The Journalist
Page 9
She pulled the short hair on top of her head and paced to a large window overlooking a tropical palm patio one story below. “Where’s the redneck fit in?”
Hoffman didn’t want to cloud the issue with Russ Parker’s identity problem so he shrugged it off. “Who needs him? We got the video. Something like ‘Channel 10 has obtained exclusive video from a confidential source,’ and go from there.”
“Did you get your confidential source’s name, number?”
“Yes, yes, yes.”
“Goddamn it, Hoffman, you don’t get the big picture, do you?”
Hoffman was used to her bursts of temper; and with her in a foul mood when he came in, he for sure didn’t want her sidetracked on Parker’s child support problems. He looked at her, smiled, waited ten seconds then went on. “Let’s break it now. I’ll get Steve on the news set, we’ll interrupt—”
“Lost In Life You know how many people watch that soap? They don’t care if you got video of the President balling Queen Jillian. You interrupt their soap, and I get nine thousand phone calls and a zillion letters.” She put her cigarette out. “Shit.” She looked at Hoffman. “Can’t it go on the six o’clock news? Promo it all afternoon, like a sneak preview.”
“Lucy, it’s too big. I got that redneck’s word it’s ours exclusively, but you never know with those hicks—he could be across the street right now.”
“Thought you said this was the original, no copies.”
“That’s what he told me, but how do you know, like I said”
“Shit.”
Hoffman knew Lucy’s decision-making style so he didn’t push too hard. Just let her decree, he thought. After a few seconds, he added a kicker.
“Lost In Life is the highest-rated show we have on the air. Think of that audience sampling of our news product. Couldn’t be better.” He tilted his head and grinned. “Besides, this is kind of soapy stuff anyway.”
“Ha, ha, ha.” She lit another cigarette, spewed a stream of smoke toward the ceiling and talked to herself. Oh, Lucy, dear, you always were a lucky bitch. She hit her desk with her fist. “Shit, do it.”
“Allll right” Hoffman flashed a high five over his head, but Lucy declined the invitation.
“Listen to me, Hoffman. If you fuck this up, I’ll personally cut your balls off. Do not mess this up. I’m leaving for Labor Day weekend, going to L.A. That source better be verifiable.”
“We will, we will, it is. Besides, this is a public service. Who’s going to watchdog the cop bullies if we don’t? It’s a duty to the community.”
“Fuck you You need six rating points or your ass is history and you know it.”
She looked to her outer office and called her secretary.
“Tommy, get your ass in here.” She looked at Hoffman. Her competitive juices had begun to flow. She stuck words in Hoffman’s face. “Get promotion to work on a spot right away. Get a press release out. We had it first. We own it. Keep our logo on every piece of video that goes on the air. And call that dick head Miami Herald newspaper critic. Maybe he can write something good about us for a change.”
Tommy entered and Lucy shot him words: “Give Hoffman my itinerary—phone numbers, all that. The Bonaventure, LA, where I’ll be this weekend.”
“Yes, Lucy.” Tommy made notes on his yellow pad.
Lucy studied Hoffman and began to weave a win-win scenario for herself. If this blows up, I didn’t know anything about it. Dick head news director did it. If it works, it could be a start to building some news ratings at this rathole TV station. Then I’m a hero, outa here, LA, here I come.
Finished taking his notes, Tommy smiled at her.
“What the fuck are you smiling about?” Lucy said.
“Nothing. Is that all?”
“Is that? Get the fuck out of here.” She turned to Hoffman. “Well, Douger, what are you waiting for, huh, huh? Take your video and get your little dick down to the control room and put on a spectacular show. The whole world will be watching.”
“Buckle your seatbelt, Miami, here we come.” Hoffman, SD card clutched in hand, rushed out the door.
