Intern Grinbini was on the street ashen-faced and shaken. He had bags beneath his eyes, his usually perfect side-part was ill-defined and his cheeks sported a few sparse hairs announcing to the world he had neither the time nor the capacity to remove them.

"Friends, I come before you concerned. Very concerned, in fact. A man in my position as a lowly unpaid intern at a newspaper with a readership you can count on one hand rarely has enemies. I have always been shielded from the ire of the public by my few and far between public appearances and basking in the gargantuan shadow cast by CoconutRandy. That all changed last night.

I was hastily awoken from my bed by a rough shake from my bodyguard. I didn't know I had a bodyguard so I was even more alarmed than I would ordinarily be. 

"What's wrong?" I yelled at him, startled. 

He leaned in close. "Word on the street is that someone wants you dead with the quickness."

I was extra startled now. "What does that mean?" I asked him, but he turned his back and left me there, sweating and afraid. Who could want me dead? I asked myself. 

I chewed on this information for about 8 minutes. I resolved to call Randy in the morning and see is Corporate could smooth things over with my anonymous enemies. I thought about going back to bed; I could probably still get some hours in if I wasn't slain like NotoriousBIG that is. Just as I was heading back for a snooze, the door crashed open again and the same bodyguard charged in.

"What is it?! What is it?!" I yelled, terrified again.

He leaned in closer this time. "Word on the street is that someone wants you dead with the quickness." He turned on his heel and walked away.

It was a terrifying ordeal and I haven't slept a wink since this happened. I would be grateful if anyone could provide me with any further information on this matter. I was apparently hitlisted in the early hours of this morning. Two contracts put out on my life. The fee? I don't know, I assume it was at least $1,000,000. The perpetrator? Hard to say. I mean it isn't like they put their name to it, as they obviously did it anonymously.

As my own lines of inquiry have run aground, I would be extremely grateful for any information on this matter. SOLID, VERIFIED INFORMATION WHICH LEADS TO THE CATCHING OF THE CULPRIT WILL BE REWARDED. It might only be a lowly intern like me in their crosshairs now, but who knows who will be next? Please, keep your eyes open and relay anything you know about this matter to me. Thank you.

When a man's intern is threatened, he cannot just stand idly by and allow him to be murdered. I already tried that with my former intern and nephew, Montague, and have learned my lesson. Though I knew the worst possible outcome was a distinct possibility, when you have lived a life as privileged as mine, you tend to believe it will all just work out. For Monty, it didn't. He was most definitely murdered. In fact, it was most likely tedious, gruesome and involved being made into food in some capacity. Monty did not deserve that, despite his lowly status in life, and neither does my new Monty, VIPCreditsGrin. Nobody deserves to be made into food, although I'm sure if new Monty were to be mixed into a fine muesli, PhillipMarleau would not think twice about slurping him up delightfully. 

Working at The Coconut Chronicle, you create enemies. As serious journalists, the hunt for the truth is a dangerous and neverending task. Someone like BelleCorsica would know that, given her recent submission of fabulous beat-poet reporting to the Journalism Awards just down the street. Her decrying of the "flea infested shit mongers on their soapboxes" sent chills down my spine. I hope she can appear here today and slam some feral rhymes in the search for our perpetrator. We need all the help we can get.

Consider all of the vast resources of Coconut Corp & affiliates at your disposal, young Grinbini. I have already asked the head of our German office, Kokosnuss Randy, to comb through the continental tip-box for snooty European clues. 

As ever, boss, I am touched by your heartfelt support. Your speedy response here was perfectly timed, not quite beat-poetry timed, but still impressive. I have reached out to my friend BelleCorsica to see if she can shed any light on the matter. I am aware that as a heavily backed entrant in the prestigious Journalism Avards, she will doubtlessly have the type of contacts a lowly intern like me can only dream of.

BelleCorsica, do you know anything about the contracts put out on my life? Your help here would be appreciated. 

Perhaps BelleCorsica could also enlist the help of her Motor City journalism colleagues, namely SeanCallan and his Star-Examiner staff? I hear his editor Dominic has made it a hobby of producing incredibly large fabrics, which would allow us to cast a very literal wide net. 

That is a very good suggestion, CoconutRandy. BelleCorsica, are you able to shed any light on the hits erected against me? Were they bought and paid for by someone else perhaps? SeanCallan, do you or the staff at your Star-Examiner know anything about it? I say staff, I mean the faux-tailor, Dominic, who has quite wisely in my opinion found a new trade as a newshound. Dom? Belle? Any info to share?

I have spoken with  my counsel and they have advised me. To not speak on this matter, or anything pertaining to this matter. or mention anyone involved . Therefore I am going to have to respectfully decline answering any questions you  may have at this time.

