Byte McSoft, hard-boiled tech reporter
My cell phone was buzzing like a bee in an upside-down shot glass.
It was the Microsoft she-devil temptress, the same woman who wants to tell me about a big company announcement, but only if I publish when Billy Boy Gates says so.
I'd already told her NO a few times and was on my way to Red's Bar in Chinatown to celebrate getting scooped by everybody else on the story, once Microsoft had spilled the official beans in a couple hours time.
"I'm not playing your games," I said once again.
There was silence, then a gasp, followed by the sound of someone choking out a sob. "Oh Byte, I can't do this," she said, half crying, half yelling--and by the sound of things, all woman.
"You said a while ago this wasn't about 'people,' not about you being a man and me being a woman. But it's everything about that. Oh Byte, can't you see? Can't you?"
True, I'd mentioned something earlier, but I was telling her about how I, as a reporter, was a hunter, and she, the one with the information, was prey. In other words, I was telling her boss over at Microsoft, Billy Boy, to stuff his embargo. I'd rather get scooped than take one of his deals.
"Spill it," I demanded. "Or hang up."
"Look in your e-mail in-box; you'll find everything you need," she blurted out. "The Wall Street Journal's got a deal to get the story earlier."
Another lie? These types were usually full of them, so my defenses were still way up. If tears were whiskey, she'd've been a popular dame. As it was, she made you want to slap her in the face with a mop. "Cry yourself a drink, throw it back, and pull yourself together, sister."
True enough, though, her big bundle landed in my in-box. Maybe the trick was that they thought I had accepted their embargo. "Sister, I never said nothing about no embargo; so what's the rumpus?"
"I know," she said, her voice now back to its familiar wintergreen cool. "It's yours. Don't waste time talking to me. Just publish. Publish!"
I had to work fast, so no time for pleasantries. My blog entry went up 15 minutes later, a six paragraph story with all the trimmings hit the World Wide Wasteland 15 minutes after that.
I called her back. "So what's your angle, kitten?"
She took a deep breath and said, "I thought I could lead people like you around by their noses for the rest of my life. No, no, no. I thought I could do it.
"There are too few Byte McSofts out there," she said. "You're not going to trade in some of your soul and free will for a story. But you must be so alone; there are so many others who take the easy path. Every now and them, a gal gets to meet one of you. And it knocks her out like a bus."
