by Glenn Dier
“Does it involve the horizontal mambo and a man who is not her husband?”
“I wish,” said Sebastian shaking his head. “That would be so much easier to prove.”
“Anyone have any ideas they can deliver by six o’clock?” asked Zoe. Her gaze circumnavigated the boardroom. Fidgety reporters everywhere. Janice squirmed in her chair.
“The city is rezoning part of the downtown,” said a rookie reporter. “They want more restaurants and bars—”
“Stop. You had me at rezoning,” said Evan.
“There’s rubber chicken in someone’s future,” threatened Zoe, followed by a pregnant pause.
“Shirley, can you go to Rotary? The transportation minister is the guest. His flak says the speech will be a shopping list of upcoming projects—roads to be paved, bridges to be built. All old news. The Rotarians will be snoring by dessert. Let’s see if we can get a rise out of him. Ask him why his brother’s construction company was just awarded two huge contracts.”
“Also ask which one mom loved best,” said Janice. She was rewarded with chuckles.
“Number two, the chief of police is raising a flag for the Cops for Cancer campaign this morning.”
“I’m no expert, but aren’t cops supposed to be against cancer?” asked Sebastian.
“Let’s just send a camera,” said Evan, sounding bored. “We’ll pull a clip and some pictures.”
“It’s education week,” said Zoe. “The education minister is reading to a grade-three class this morning.”
Gloom swept over the room. This was sugar-sweet news.
“Time for the magic ring,” said Janice softly to Sebastian as she slipped an imaginary band on a pinkie. “She can’t see me.”
The education minister had two children of her own and knew how to entertain kids. Worse, the teachers had just signed a three-year contract with a nine per cent wage increase, guaranteeing that Miss Debbie would be a welcoming host as the education minister entered her classroom. The chances of photogenic disaster were shockingly low.
“Maybe one of the youngsters will have an episode of projectile vomiting,” said Sebastian.
“Harris, that’s yours,” said Zoe. “Turn it into a yarn about why kids don’t know the three Rs these days.”
“I’d sooner endure waterboarding,” whispered Sebastian.
“Could be worse,” said an equally hush Janice. “Could be a story about daycare.”
“I see you down there, Janice Stone,” said Zoe. “The hospital is cutting the ribbon on a ten-million dollar renovation to the main cafeteria. Deep fryers have been banished. They’ve turned it into chic bistro stations. You can even order banana flambé.”
“Out of the frying pan into the flambé,” said Evan. There was a sprinkling of laughter.
“I need an easy day, I’ll take it,” said Janice. “I’ve had a growth experience in France and no one here seems to appreciate that.”
“Cry me a river,” said Sebastian. He sniffed and wiped away a phoney tear.
“We can give it edge,” said Zoe, “by reminding everyone that these are the same people who thought it was a good idea to open a Tim Hortons in the hospital. Dig out the old tape. Fat was once fashionable.”
Wholesome stories. Press-release stories. Agenda stories. Everything but a scoop. Nobody powerful need fret today. There was unanimous derision at the outlook, but nothing could be discarded, not yet anyway. A black hole loomed at six o’clock and it took an hour of pictures, sounds and words to fill that hole.
Sebastian gave Janice a weary smile and pushed his chair back to leave. Others did as well amid the small talk. No one was in any rush to get out the door. Sebastian’s phone buzzed. He scrolled through a message. “Jesus,” he blurted. “You’re not going to believe this. Guess who was picked up for drunk driving in Florida?” Sebastian’s announcement magnetized the room.
“Mickey Mouse?” asked a perplexed Zoe.
“Police Chief Paul Bennett.”
“Wahoo!” whooped Evan.
“He was stopped by Orlando police and according to the note, he blew twice the limit.”
“Who hates him enough to send us that?” asked Zoe. “On second thought, I don’t care.”
“We just got a lead story,” said Evan.
Sebastian could already imagine the headline.
Tonight…Badge of Dishonour. The Chief of Police is charged with drunk driving.