Following her counsels suggestions  she distanced herself from the scandal  and went about her daily business. While Mr. Grin continued to slander her integrity.

A very peculiar reply, BelleCorsica, and for someone who claims not to be backed or in anyone's pocket, it almost sounds like your counsel (aka the person who's pocket you're in) is telling you what to do. Despite that strange turn of events, I'm also still unclear as to why you wouldn't be able to comment upon two contracts being put out on my life....unless...did you have something to do with that? I say you, I mean you/whoever put you up to it, who I assume is the person pulling your strings. What do you know?

What's this here?  The Coconut Chronicles publishing yet another hatchet piece on a young, upstart mobster?  Assassination of one's character?  Unfounded accusations being thrown around in print?  Let me guess, BelleCorsica must have won one of the writing contests.

This all feels very familiar to me.  Don't worry Belle, I went through the same exact thing when I took first place in the original writing contest.  Had to wade through a sea of hate and jealousy.  I'm still wading actually.  But you know what, in spite of it all I came out of it all stronger because of it. 

Besides, you know what they say.  When they start hating you, you know you've really made it.  Welcome to the winner's club, BelleCorsica.  Let us separate ourselves from the non-winners.  We'll wave down to them from high above.  It's a beautiful view from up here.

Surprise, surprise. A whiff of something sinister and up pops, Destro, defending what appears to be the offending party. I don't know what you think you're doing here, Destro, but this isn't a street auction where you can just turn up unannounced and attempt a hijack; this is a serious matter involving a substantial reward being posted in exchange for killing me.

I think it is clear at this point that BelleCorsica has been bought and paid for. She is a catspaw, another obviously tells her what to do. I wonder who the finger of blame will eventually point to when the dust settles. Allow me to consider the facts at hand. Who didn't enter the journalism contest? Who decided who should win it? Who would benefit by their proxy, BelleCorsica, doing their bidding and win another contest in dubious circumstances without soiling their own heavily soiled reputation any further? Why, the villain Destro's name comes to the forefront of my mind. How very convenient this all becomes; an investigative journalist out of the way and another payday for the most wanted criminal in the country, all without getting his hands dirty. Nearly brilliant. Nearly.

So spill it, BelleCorsica. How much did Destro pay you to submit that entry for him in the writing contest? Did he pay you to put the hit out on my life too? 

Yes, follow the trail, Grinbini! I also find it very interesting that under the shadow of no accusation whatsoever, BelleCorsica has immediately decided to retain counsel. And the investigation strengthened by Destro's own claim that they consider themselves members of an exclusive club together. They certainly come across as fast friends to me, kindred spirits. The dead rodent she keeps on her person is nothing if not Destro's brand of strange, low-class villainy. Belle & Destro, as they will forever be known from here on out.

You can keep trying to pump life into this story all you like, but this issue is much like every person who ever served under Shannon-Whelan except me.  Dead.

Anyway Belle and I have no further interest in participating in this.  On our way back to The Company HQ maybe I'll grab a few copies of The Coconut Chronicles to line my evil cat's litterbox.  I'll be sure to look for the paper in the FICTION section.

Cite one lie I ever spoke about Shannon-Whelan or begone with you back to your ice skating rink PhillipMarleau

Destro, to clarify, The Coconut Chronicles is my celebrated one-man play, notable for its innovative use of a one-man audience. Though only staged once, given the physical difficulties experienced during our audience interaction chapter 'Fight Club', the review deemed it "an extremely copious performance".

The Coconut Chronicle, however, is my newspaper and I assure you every single word printed on it has been rigorously fact-checked, including the thrilling piece exposing your connection to the faulty and ultimately useless android Xanxus; the investigation that established you and your treachery as a seemingly-permanent presence on our radar. 

Even PhillipMarleau, who is friends with everyone and has repeatedly declared his delight at the various lawyerings, hooplah and traditional Italians dinners that occur on these streets, hates you. Think about that. 

So in other words, no examples.  Right.  Ok thank you PhillipMarleau.  

If you can't back your libelous claims up, maybe you should keep them to yourself.  Then again being libelous might qualify you for a position at The Coconut Chronicle, if they'll have you.  Could you even imagine PhillipMarleau writing for a newspaper?  Yikes.  I'd almost be morbidly curious to see that.  You could call your column The Dullard Report.

PhillipMarleau, I would like to extend a formal invitation to you to pen a no-holds-barred, after-dark column for the Chronicle titled 'Muesli at Midnight', in which you will be granted full control over your right to disparage Destro in any way you see fit. Please let me know as soon as possible. 

Another devastating blow in the quest for content. After all I have done for you, Marleau. After the dinner we shared. Is there a hand you will not bite? Not only have I lost a potential contributor, I have lost a friend. I am sad, Phillip. If BelleCorsica were to hitlist me right here, right now, I'm not sure I would protest.