by G L Rockey
“I could use a shower, too.” Ted took the pot. “So could you.” He left.
“Thanks.” Zack studied The New York Times headline: PRESIDENT GUARANTEES LAW AND ORDER. He looked at The Boca’s headline for the tenth time: CHIEF DENIES IT He scanned Jimbo’s column that Mary had read to him last night:
questions remain unanswered regarding the already infamous Channel 10 video
“They sure do,” Zack mumbled and read on:
The incident allegedly took place this past Thursday evening on Key Largo. WSUN-TV, Channel 10, was the first TV station to broadcast the video of the homicide
“Woopee” Zack said and continued:
Deputy Police Chief Glenda Bruno staunchly denies that any Miami police were involved in any wayshe held firm to her story that none of her patrol cars were anywhere near Key Largo the night of the incidentIf Glenda and the chief are accurate, the million-dollar question looms big as a Mack truck: who were the alleged officers on the tape? One thing is certain: an African-American woman was murderedHer identity remains a mystery.
Zack looked up, “Are You seeing all this?”
Chapter Thirty
10:45 a.m. EST
Having returned to Zack’s office, Ted began preparing the Mr. Coffee for brewing.
“Something stinks,” Zack said.
“I think it’s us.”
Zack strained to observe Ted’s coffee preparation. “You okay on that?”
“Yep-purr.”
“Seven scoops.”
“How could anyone forget?”
“Heaping.”
“Why not eight?”
“I tried eight. Seven, heaping, is best.” Zack held The Boca up and pointed to the headline. “I like our headline, Ted.”
“I knew you would.” Finished with the coffee, Mr. Coffee trickling, Ted took the clicker and turned the TV on.
“Thought we weren’t going to turn that on,” Zack said.
“Habit-forming.” Ted clicked to FOX. “There’s that distinguished Channel 10 video again.”
“At least.”
Ted clicked to ABC and recognized Tony Nastase, local black advocate of street people and general rabble-rouser.
“Well, now, look here. Tony Nastase is being interviewed,” Ted said.
“Turn that up.” Zack said.
Ted increased the volume, threw the remote on Zack’s desk and sat on the sofa.
A fair-haired female reporter holding a Channel 6 microphone asked, “But, Mr. Nastase, how can you say you call for freedom and justice when you condone this violence? Does that mean freedom to riot?”
Tall and skinny, dressed in black cloth, Nastase held a large white sign with RAGE printed in dripping red. He ranted: “You call it riot. We choose to call it freedom of expression. How else can the people speak? We are being oppressed. Not only the street’s people but all people: white peoples, red peoples, black peoples. They don’t get a chance at the big pie in the sky. It sucks.”
Reporter: “Do you think perhaps you may be contributing, that possibly this thing may blow out of proportion soon?”
Nastase: “What proportion? Your rich-man proportion? What is proportion? A sister has been raped Murdered And now official Miami is denying it. Rage on, I tell you, rage on”
Chants in the background: “Rage on, rage, rage”
Zack turned the volume down and rubbed his chin. “Ted, maybe our ‘denying it’ headline wasn’t such a good idea after all.”
“Like Mary said, could have second-guessed the thing all night.”
Zack walked to the coffee maker, replaced the glass pot with his stein, watched the stein fill, replaced the glass pot, took a taste and frowned. “Did you heap the scoops?”
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t taste right.”
Ted shrugged. “I tried.”
“Could have used more heaps in your scoops.” Zack returned to his desk and sat. “Did you get the message to Jimbo, our meeting this morning?”
“Mary said she would.” Ted went to the finished brewing coffeepot and filled a cup.
Zack punched Jim’s number into his video phone. “Let’s see if hotshot is up.”
Ted sat on the sofa.
After five rings Jim answered to a blank video screen. “Roberts.”
Zack leaned into his phone’s camera. “Turn your camera on.”
“Zackaryjust a minute.”
Waiting, Zack sniffed his coffee and thought he should have measured the coffee himself. Then he thought how good coffee tasted on board Veracity, five miles out in the Atlanticair clean, sky pristine blue. “The red snapper will be biting good today, Ted.”
