The Money Shot
Page 5
“Sebastian, I heard you were going to chase me.” The guests of honour glowered.
“I’m glad it didn’t come to that.” Sebastian felt disdain from every direction. “Chief, tell me about your encounter with the Orlando City Police.”
The chief’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He turned away, as if composing his thoughts. The friendly faces around him looked baffled. Eyes flickered about for an explanation but saw only shrugs. The chief stood tall, almost at attention. Instead of making eye contact with Sebastian, he stared down the barrel of the gun on Teddy’s shoulder.
“A week ago I was charged with Driving Under the Influence by the Orlando City Police,” said Chief Bennett.
The mayor dropped her purse. She took a giant step to the side and ducked down before reaching back to pick it up. The lieutenant governor’s aide-de-camp pulled him aside as he frantically waved at his honour’s limousine. The cancer society president put a hand to his ear though no one was actually calling him. There were exaggerated nods and a brisk exit.
“This has been an extremely stressful time for me and my family.”
A shocked face accompanied every police badge.
“Since the matter is before the courts I have no other comment at this time.”
The chief quick-marched towards the front door with Constable Russo protecting his left flank. Sebastian and Teddy followed in hot pursuit then manoeuvred themselves in front of the skedaddling pair. Teddy and his camera faced the chief. He walked backwards, matching the escapees’ spurt. Sebastian walked forward, guiding Teddy by keeping hold of his jacket between the shoulder blades. The reporter kept his eyes on the path ahead, glancing back just long enough to shout a question. “Chief, why were you drinking that night?” The scurry of footsteps was the only sound Chief Bennett offered.
The Cops for Cancer team and their guests parted like the Red Sea. The journalist-led phalanx barged through the opening. People scrambled to stay out of the way. Chairs were upended. A woman tripped over one. The sound of a bone breaking welded with a scream of pain. Walkie-talkies squealed. “Injured woman outside police HQ. Call an ambulance.”
“Are you resigning?” yelled Sebastian, as he applied pressure to Teddy’s back. The cameraman stopped, but kept his lens trained on the chief. The chief ignored the question and broke neither his gaze nor his step. He and the constable slipped through the door. Teddy continued filming through the glass until they swerved out of the lobby.
Sebastian spied Constable Russo in an upstairs window on the way back to the van. She made a finger gun and pulled the trigger.
•
The marble statue of the Virgin Mary looked down from her pedestal in the Basilica courtyard at the approaching van. Her serene face showed no sign of disapproval; no condemnation of the news crew coming into her gaze.
“You’re Catholic, aren’t you?” asked Teddy.
“A lapsed Catholic,” said Sebastian.
“What do you think she’d say about the ambush?” asked Teddy, pointing to the Virgin while keeping the other hand on the wheel.
Sebastian reflected for a moment. “Blessed are they who are persecuted, for they shall lead the news.”
Teddy let out a belly laugh. A tire dropped in a pothole, throwing the two men into their taut seatbelts.
“Mary obviously didn’t see the humour,” said Sebastian.
Traffic on Harvey Road was sluggish. Cars from both directions flowed into Tim Hortons, filling the drive-thru lanes.
“Let’s stop for a coffee,” said Sebastian. “I’ll buy.”
Teddy pulled up to the door, letting his partner hop out. Inside, Sebastian witnessed a miracle—the customer corral was empty. Perhaps the Virgin Mary appreciated humour after all. He followed the short, sharp turns to the Please Wait Here sign at the front. The lone clerk served a woman at the counter.
“A medium coffee with one cream and a toasted multigrain bagel with herb and garlic cream cheese. I’ll have that to go, please.”
“We don’t sell multigrain bagels.”
“Really? But it says up there,” said the customer pointing at the menu, “that you have twelve-grain bagels.”
“Right, but we don’t have multigrain.”
Sebastian smacked his forehead.
“I’ll have a twelve-grain bagel then.”
“Do you want anything on it?”
“Herb and garlic cream cheese.”
“Is that for here or to go?”