Lucy crushed her cigarette out and glanced at the Nielsen rating’s chart on the wall. The graph line showed WSUN in last place. A thought dropped her chin. She turned and screamed toward the open door. “Hoffman Make a backup copy of that fucking video”
Chapter Fourteen
3:30 p.m. EST
After he left Doug Hoffman’s office, from the same North River Road pay phone he had used earlier, Russ Parker checked in with his point person. He reported the agreed-upon words for success: “Sucker took it, hook, line, and sinker.” Congratulated, he was invited to go for a cruise on the private yacht, End Zone. The seven-day excursion would depart tonight for the Bahamas. His skinny acting partner on the video would also be going, along with thirteen members of the Dolphins’ cheerleader squad—snorkeling, champagne, lobster dinners and cheerleader au jus.
Parker declined. He didn’t like the flavor of females, cheerleader or not. Shellfish gave him hives, he didn’t swim and he got seasick in a bathtub, nobody was getting him out on a deep-water cruise tonight or any time.
Chapter Fifteen
4:15 p.m. EST
The Labor Day edition of The Boca downloaded to RIGHT THIS SECOND printer service, Zack figured he was ahead of schedule. Dressed in his normal dress-down outfit—black T-shirt, Wrangler jeans, brown deck shoes—he looked forward to a long weekend out on the water with Veracity_boating, just fishing. He poured a cup of coffee, sat at his desk and recalling the previous evening, said, “I knew that ‘just one drink’ idea with O’Brien would never work.”
He ran his left hand over his head and remembered Mary’s parting words as they left the Pulp Fiction around after midnight: “You’re going to marry me, Boca. It’s not a question of if, it’s just when. You have to make a decision, Boca. Better be soon, or we’ll be doing it in your wheelchair.”
He slipped off his shoes, turned, propped his bare feet on the window sill and studied a line of purplish cumulus clouds pushing in from the Atlantic. He heard someone enter his office, smelled the exotic cologne, and immediately knew who it was.
“Zackary, I think you should turn your TV on.”
Zack, confirming his nose smelling detection, recognized the mellow voice of The Boca’s ace reporter, Jim Roberts.
“You hear me, Bwana?”
“I heard you, massa.” Zack turned to his desk and looked at Jim. The University of Miami summa cum laude journalism graduate stood six feet even, a capital I, straight and lean. His face glowed like an open-all-night neon sign on a deserted roadside café. A meticulous dresser, today he wore a tan Baroni suit, royal blue shirt, mauve tie and cordovan Johnson & Murphy loafers. No rings—ears, hands or otherwise. He was proud of his black African ancestry.
Zack said, “How much is that stuff?”
“What?”
“Cologne.”
“Fifty an ounce, Versace.”
“Nice suit.”
“Baroni.” Used to the paternal reviews, Jim stepped to the television set and picked up the remote control. “Wait till you see what our friends in TV land are offering up to begin this nice Labor Day weekend.”
Looking him over, Zack said, “No wonder you’re always asking for a raise—you need to lighten up on the accessories.”
“I drive a Chevy.” Jim turned on the TV.
“Corvette, ain’t bad.”
Zack leaned back and watched the TV come to life. “You know, massa, even when you were an intern you always had much latitude in this office, but you have just committed a cardinal sin.”
“What’d I do? Wake you up?”
“Worse, you’re threatening me with TV.”
Jim pointed the remote control toward the set. “Wait till you see this. This just broke on Channel 10 twenty minutes ago.”
The set on CSPAN, he pressed one then zero and Channel 10 came on.
“I g
uess you’re going to do it anyway.” Zack lit a MORE and noticed small beads of perspiration on Jim’s forehead.
Jim said, “Get prepared for a dose of reality.”
Zack said, “Must be something special if the unflappable Mr. Roberts is sweating.”
“I think so.”
“Why don’t you take that suit coat off?”
“I’m fine.” Jim turned the volume up and tossed the control to Zack. “You are not going to believe this, Bwana.”
He sat on the sofa.