“Yep-purr.”
Zack’s phone displayed a picture of Jim snugging his bathrobe belt. He sat in front of his phone’s camera.
“Zackary, what’s going on?”
“Nice bathrobe.”
“Thanks. Renato Balestra, devóre silk, gift. What’s going on?”
“From Renato?”
“Renato is the designer, a lady friend bought it. What’s going on?”
“Say good morning to Ted.” Zack sipped.
“Morning, TedI can’t see you.”
“Hearing me is enough. Morning,” Ted said.
Zack said, “I read your story. Short but good, Mr. Roberts.”
“Thank you, Bwana.”
“What did Chief Manny say?”
“Thought you said you read my story.”
“I did. I wanted to hear it from the pony’s mouth.”
“I didn’t talk to Mannytalked to his deputy, Glenda.”
“Why?” Zack said.
“Manny won’t talk to methink he likes to talk to O’Brien, has a crush on her.”
“Yep-purr.” Ted picked a tooth.
Zack paused then said, “And Glenda is denying everything.”
Jim said, “Yep. They have no record of or reason for any of their people being out in Monroe County, no written reports, no two-way radio reports—nothing. And they record everything. One thing Glenda said, though, off the record, is puzzling.”
After a few seconds, Zack said, “Is this like we’re supposed to stump the host, part two, or what?”
“Tire tracks in the sandaround the crime scenethree or four different sets. One set was from a heavy vehicle, like a small truck, dual wheels. And—get this—there were five different sets of footprints.”
“So?”
“There were only three people on the video.”
Zack said, “It’s a beach road, so what?”
“That’s what I asked Glenda. She said that it looked peculiar. The area was remote, and there were no other tracks in the vicinity—forensics is checking it out. The white car, a late model Lincoln and the cop car tracks looked like they had pulled in, turned around several times. And the five sets of footprints, like I said, is puzzling.”
Zack, nursing his coffee, felt it there again—Joe Case’s presence. He walked to the office window and looked out. Black smoke rose in the turquoise morning sky. He thought about Veracity, and a small piece of him longed to be away from it all, out on the water with the wind and the silence and the invisible shoreline. But he couldn’t just yet. He still had things to do.
He nodded out the window, said, “Ted, take a gawk.”
Jim’s voice echoed across the room, “You know, I can’t see either of you now. You do know how these phones work, don’t you? There’s a camera you get in front of, look into.”
Zack raised his voice toward the phone. “Can you hear?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Words will do.”
Ted stepped to the window and looked past Zack. “Yep-purr.”
After thirty seconds, Jim said, “Still can’t see you guys.”
“And seeing is believing, right?” Zack stepped to his desk and looked at the image of Jim.
Jim held a saucer and drank from a coffee cup.
&n
bsp; “Where’d that come from?” Zack said
“What?”
“In your hands?”
Zack noticed a slender hand with long, red-varnished fingernails, reach to pour, from a small silver pitcher, cream in Jim’s coffee.
Jim smiled. “Café Aromatisé, hazelnut and cream.”
“Sleep good?” Zack said.
Jim smiled again.
Zack said, “Meantime, what are you going to do for an encore, Mr. Roberts?”
“An encore I just got to bed a few hours ago.”
“C-minus. Want to try again?”
“You read my piece. Nobody knows nothing.”
Zack cut him off. “You need to get answers, massa. Like who is the dead lady, as in victim? If those two-in-blue weren’t Miami cops, who were they? And why aren’t the local city hall elected elite out on the courthouse steps bugling vote-getting sound bites for the TV boobs?” He sipped. “Benny sure as hell is.”
Jim said, “A beleaguered police chief is simply trying to cover his derriere.”
“At least we know what point of view Mr. Roberts is coming from,” Zack said.
Ted returned to the sofa and sat. “You know, it’s been—what?—about eighteen hours ago that Channel 10 video hit the airwaves. Why haven’t they arrested those two cops?”
Jim waved. “Hello, Mr. I.Q., did we miss something? They can’t arrest anybody if they got nobody around that resembles the guys on the tape. No record of the stop”
“Maybe this is all a promotion campaign, hype to boost Channel 10’s news ratings,” Ted said.