•
DUI. To the Orlando Police Department, the letters meant Driving Under the Influence. Boring. What could they mean for Chief Paul Bennett?
Sebastian cupped his mouth. “Word football,” he shouted to the newsroom cabal. He glommed onto the Nerf football sitting in a kickoff stand and shuffled back, as if he had just received the snap from the centre and was avoiding a tackle.
“DUI,” he yelled, lobbing the ball towards Janice. The trajectory took the ball over a row of cubicles into her outstretched hands. She tossed the football back and forth between her fingers while concentrating on the challenge.
“Drunk Unhappy Investigator,” she said, before zipping the football to a reporter by the fire hose.
“Detective Undeniably Inebriated,” he added to the mix. The ball cruised over a bank of printers to a reporter by the emergency door.
“Doofus Undoes Invincibility.” The reporter cocked his arm. “Go deep, Sebastian.”
Sebastian ran in slow motion, dodged a burly recycling bin and caught the ball on the downward curve.
“Donut Undercover Imbiber. Touchdown.” Sebastian spiked the ball and high-fived Janice.
The cheers came from every quarter, except The Desk. Sebastian picked up the ball and pointed an accusatory end with its crosshair seams at the empty chairs. “Do they do anything besides go for coffee?”
The Desk was the producers’ castle—a chain of desks in the shape of a horseshoe, sitting on a riser. Sebastian figured the producers designed it that way so they could always watch each others’ backs. TV, radio, online—all the empires within earshot of each other. Lords and masters of all they surveyed.
“I need a camera,” Sebastian griped, “and the desk jockeys are off getting caffeine hits. Maybe I should just draw stickmen. I’m trying to ruin a career here and I’m not getting any help.”
He paced the breadth of the horseshoe for several minutes.
“You could always call them,” suggested Janice, waving a cellphone.
“And interrupt the high point of their day? When you’ve been put out to pasture, deciding what size coffee to buy is about as much stress as you can handle.”
Janice laughed. “Zoe would dropkick you if she heard you talking like that.”
“I don’t know what happens to them when they get on the desk. They lose all sense of urgency. Caffeine is about the only thing that can jump-start their hearts, but do they have to drag me down with them?”
“Here comes the brain trust now. I dare you—tell them what you really think of them.”
Four cocky producers carrying coffee cups like Olympic torches entered the far end of the newsroom. Sebastian pulled a phantom zipper across his lips. “Speaking the truth can be a career-limiting move.” Janice clucked and flapped her arms.
Sebastian pounced the instant Evan, Zoe, and their coffee mates plopped into their chairs.
“Peter Mansbridge will be saying my name in five time zones tonight.” Sebastian had a flashback of Lindsay being enamoured with his fame and his body.
Evan sipped his double-double. “I gather you’ve got good news, or is there another reason for that grin?”
“Two sweet moments, only one of which matters now. I love talking to American cops. They tell you everything. Sgt. Hernandez with the Orlando Police Department read me the file. The chief got picked up a week ago. A patrol car sees him cut off a car. There are screeching tires and a horn blaring. The cop flicks on the lights and gives the chief a blast with the siren. He pulls over. The cop smells alcohol as soon as the chief drops
his window.”
“ ‘Have you been drinking tonight, sir?’ asks the cop.”
“ ‘Two beers,’ says the chief.”
“Not the first time the cop has heard that line. The chief is glassy-eyed and he’s slurring. They bring him back to the station to blow.”
“The breathalyzer reading was…,” Sebastian paused for dramatic effect; all the producers leaned forward, “point one six.”
Evan and Zoe high-fived.
“The chief was charged with DUI,” said Sebastian. “Fingerprints, mug shot, court date—the whole enchilada.”
“That’s Mexican, not Cuban, but I’m sure Sgt. Hernandez would forgive you,” said Zoe.
“They held him for eight hours to let him sober up and then released him on his own recognizance.”
Sebastian’s phone buzzed. His fingers danced across the screen.
“It’s Christmas,” said Sebastian, kissing his phone. He flipped the phone around to his audience, revealing a glum-faced Paul Bennett with Orlando City Police superimposed across his chest.