“Not much on television that I do believe,” Zack said as they watched Steve Eaton, a familiar local newscaster—slick brown hair, square jaw, blue suit, red necktie—exuded dynamic presence in a medium close-up, talking: “as we piece this incredible story together, this is all we know as of this minute. To recap, as you no doubt are aware from earlier reports, a brutal homicide occurred last night—the execution-style murder of an African-American woman on Key Largo.
“Channel 10 has obtained exclusive video just a few hours ago showing what appears to be a directly related incident. The video, from a confidential source, has horrific implications for the Miami Police Department. Our attempts to get a response from Miami Police Chief Manny have gone unanswered. We will keep trying. Meanwhile, let me recap, and, ah, roll the video again, guys.”
The video switched to a wider shot of Eaton with a TV monitor beside him.
Eaton: “Forgive us, folks, this whole thing just came in and we’re making it up as we go.”
“This is not news,” Zack said.
News video began to play on the monitor.
Eaton: “Folks, this is awesome video.”
The video is of a familiar white-and-blue Miami squad car, lights flashing, behind a white car.
Eaton: “Ladies and gentlemen, if there are children present, you may want to use parental discretion. As you will see, this is extremely explicit video.” He pressed a hand to his earphone. “Wait, hold that video, guys, we have a live report from Genie Collins on the scene in Freedom City. Switch to Genie, we’ll go with the video later.”
The view on the monitor switched to a shot of a perky brunette wearing a Channel 10 baseball cap.
Eaton: “Genie, can you hear me?”
Genie: “Yes, Steve.”
Eaton: “Just where are you now?”
Genie: “I’m at the corner of 21st and Seventh Avenue.”
Eaton: “Tell us about it, Genie.”
The video switched to a full screen of Genie.
Genie: “The atmosphere down here is very quiet right now, almost eerie. Nobody around. It’s like everybody is watching this story somewhere on a TVoh, here is somebody. Excuse me, sir, have you seen the video of the incident last night on Key Largo with the Miami police?”
The video zoomed out to include a middle-aged African-American male.
Male: “Screw the cops.”
Genie: “Sir, we’re on live TV.”
Male: “Fuck TV.”
The video switched to a close up of Eaton. “Okay, Genie, we’ll get back to you later. Sorry about that, folks. Live TV is risky, but it’s worth it, isn’t it? Well, anyway, where do we go from here?(looks off camera) Okay, let’s take a break, then we’ll show the video again. Don’t go away, we’ll be right back.”
Zack muted the volume. “Jimbo, is this some kind of slightly late April Fool joke?” He clicked his fingers. “Wait, I know, it’s a new TV reality news show, An Obsolete Affair, starring your own local man in the SUN, Steve Eaton.”
Jim pursed his lips. “Zackary, this is no joke.”
Sensing Jim’s concern, Zack tilted his head. “Am I missing something here?”
“You have to see the full video. They’ll show it again.”
“I can’t wait.”
“This is one for the record books, Bwana. Dynamite news story.”
“What news story?”
“That murder out on Key Largo last night—sheriff found the body this morning”
“I saw that. Sheriff said it was drug”
“Maybe not, Bwana. This video Channel 10’s got is gonna blow your socks off.” He looked at the television set. “There, look at this, this is unbelievable.”
“Everything on TV is unbelievable.” Zack pressed the sound up.
Eaton: “so, now we’re going to take another look at that videotape. There’s no sound so I’ll try to fill you in as we”
“Please, don’t fill me in.” Zack muted the TV and studied the dim video of the two cops standing beside a white car parked on a deserted beach road.
“That large fellow could lend his skinny partner about fifty pounds,” Zack said.
“Wait till you see what the fat guy doeslook at that.” Jim glanced at Zack with raised eyebrows. “Hell-o.”
Watching the cop yank the woman out of her car, Zack tipped his head. “Goodbye is more like it.”
“Look at this.”
The female, unsteady, extended her arms to her sides then staggered.
Zack massaged the top of his head. “Looks like she’s inebriated.”
“Watch this,” Jim said.
Zack said, “Did anchorman Steve mention where his TV station got this bit of socially engineered cinematography?”
