

The station lobby was stirring with officers, detectives, and assistants with wide-rimmed glasses and steamed blazers. Sloane truly looked like a fish out of water this time. She had to walk through a metal detector at the entrance, and once she was in, three secretaries sat behind a desk, signing people in. Sloane didn't have a plan, but she walked up to the desk with confidence, even though inside she wanted to crawl under a rock with her vodka and die.

She laid an arm on the counter. "I'm here to meet with Lawrence Fogelman."

The secretary, a round, middle-aged woman with pasty skin and rosacea on her cheeks, raised a thin brow towards Sloane. "Are you Catarina Woods?"

The last name sounded familiar. "I –" Sloane paused, and then nodded at her question. "Yep, I am."

The woman wrote something down on the clipboard in her hands. "I.D., please."

Okay, now she was well and truly fucked. Cold sweat appeared on her brow, and it wasn't just because the heat in this place was set to at least ninety degrees. Sloane wiped at her forehead as the secretary looked up at her suspiciously. "Um –" Sloane swallowed hard. "Can I use the restroom, please?"

"First door on your left," the woman replied, indicating the direction with her pen. She didn't look up from her sheet.

Sloane thanked her and ran to the bathroom, managing to notice the door to the main office was right next to the restrooms. A security guard was monitoring the door, looking at guest and employee passes, so she couldn't just sneak by. Sloane huffed and went to one of the many dirty sinks in front of her. She splashed her face with cold water and wondered what she was going to do. Was lying to a police secretary against the law? She'd never broken the law before – well, she'd never been caught and that wasn't going to start now. If she came back to the Rosewell in handcuffs, it might be the last time her mother would ever let her in. She didn't have the money to stay anywhere else. Oh, fuck, why did she lie?

Rubbing at her temples, Sloane walked into one of the stalls. She locked the door, pressed her back to the wall, and simply breathed. She could do this. She could get in. Once she had an inkling of information, she could get somewhere with her article. That's all she needed: an inkling. A sliver of information. Even just a peek at a file. She needed to find Larry, sweet talk him, and she'd get her info.

Okay, she had a plan. Now all that was left was to execute it. Sloane opened her eyes and reached for the stall lock, but then she noticed something hanging from the hook on the door.

It was a guest pass.

Oh. My. Fucking. God, she thought. This was too damn lucky. Sloane wasn't lucky. How could this be dropped right in her lap? The pass had a name on it written in dry erase marker: Lois Woods. Must've been related to whoever this Catarina person was that wanted to meet with Larry. Sloane ripped it off the hook and placed it around her neck, heading out the door.

She made sure the secretary that spoke to her wasn't looking as she approached the main office. Giving the security guard her best smile, she showed him her pass and he nodded. Sloane pushed the door opened and strode in before anyone could tell her otherwise. Her heart was beating so fast and she could hardly catch her breath, but there was no time to waste. She began to fast walk down the long hall, eyeing every name on the office doors.

The hallway opened up to a big office floor, desks arranged together and people running in every direction. Sloane swallowed hard, nervous, but she knew she could blend in easily. She walked casually through the open space and squinted at all the name cards. Larry wasn't in here. Turning her head to the right, she noticed another long corridor of additional office spaces. He had to be down there.

She headed in that direction, almost bumping into several different people who didn't bother to notice she was coming. Despite the pain of having her funny bone bumped, it was better to not be noticed. It would make getting out much easier.

Sloane finally found Larry's office at the end of the hallway, right next to one of the many emergency exits. She inhaled roughly and knocked on the cracked door. He met her eyes instantly.

Larry had a Jerry Seinfeld kind of look to him. He had a big nose, dark curls that formed into a quaff at the top of his head, and ears that stuck straight out. His light green eyes narrowed in her direction when he noticed the guest pass hanging from her neck, and he closed the manila folder he'd just been inspecting.

"It's funny, Lois," he said. "I just talked to you over an hour ago and you looked completely different. Facial reconstructive surgery?"

Sloane stepped further inside and laced her hands in front of her. "I needed to speak with you, Mr. Fogelman. It's of the utmost importance."

Larry wagged a pen in her direction. "You're part of the press." He sighed and glanced at his computer. "I'm not talking with the press anymore. All they do is twist my words and, apparently, sneak into my office."

"I'm not the press."

He glared in her direction.

"Okay, listen, I really need your help." She sat down in one of the ratty chairs in front of his desk. "I looked into you and I know you're the lead investigator on the Jawbreaker case –"

"It's not called, 'the Jawbreaker Case.' It's multiple cases –"

"I'm writing an article for a popular news site on the murders. I was born in Queens so the article will be personal and I could be up for an award if it's good enough. I need some information to get started on this assignment. The police have barely shared anything. So I was wondering if I could pick your brain about possible motives, what you think the murder weapon is, how everything is connected. Some case files would also help –"

"I'm gonna stop you there." Larry held up a hand. "I gave you a good ten seconds."

Sloane's brow raised. "So you're gonna help me?"

He laughed loudly. "What? Of course not."

"But –"

"You can't just come in here pretending to be someone else and ask for me to share fucking case files with you. Are you insane?"

Sloane's eyes flickered from him to the floor. "I'm assuming that's a rhetorical question." Her shoulders sunk. "You really can't help me at all? I need a starting point for this article. Come on, give me something."

"Listen – hey, what's your name?"

