“This is Todd, your tipster… got a four-alarmer over in Cambridge!”
Tipster Todd refers to himself as just that. He listens to his scanner, every night, and calls with the goods.
I actually like Tipster Todd. At first I thought he was annoying as f---. But as one of the few regular callers who actually relays factual information, he’s gotten to be a relief. I mean, compare him to that other lady who calls up to recite some political talking points -- I mean, literally reading them off some print-out from her tiny church or action committee -- and Todd’s a Godsend. Despite my editors’ efforts, I’ve tried hard to stay in a job where I report on anything but politics -- and Todd’s my man.
I often wonder what Todd gets out of it. I mean, he’s not paid; he never stays on the line long enough to thank him. He gruffly gives his facts and moves on to the next scanner scrap.