“To go. No, maybe here. On second thought I don’t have time. Make it to go.”
“Did you say coffee?”
Sebastian groaned. Did this guy flunk out of toll-booth school? He contemplated the chaos if the clerk were on the drive-thru window. There’d be coffee rage. Shots fired. Someone would die.
“Next, please,” said the clerk, as the customer stepped aside to wait for her bagel.
Sebastian sallied to the counter.
“Two…medium…black…coffees…to…go…please.” He enunciated each word.
“You look familiar,” said the clerk, searching Sebastian’s face for recognition. “Have we ever met?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Gerry’s wedding last summer. Was that it?”
“I don’t know any Gerrys.”
“Wait now.” He stopped in mid pour. “You’re on TeeeVeee.” His smile was as wide as the brim on his Tim Hortons visor.
“Yes, you’ve got me.”
“Don’t tell me. You’re, um, you’re…oh, I know it…give me a hint.”
“Sebastian Hunter,” blurted Sebastian.
“Right, Sebastian Hunter. NTV News.” He jacked up the volume on NTV News.
“No, CBC. Here & Now. The newscast of choice for purveyors of fine coffee everywhere.”
“Never watch it.” He finished filling the cups.
“Bagel with cream cheese,” shouted a server by the toaster. She handed a bag to the bagel lady.
“Your job must be easy,” said the clerk, reaching for the cup covers. “You only work a couple of minutes a day.”
Sebastian fantasized stabbing the clerk multiple times with a Tim Hortons plastic knife.
“You’re right. It is easy. I should try something hard, like serving coffee.” He dropped two toonies on the counter and didn’t bother waiting for change.
Sebastian stormed across the parking lot, climbed into the van and slammed the door.
“The mouth-breathers are out today, Teddy.”
•
Janice and Bruce trudged through the hospital corridor. Bruce balanced a camera in one hand and a tripod in the other. Janice walked off-kilter, carrying a duffle bag crammed with lights, microphones, cables, and batteries.
“Do you have a body in here?” snarled Janice.
“We’re going right by the morgue, I don’t see a problem.”
“Seriously, Bruce, do we really need three of everything?”
“The van is a mile away. If I don’t have it, you can be guaranteed I’ll need it.”
“I’m going on strike.” Janice dropped the kit bag on the floor and stretched her back. An orderly pushed an empty stretcher towards the X-ray department.
“Maybe we can borrow that,” kidded Janice. Her phone buzzed.
“Damn. Sebastian is at it again.”
“What’s he done now?”
“Caused a train wreck at the cop shop,” sighed Janice. “What a streak he’s on.”
“At least we get a free lunch.” Bruce’s eyes twinkled. “And this army marches on his stomach.”
The sign at the end of the hall said Grand Opening—Peggy’s Place.
“Hi Janice,” said the perky greeter. “So glad you could come. It’s a great day for community health.”
“I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.”
The greeter tapped multi-coloured fingernails on her clipboard.
“What’s that?” asked Janice.
“I went a little crazy on the nail art,” said the greeter,
splaying her fingers. “Cherry, strawberry, pineapple, kiwi, and watermelon.” She pointed first to her pinky and went down the line to her thumb.
“Peggy’s Place is all about fresh everything,” she said with schoolgirl enthusiasm. “These are the fruits of my labour.” She fluttered her fingers.
The rattle of cutlery blended with the banging of plates. “Coming through,” said a woman sporting a hairnet and pushing a trolley loaded with tableware. A colleague stacked plastic trays just inside the entrance.
“They’re non-slip and made of fibreglass,” said the greeter with zeal. She waved at a woman wearing a svelte, pinstripe suit. “That’s the foodservice director. She wants to speak with you.” The director pressed out a wrinkle in her jacket before wandering over to Janice.
“Hi Janice, I’m Scarlett Unger,” said the director. The greeting was wrapped in a plastic smile. “So glad you could come. It’s a great day for community health.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“How about those fingernails? We have a lot of fun here.”
“I can tell.”
