CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTJesse’s songwriting dreams were put on hold one week after his two-day recording session. Weatherly summoned him to the city desk. Jerry Shackleford, the forty-two-year-old reporter who covered courts, was already seated across the desk from Weatherly. He sat up ramrod straight, although he slouched when he walked. “Shack” was just under six feet tall and always wore a perfectly knotted bow tie and Buddy Holly eyeglasses. He had a hawk nose and a stubborn chin, not a ladies’ man by any means. He was married with two rowdy teenaged boys.
“Ah, Jesse,” Weatherly said with telltale grandiosity. Something big was up. “Shack here is taking a two-week vacation in April and you’re going to cover courts while he’s gone.”
Weatherly and Shack watched for his reaction. Jesse trie