“No, I don’t knowconfidential source is what Eaton just said. From the looks of it, amateurlook at that.”
The video blurred then cleared as the fat officer drew a line in the sand and began a body search. The skinny cop joined in.
Zack shook his head. “What is this?”
“What does it look like?” Jim pointed. “Look at that.”
Zack watched then turned to Jim. “This is an old Steven Seagal movie, right?”
“I wish. Look at this.”
They watched the oral sex.
Stoically, Zack sat back. “Where did Channel 10 get this?”
Jim: “Watch this.”
The fat cop pushed the female into her car, placed his pistol to her head and shot her.
Zack pinched the bridge of his nose, blinked his eyes, sat motionless then whispered, “This can’t be.”
“We both wish.”
The video played out and the TV screen switched to a shot of Steve Eaton. Zack increased the sound.
Eaton shook his head. “What can I say, folks, incriminating video? Let’s take a break. We’ll be right back.”
“No, you won’t.” Zack muted the set and asked himself, how could that be? He looked at Jim. “How could that be?”
“How could what be?”
“That, what we just saw?”
“Seeing is believing.”
Scratching the top of his head, Zack stood. “Jimbo, this can’t be.”
“Like I said, Bwana, seeing is believing.”
“Yes, you did say that.”
“Zackary, this is a bat out of hell.”
Zack tugged a thread hanging from his T-shirt. “When did Channel 10 hit the airwaves with this little ditty?”
“I just saw itthis is the second timehalf an hour ago.” Jim stood and straightened his tie.
Reading each other’s thoughts, thinking, they remained silent for several minutes. Zack broke the ice, “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I think so.”
“Tell me.”
“The unabridged version or the other?”
“Other.”
“This city is going to fucking explode.”
Zack drained his coffee in a long swallow and pondered Jim.
Jim squeezed his focus to Zackary’s eyes. “It’s insane.”
“At least.” Zack picked up a Camel then decided on a MORE. He scratched a wooden match across his desk and lit the cigarette. “Channel 10 broke this story half an hour ago, you say?”
“Something like that, yes, about thirty minutes ago.” Jim sat on the sofa and leaned back. “I can’t believe it.”
Zack stroked the top of his head. “Did you notice if they gave the so
urce of the tape?”
“Eaton said a confidential source.”
“He did say that, didn’t he.”
Jim glanced at the television. “There it is again. Look at that, I cannot believe that.”
Zack slipped his shoes on and, surfing through the TV channels as he went, walked to the television. “I guess none of the other TV people have it yet.” He changed back to Channel 10. The tape played.
“Look at that, I can’t believe that.” Jim said.
“Seeing is believing.”
“Bastards.”
Contemplating, Zack walked back to his desk and sat. “Anyway, Mr. Roberts, like the good reporters that we are, we need to check it out.”
“What’s to check out, it’s on TV”
Exhaling, he replied, “D-minus,” glanced at his watch. “Five o’clock. I’ll start working the phones. You need to get down to the Chief Manny’s office and find out what he is saying about this. We’ll do a special edition for tomorrow. Two, three pages”
“You’re kidding.” Jim tipped his head. I got a long weekend planned”
“Our readers expect it.”
“Butit’s Labor Day weekend”
“And we shall labor.”
“But, weren’t youaren’t you going out on Veracity?”
“Was.”
“Shit.”
“That, too.”
“What can Manny say?”
“I don’t know, he might think of something, usually does.”
“Not this time.”
They looked at the TV as another play of the video unfolded.
“Look at that.”
“You’re going over to the Chief Manny’s office, right?” Zack said.
“Right.”
“Manny has to be offering some explanation.”
“Explanation for what?” Jim frowned.
“What’s on that video, who, what, why, all that stuff.”
“What can he say?”
Zack stretched. “So, you’re going over to the Manny’s office now, I assume?”
Jim stood and stepped to the door. “I had this fabulous weekend plannedlady friend got a boat, we were going to”