Disclaimer: Due to an ongoing investigation, details will be limited.
The intense smell of antiseptic cleaner wafts through the ICU unit at Pillbox Medical as numerous beeps and pings break the silence of the room. I open my eyes as I hear the detectives enter, once again, to inquire if I’ve had any new recollections of the events which led me to be found unconscious, skull fractured and bleeding, on a pier at the Alamo Sea. Only small things come to mind. I relay the information as best I can, the sedative still strong in my system. The detectives tell me they believe I was attacked with a baseball bat. However, so far they have no suspects.
One long agonizing week passes until I am finally released from the hospital. I take in the warmth of the sun and the breeze on my skin, and with that I begin my search for answers. My first stop was to retrieve my Issi Classic from the PD impound. They had advised me they recovered my vehicle, not from a remote wooded area nor from the water but left abandoned at a well known local business. A business whose owner, I recalled, had threatened my fellow reporter George Sinclair just prior to my attack. This information simply led to more questions.
As it is my natural method of gathering news stories during my travels around the city, I consulted my vast and highly detailed notebook for clues. There I found what I could not remember. An investigation on which I was currently working. A sordid and mysterious relationship between the aforementioned esteemed business owner and an association of, as they refer to themselves, “motorcycle enthusiasts”. I then remember that my friend and fellow journalist had been receiving serious threats from this group. I saved the information and the vast array of photographic evidence I had gathered and set out to support my friend George Sinclair during his bid for mayor, placing this explosive story on hold for the time being.
On the day of his campaign announcement, shortly after leaving the venue, a kidnapping attempt was made. Due to still being on edge from my previous attack, I began to feel uneasy and quickly thought of sending my location to one of the detectives. They arrived just as I was fleeing for my safety. I was swiftly rushed away to a secure location where I spoke at length with several detectives. After discussing everything I had recently witnessed, I handed over my notes and surveillance photos. The story on which I was working was, and is, now an LSPD investigation. It was then that I was placed under police protection, where I have remained, still, as always, watching and writing.
As a journalist, I strive to deliver the truth to the public, even at tremendous peril to my own safety. All journalists do. We see what those in power do not want you to see. We expose hidden agendas and covert relationships. And no matter if a leather clad gang, or even one clad in yellow and blue, tries to stop it, as the saying goes, truth will out.