“Now that’s a mug shot,” said Evan, taking the phone for a closer look. Zoe pushed aside the monitor swing arm to get a better view. The remainder of the coffee brigade crowded behind.
“Did they know they’d arrested a chief of police?” asked Evan.
“Not at first. They found out when they ran his passport. Sgt. Hernandez said it was funny, actually. The arresting officer and Bennett were falling over themselves apologizing to each other.”
“ ‘I’m sorry I had to arrest you,’ ” said Sebastian facing right.
“ ‘Don’t be ridiculous, I’m the one who did wrong,’ ” said Sebastian facing left.
“ ‘Still, I don’t like locking up another police officer.’ ”
“ ‘Nonsense. You only did your job. And very professionally too.’ ”
“Did he offer any explanation to the Orlando cops?” asked Evan.
Sebastian shook his head.
“Send the mug shot to the web guys and write up some copy. We won’t post it until you’ve got the chief.”
“I’ll head him off at the pass. Who’s riding shotgun?”
“Take Teddy,” said Zoe. “He hasn’t been on a shoot yet today.”
“Am I hearing this right?” said a bass voice behind Sebastian. The Desk went quiet. Sebastian spun around to see an annoyed Garrison Hill. The senior journalist in the newsroom and co-anchor of Here & Now had the floor. “You’re going to ambush the chief of police.”
“What would you suggest, Garrison, an appointment?”
“Actually, yes.” Garrison held up a copy of CBC’s Journalistic Standards and Practices. “The policy says an ambush should be a last resort.”
“How old is that?” mocked Sebastian. “They don’t even print those anymore. The policy I read online says if a person is involved in a crime and he could run away, we don’t have to tell him we’re coming. Give the chief a warning and he’ll head for the hills.”
Garrison puffed his cheeks. “The man obviously has a problem.”
Sebastian flicked his hands in a so-what gesture. “So does every druggie dragged into provincial court.”
Garrison slammed the journalistic policy guide on his desk. “What about the dignity of his office?”
“The what?” snorted Sebastian. “We’re not in the dignity business, Garrison. We’re in the news business.”
The anchor looked at Sebastian with contempt, but the younger man continued. “Maybe he should have thought of that before he got drunk and decided to drive.”
Garrison thrust a finger at Sebastian. “You’re going to crucify the chief of police in public.” His voice was booming. “He doesn’t deserve it.”
Sebastian pointed at a window. “Out there, in the real world, we go after scoops, scoops which entice thousands of people to watch you.” His finger stabbed the air in front of Garrison’s nose. “You’ve gone soft, Garrison. Do you think for one second that his arrest won’t squirt out? If I don’t nail him, someone else will. Fortune favours the bold, not the out-of-date.”
Garrison scoffed. Sebastian crossed his arms. The Desk was mesmerized by the head butting.
Sebastian turned to Zoe. “Tell Teddy to saddle up the horses. We’re shootin’ up the cop shop.”
•
Sebastian and Teddy plunked their equipment down outside police headquarters, just metres from a lectern and PA speaker. The chief’s media-relations officer tapped the microphone. Amplified pops filled the courtyard.
The provincial and police flags fluttered in the blue sky. A third flagpole stood empty. An officer in a dark grey uniform laid a folded Canadian Cancer Society flag on a small table. He adjusted the silver buckle on his snow-white belt, a white that matched his gloves. Police cadets unfolded chairs for the dignitaries and taped nametags on the backrests: Lieutenant Governor, Mayor, Minister of Health, President Canadian Cancer Society, Chief of Police.
Fight or flight? Sebastian was confident the chief would stand and fight, at least for a couple of embarrassing questions, but he plotted possible escape routes, just in case. There were really only two—the chief could run to his own car in the parking lot or scamper back inside police headquarters.
Or he could shoot me. Sebastian laughed to himself.
“What are you doing here, Sebastian?” Constable Patricia Russo had swooped in on his blind side.
“I have a thing for women in uniform, Patricia.”