Jim said, “Kill a person for that? You’re sick, Stallings.”
Zack leaned back. “We’re not doing our job, gentlemen. We have got to do more digging.”
“Like what?” Jim said.
Zack sat up. “Like what?—from the ace journalist in Miami? Like, where the hell did that now famous video come from?”
Jim said, “I called around several news networks this morning, before I got to sleep.”
“Was there a mint on your pillow?” Zack said.
“News producers, all, said they are claiming Channel 10 as the source and running the video.”
“You see, you see how nutty this thing can get” Zack kicked his desk. “We have to get back to Channel 10, demand to know that video’s source.”
“Demand sources? You kidding?” Jim said.
Ted began, “Persons connected with or employed by a newspaper, magazine, periodical, television, radio, broadcast property, press association, wire service, cannot be adjudged in contempt by a judicial, legislative”
Zack held his hand up. “Ted, I know what the shield law is”
“ administrative body or any other body having the power to issue subpoenas, for refusing to disclose any unpublished information obtained or prepared in gathering, receiving or processing of information for communication to the public and includes, but is not limited to, notes, out takes, photographs, tapes or other”
“Okay, okay, I got it” Zack said. “But I’m still going to demand to know where Channel 10 got that video.”
“Come on, Zackary. Demand sources—who are you kidding?” Jim said.
“Roundaboutly, Ted just said that.”
“We don’t divulge sources, nobody does—can’t,” Jim said.
Zack raised a hand over his head and smashed his desk with a tightened fist. Papers flew everywhere. “That’s what I’m goddamned talking about”
“Didn’t you refuse to divulge a source once, and you went to jail?” Ted tilted his head.
Ignoring him, Zack persisted. “Experts say, doctors report, scientists divulge, Julius Caesar decreed—doesn’t anybody ask questions anymore? I don’t understand.” He paused at Ted’s smirk. “I wouldn’t divulge a source to a local judge and went to jail for three days. Big deal. That was a protected right.”
“What is this?” Jim asked.
Zack stood and began pacing behind his desk. “That is the dilemma, Mr. Roberts. Divulging a reliable source, faking a source and having no source gets balled up with something called professional ethics. I know that’s an exotic expression bantered around in cloistered halls of attorney privilege nowadays, but it’s a serious problem. And it gets tangled up with the First Amendmentblah, blah, blah.”
There was a pause, then Jim spoke. “Okay, so, what’s next?”
Absorbed in his previous thought, Zack continued, “If you need a source, make one up then use that one as the reliable source. If you need another, say you got it from your Uncle Freddy or Aunt Ida.” He kicked his desk. “You see? You see how nuts this makes me? Anybody with a cause can dummy up a source like little ravioli coming out of some dapper dan’s latest pasta machine.”
Zack stroked the hair on top of his head and sat behind his desk.
Jim reasoned, “You knowremember six months ago, Tina Taylor, Deputy Chief, fired by Manny—she claimed, because she wouldn’t give him a”
“We know what she wouldn’t give him. And Manny denied it,” Zack said.
Jim said, “Yeah, but he’s still in hot water for canning her. Put it together. Something like this—could be the chief is covering up for his boys to keep his job.”
“Could’a, could’a, could’a, could be Jesus Christ was the first door-to-door fish salesman.” Zack leaned back and lit a Camel. “You think somebody over there would recognize those two cops on the video, give me a break?”
“Why would the chief try to cover it up?” Ted asked.
Jim leaned back from the camera. “I told you, his career. Two drunken cops, bored with night duty, stop a shapely young sister on a remote beach road, start to frisk her, she’s probably high, they get a hard-on, start grabbing, she resists, the rest is history. Only thing, some voyeur is taping the damn thing.”
Zack leaned close and peered into the video phone camera. “Okay, but where is the person who recorded the video?”
Jim looked back at him. “Scared the police might not like what they are seeing, come knocking—who knows?”