Sloane opened her mouth to voice it, but then decided it was probably better if she didn't. Her lips close automatically.

"Never mind. Doesn't matter." He waved his hand. "I can't share classified information with just anyone, especially the press. I'll tell you what I tell every reporter: I can't comment at this time, but this is an ongoing investigation and I'll share information as soon as I can."

She batted her lashes at him. "Now, c'mon, Larry –"

"It's Lawrence," he corrected. Clicking his pen against the desk, he stood up and buttoned his wrinkled blazer. His gut was protruding slightly at the bottom. "Now, Lois, I'm going to get security to escort you outside. Want a ride home?"

Sloane slumped back in the seat and sighed. "I guess."

"Alright, be right back." He chewed his gum loudly as he left the room, and the office fell completely silent.

Sloane looked down, inspected her fingernails, and then came to the brilliant conclusion that she was alone. In his office. Maybe only for a minute, but it was a minute she couldn't pass up. She got to her feet with impressive speed and stood behind his desk, eyes running over the papers strewn about the surface. She opened the folder he had been looking at when she arrived, and sure enough, it was one of the Jawbreaker's victims. She remembered the name from press releases: Isabella Woods. That was where she heard that last name before. Isabella was the second victim found, and apparently, was related to the woman Sloane was impersonating with her guest pass.

Sloane took out her phone and began snapping pictures of the clippings inside and every single page of the autopsy report, not bothering to even skim it. Larry could be back any minute now. He had a pile of other manila folders to the left of Isabella's, which reminded her of Bobby's desk. Sloane filtered through them with her nimble fingers, finally recognizing a name written on the front of one of them: Hayden York. She was the first victim, found just over a month ago. Sloane took pictures of her report like a paparazzi, relentless with her search.

She heard Larry's booming laughter down the hall and looked up. Her heartbeat went rapid again. She didn't even bother to put Hayden's file back in place before she sprinted out of his office, glancing back to see Larry and the security guard who allowed her in at the other end of the corridor. Larry's eyes met hers as he screamed, "Hey, Press! Where do you think you're –"

Sloane didn't give him the time to finish his sentence. She was already pushing on the emergency exit door and running out of the precinct like a chicken with its head cut off. She had all the information she needed now.

━━━━━━

Sloane didn't have any prior experience in track or most exercises. In fact, she was pretty out of shape. But running from the precinct ignited a whole different fight or flight response within her. Sloane sprinted at the goddamn speed of light out of that emergency exit, taking a swift turn down a back alley once she noticed the security guard looking for her around the area. She hid behind a dumpster and tried not to scream when she saw a raccoon gnawing on a piece of trash inside. Eventually, the security guard gave up and went inside. Lazy bastard, Sloane thought before deciding to walk back.

The air was a little warmer now that the morning clouds went away. It was still brisk, but at least the sun was out to warm her face. Her nose went back to its normal color and not a blotchy red. Sloane had a big grin on her face, even if it was hidden by the collar of her parka. She couldn't get any info from Larry, but she did what any good reporter would do: she looked through his things to get the answer. Bobby would be so proud of her. She, Sloane Bernstein, outsmarted a cop. Fucking pig, she giggled to herself.

As a reward for her accomplishments, Sloane stopped off at a mini-mart a street away from the Rosewell. She was surprised she was able to get through the entire walk without hailing a cab, but the warm sun was comforting, allowing her to remember the times when her dad liked to take her around the city, even on cold days like today.

She walked into the mini-mart and the cashier saluted her. She headed for the snack aisle first and grabbed a bag of Takis. She made sure to grab a pack of Sno Balls too. Turning the corner, she couldn't help but somehow end up where the alcohol was stacked. "What a funny coincidence," she muttered to herself before realizing how crazy that sounded. Her eyes traveled up to the Smirnoff and she considered it. She already had half a bottle of Grey Goose and Smirnoff back in her room though. Which she needed to find a better hiding spot for, but that was beside the point. Would getting another one help so she wouldn't have to stop again? Or was she fine with the two bottles back at the penthouse?

Her hand reached out and froze in midair when she heard a familiar voice greet the cashier. "Johnny! What's up, my man?"

Flash Thompson. Oh, fuck.

She automatically walked away, wanting to get out of this mini-mart as soon as possible. Running up to the counter, she quickly put the Takis bag and crinkly package of Sno Balls on the table and began rummaging through the cash in her pockets. Once she found a ten-dollar bill, her eyes snagged on a carton of candy situated next to the register. Jawbreakers. There was only one left, a 4-inch sized one. How could they be almost sold out?

Sloane picked the ball candy up with her thumb and forefinger, inspecting it. Without thinking twice, she tossed it on the counter and said, "This too, please."

The cashier coughed. "That'll be –"

She slapped the five on the counter and grabbed her snacks. "Keep the change."

The bag of chips crunched against her chest as she walked out of the store. As the door began to shut, she heard Flash's booming voice call out, "Sloane, hey!" So, naturally, she ran home and didn't look back. He was not getting her attention ever again.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm so sorry to everyone who wants flash and sloane to be friends bc I don't think it's gonna happen wjansksmslmsps she's so annoyed by that dude 🤣🤣 but who knows??? maybe it could happen if I change my mind

I know this chapter was kinda filler, but including sloane's whole investigation process has been so much fun and interesting for me!! I promissssse peter will show up more once he starts working with her lol. but for a few chapters, we have psycho sloane reporter time 🤓