“Janice, I know you’re one of CBC’s top reporters,” said Ms. Unger, escorting the media inside, “and I would never presume to tell you how to do your job, but I thought I should point out a few things. First of all, don’t call it a cafeteria.”
“No?” said Janice with skeptical eyebrows.
“No, absolutely no, mademoiselle. It’s a café-bistro.”
A rose by any other name would smell as sickly sweet, thought Janice. “Really?”
“Would a cafeteria have a pizza oven and a sauté station?” Ms. Unger swept her hand around the room as if to announce Behold. “Nothing here is canned or frozen. Would you like a free-trade, organic coffee?” The director batted her eyelashes.
“No, thank you. We have to set up our gear. By the way, who’s Peggy?”
“A long-time employee. You’ll have to excuse me. I have a few last minute details to sort out. Remember, it’s a café-bistro.”
Janice waited until the director was out of hearing range. “Remember, it’s a café-bistro,” she said in a nasal refrain.
Bruce laughed. “Steel yourself, darlin’, your tribulations aren’t over yet. Look over there.”
Doctors with stethoscopes hanging around their necks congregated near the deli bar. “Please tell me that’s not Angelo,” begged Janice.
“I believe it is. Imagine, a urology resident in a hospital. What are the odds?”
“He’s going to regret being here.”
Angelo was holding court, his audience charmed by his quirky hand movements and accompanying story about a patient receiving a terminal prognosis. Janice held back, waiting for the punchline. “ ‘Could be worse,’ he says, ‘it could be Ebola.’ ” The cluster roared.
“Dr. Dickhead, what a wonderful surprise,” hurled Janice. The laughter died.
“Time for rounds,” said a doctor on the edge of the tempest. She and the others drifted away.
“Jesus Christ, what was that all about?” snapped Angelo.
“Revenge. Only a dickhead would break up with me over the phone.”
“And that gives you the right to debase me in public?”
“Frankly, yes. You’re cute when your veins bulge like that.” Janice reached for his forehead.
“Don’t.” He cuffed her hand away.
“You used to like my touch.”
“I used to like everything about you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me in person?” Janice sounded more bruised than angry.
“I was afraid you’d start throwing things.”
“Sebastian was right, you are a coward.”
“Discretion is the better part of valour.”
“I…love you.”
“You love your job. You can only be devoted to one thing and that’s TV news. There’s no room for me.” Angelo paused. “I heard you went to France.”
“You should have been with me.”
“It wouldn’t have worked.” His pager buzzed. “That’s probably the doctors you unhinged. They’re trying to rescue me. We should talk. Can we have dinner?”
“Okay. Something on a sizzling platter, though I’m warning you, I might dump the whole thing into your lap.”
“I’ll alert the burn unit, just in case.”
Janice filed past two women in white aprons and hairnets speaking in secretive voices. “Isn’t it awful what’s happened to Peggy,” said one. Janice froze and pivoted on her back foot.
“Excuse me, what’s happened to Peggy?”
The woman nonchalantly checked to see if anyone was paying attention to their confab. “You didn’t hear it from me, but Peggy won’t be here today.”
“Disgraceful,” said her gossip companion.
“Why?”
“You should ask Scarlett Fever over there,” said the first tattler, frowning at the foodservice manager. “She’s infected this place with nastiness.”
“What do you mean?”
“Peggy’s been working here for thirty years. You won’t find a sweeter woman. Always smiling and good for a joke. Everybody loves her. The hospital ran a contest to pick a new name for the cafeteria. Peggy’s Place won. Peggy was over the moon.”
“So far I’m not hearing any nastiness.”
The woman fidgeted with her apron.
“Tell her, Mary Ann,” said her friend.
“I’d go to jail to protect a source,” said Janice with backbone.
“Peggy is always on the food lines. You know, out front. Well, Peggy is, ah, big-boned. Really big-boned, if you know what I mean. She can’t stop eating. Scarlett Fever didn’t want a fat woman being the face of a new fat-free cafeteria. She went crazy, didn’t she, Betsy?”