Constable Russo had been the force’s media contact for over a year. She could smell trouble.
“If I had a suitcase full of cocaine, I’d understand why you’d be here. If I had the riot squad decked out in shields and batons, I’d understand why you’d be here. But all I have is a Cops for Cancer flag raising. So why are you here?”
“Can’t tell you. But I need to talk to the chief right after the ceremony.”
“That’s not the way it works,” said the constable. “No disclosure, no scrum.”
“Your rules, not mine.”
“You expect me to agree to an ambush.” Her body went rigid.
“I’ll chase him, if I have to. Think of the dignity of the office. It won’t look good on camera.”
Sebastian knew he had her trapped. A chief of police running away from a TV reporter. What a public relations disaster that would be. No, she would not turn her boss into a cowardly lion.
“I’ll set it up,” said the constable through clenched teeth. “I’ll remember this the next time you come looking for something.”
Sebastian scoped the parking lot. No sign of the competition. His TV camera was still the only one there. The Telegram had sent a photographer, but still photos of a happy chief raising a flag posed no danger to his exclusive. The ambush would be his alone.
An officer broke his ramrod stance and pulled the front door open. Chief Paul Bennett led an entourage out of police headquarters. Teddy filmed his every step. The chief wore a full dress uniform—a red band on his hat, a red belt, and a red sash across his chest.
Any redder and he’d be a Mountie.
The guests of honour ambled toward their chairs. The chief stopped to mingle with a group of officers. Teddy circled like a shark swimming around prey, capturing every handshake and smile. The chief patted a few shoulders.
Constable Russo waded in and drew the chief aside. She pointed at Sebastian. His stern face nodded. They whispered as she walked the chief to his chair, then she stepped up to the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to our annual Cops for Cancer kickoff. This is our tenth anniversary—ten years of your police force going beyond the call of duty to help our community.”
Sebastian used his index and middle fingers to form a scissors shape, closing them twice—his gesture for cutaway shots. The camera panned from Constable Russo to shoot faces. The lieutenant governor yawned. The mayor checked her watch. The cancer society president fumbled through pages on his lap. The chief stroked his chin.
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“This year the money we raise will be used to send kids with cancer to camp,” said Constable Russo. “And to tell us all about that is Aiden Singh with the Canadian Cancer Society.”
Polite applause trailed him to the microphone.
“Thank you for inviting me and a special thank you to Chief Bennett. Cops for Cancer sends kids to magical places. Chief, we couldn’t do it without your compassion, your decency, and your leadership.” Everyone in uniform clapped loudly. “We need more cops like you.”
More cops like you. Definitely.
Sebastian subtly drew a finger across his throat. The throat slash meant cut. No point in shooting speeches that would end up on the cutting-room floor. There was only one speech he wanted, only one speech that would make the grade. Teddy didn’t turn the camera back on until Constable Russo introduced today’s media martyr.
Chief Paul Bennett stood behind the lectern. “Good morning, everyone. Cops for Cancer is one of my favourite campaigns because being a police officer is more than putting the bad guys in jail. Though, I certainly like to do that.” Everyone laughed.
“A dozen police officers have signed up for the shave-off. They’re going to be as bald as Kojak.” Even the drowsy lieutenant governor joined the laughter. “Telly Savalas used to say, ‘Who loves ya, baby?’ The answer is—we do. Thank you, from all of us.” The chief saluted the soon-to-be-barbered cops.
“People think police officers are brave, and that’s true. But I’ll tell you who else is brave—kids fighting cancer. They stand up to danger every day. They are fearless.” The chief’s voice cracked.
“It just breaks my heart to see children…innocent children…,” he wiped an eye and swallowed, “fight for their lives.”
Nice touch, thought Sebastian.
“Anything we can do to make their lives better is a good thing. Bald is beautiful. So let’s raise that flag.”
Sebastian and Teddy hustled to the flagpole. Teddy had abandoned the tripod to shoot from his shoulder. Being nimble was more important than being steady.
The flag zipped to the top. The crowd cheered. The chief tied off the rope and turned to his media stalkers.