John Quinn had that story. He almost trembled with excitement when he thought about it. He ran his hands through his thinning black hair as he sat slumped over his desk, going over for what felt like the hundredth time, the questions he needed to ask. He had been up all night since he had received the call. It was a young girl wanting to make money on a kiss and tell story, standard stuff really, except the man involved was no ordinary man. John had run in to her at a party a few months back, she had been really drunk, and talkative. He’d held back on revealing his occupation until she completely divulged her extra curricular activities to him. She had seemed genuinely horrified when he offered her his card, professing how she most certainly did not want to sell her story. But he knew she would, the money was too good to pass up; dignity always had a price.