Zack noticed that slender hand with long, red-varnished fingernails extending a silver coffeepot to refill Jim’s cup, said, “Just in case someone with red fingernails should ask you, you don’t have time for breakfast.”
“Why?”
Zack looked at his Bulova. “Meeting, in fifteen minutes, eleven o’clock.”
“Meeting, what meeting?”
“Meeting at eleven, didn’t Mary leave a message?”
“Ah, ah”
“Ah, ah, what?”
“I thought that was an O’Brien joke”
“Yep-purr.” Ted yawned.
Zack sipped. “Anyway, Jimbo, better get dressed, it’s 10:47.”
“No way.”
“We’ll wait.” Zack walked to the coffee pot and refilled his cup. “The exchequers of the truth are in need of your assistance, massa.”
Jim leaned closer to the video phone, looked around then whispered, “I have guests”
“Guests as in plural?” Zack raised an eyebrow.
“Ah”
“Why don’t we just meet you for a protein lunch?”
Jim stumbled, “I, ah”
“Where is the meeting, Ted?” Zack said.
“Tea Company?” Ted said.
“I hate that dump,” Jim said.
Zack raised both eyebrows. “Oh?”
“That dump is a stinky, fly-trap, radical hangout. They should shut it down.”
“Oh, I see. Better pick a nice, clean, fancy place for Mr. Roberts, Ted,” Zack said.
“How about Jabberwocky Sports Bar,” Ted said.
“That meet with your approval, Mr. Roberts?” Zack said.
“Anyplace but that Tea Company.”
“So happy you approve. Soon as you can get there, then.” Zack said. “Any particular table you prefer?”
“There’s a nice one near the fish tank.”
“We’ll see y
ou there, and tell your guests we said hello.” Zack hit enter and the screen went blank.
Ted dipped his chin to his chest and studied Zack. “Zackary, what are you thinking?”
“About what?”
“Anything.”
“Could be.”
“What?”
“Like they say, who, what, why, where, when, how; and add nutsor something like that. Wouldn’t it be an appropriate epitaph for the three thousand or so Anno Domini edition of History of the World. Footnote: United States of America, founded 1776 to 2020, a good people with their heads up their television sets.”
Ted tugged an earlobe. “What about Mary?”
“Leave her a note, Jabberwocky.”
Ted jotting a note, Zack picked up the remote to turn the TV off but stopped.
“Hold it, there’s Benny.” He increased the volume.
Armstrong, wearing a red-and-black-checked hunting shirt, sat behind his Camp David office desk.
Zack said, “Ben’s smiling like he’s about to ask for an offering at a tent-crusade revival meeting.”
Armstrong began, “May we have a moment of silent prayer?” and bowed his head.
Zack sucked his front teeth and sat behind his desk. “I still can’t believe this guy, Ted. God must have been bowling the day his mother and father got in the mood.”
After a moment Armstrong looked up and began speaking in soft mellow tones, “Amen and amen. My fellow brothers and sisters in democracy. I come to you this Saturday morning with a heavy soul.”
“Me, too,” Zack said.
Armstrong continued, “Most of you have witnessed the scenes of the unrest on television that is tearing apart the heart of our great nation.”
Zack lit a MORE and propped his feet on his desk. “How could we miss it, Ben?”
Armstrong clasped his hands. “I am sorry to report that I have just received information that says spot rioting is about to break into full anarchy in most major cities of our land. With regret, also, other cities, which I shall not mention, are reported nearly ready to explode. I implore the media to use restraint in covering this situation.”
Zack stroked his chin. “What about a little restraint from you, Benny?”
Armstrong: “I plead with the minority communities to be patient and allow the law to take its course. With that in mind, I have dispatched federal investigators to Miami to find and prosecute the perpetrators of the brutal outrage that occurred there this past Thursday evening. Additionally, let me say to the broadcasters and cable operators of America, reporting the news is a duty not a privilege. That duty is being monitored carefully by Dr. Lande’s Office of Media Affairs. With that in mind, I have summoned the chairman of the Federal Communications Commission to my office here at Camp David, and he has been instructed to hold the owners of TV, radio and cable properties accountable for their accurate reporting of these events.”