Betsy chimed in. “Her nibs calls Peggy into the office and practically orders her to lose weight. Told her she has a responsibility to slim down. Told her she has to do her part to promote the new café-bistro.” She put air quotes around café-bistro. “Said it was all on Peggy’s shoulders. Can you believe it? And that’s not the worst of it.”
The women handed off to each other like tag-team wrestlers. Scarlett Fever was about to be pile-drived and leg-dropped.
“Poor Peggy was in tears when she told me,” said Mary Ann. “God love her, she tried to lose a few pounds. She even ate carrot sticks, and she hates carrots. But nothing worked. She got so stressed she went on sick leave. She’s home today, probably crying her eyes out. It’s just not right.”
“Scarlett Fever treats everyone below her like dirt,” said Betsy, “but if you’re a manager, she’s kissing your ass, pardon my French.”
Manna from heaven.
“Would you have a number for Peggy?” asked Janice.
Mary Ann took a pen from her apron pocket and jotted down the number on a paper napkin.
“Thank you, Mary Ann. You’ve just made my day a lot better and hers a lot worse,” sneered Janice in Scarlett’s direction.
Janice made a beeline for Bruce. “I need lots of shots of Scarlett, preferably bossing people around.”
“What’s up?”
“She’s a witch who eats fat people alive.”
“Locked on target and firing,”said Bruce, spinning the camera.
I love my job, thought Janice.
•
Dawdlers blocked the sidewalk and Sebastian was running late. He ferreted his way through the crowd. “Excuse me,” he said as he sideswiped a woman’s shopping bags, those humongous bags that chic boutiques fill with small, expensive items. They swung in front of her feet; she stumbled.
“Asshole,” she bawled.
Sebastian waved, but didn’t look back. The Halong Bay Restaurant was in sight, his favourite place for Vietnamese food. Everything was made from scratch. They had shrimp patties he’d die for. High turnover, no credit cards accepted, and usually no reservations taken, but the owner always made an exception for CBC celebrities. Sebastian could see Roxanne standing alongside the cash
register with an assortment of waifs and strays waiting for tables.
“Hi, honey. Sorry I’m late.” He gave her a peck and joined the lineup.
A waiter skittered from the kitchen carrying bowls of steaming noodle soup. “Excuse, please.” The line cracked to let him and his tray through. The aroma of lemongrass lagged behind. Sebastian scooped a handful towards his nose.
“Is it true?” asked Roxanne in a subdued voice.
“Is what true?”
“That you made the chief of police cry today?”
“Cry? No,” said Sebastian in his usual volume. “He welled up, but not because of anything I did.”
A woman showed her date something on her smartphone and pointed at Sebastian.
“What exactly happened?” asked Roxanne, trying to look nonchalant.
“The chief got sentimental when he talked about kids and cancer. But that was during his speech before I said boo to him.”
“Define boo.”
“I got Bennett to confess to drunk driving,” crowed Sebastian. “He went from hero to pariah in five seconds. People scattered like ants. I took out a police chief today.”
“Shush,” scolded Roxanne.
A lady closed her purse and raised an eyebrow to her husband.
Roxanne’s flustered eyes darted around the restaurant. “You’re going to be the most hated man in the city.”
“Why?” said Sebastian with genuine surprise. “I’m not the one who drove drunk.”
“No, but you’re the one who upended the Cops for Cancer kickoff. And you’re the one who made the chief choke back tears.”
“I did not make the chief choke back tears,” said Sebastian, his voice rising.
No one else in the queue said a peep. Ears strained to eavesdrop.
“That’s not the way it’s going around town,” said Roxanne. “They’re saying awful things on Twitter. Someone called you an insensitive bastard.”
“Are you going to believe 140 characters of wild rumour or are you going to believe the man you’re sleeping with?” Roxanne didn’t answer. “You are still sleeping with me, aren’t you?”
“For now. I’ll wait and see if a mob shows up outside the house with pitchforks and torches.” Roxanne turned away for a moment. “Why do you think the chief filled up?”
“I have no idea. It really doesn’t matter.”