Live to Air

by Jeffrey L Diamond

  “Good,” Mindy said. “And don’t forget the tape from the hidden camera. Paul wants to screen it.”

  Ethan looked down at the backpack sitting on the floor. “I’ll bring it with me.”

  “And Ethan, Paul talked to Sarah when we couldn’t reach you. You better give her a ring. She’s really upset.”

  Ethan stubbed out his cigarette, remembering that he hadn’t called after hanging up on her as he was heading to the bus. God, what was he thinking? “I’ll see you in a bit, Mindy.” He punched off and immediately dialed Sarah’s cell phone. “Babe, it’s me.”

  “Ethan, I’ve been worried sick. Paul told me what happened.” She whimpered into the phone. “What did they do to you?”

  Ethan recounted every detail of his beating, not leaving out a single detail as he apologized over and over for not telling her right away.

  “Are you hurt?”

  Ethan got up and looked in a mirror. There was a burn mark on his cheek from the cigarette and blood matted in his hair where he’d been clubbed with the handgun. He hoped once he cleaned up, nobody would notice. Then he lifted his shirt and peered at his stomach. It had turned a nasty shade of blue from being stomped on by that madman. “I’m a little banged up,” he said, minimizing the damage, “but I’m okay. Really.”

  “Do you need to see a doctor?” she said anxiously.

  “No. It’s nothing. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

  “What are we gonna do now?” she said, sniffling.

  “I don’t know. I’m about to head to the office to see Paul. He’s hired some security company to stand guard over me. I guess I’m gonna have protection wherever I go.”

  “He’s sending two guys to watch us, too. I told him I wanna come home and take care of you, but he didn’t think that was such a good idea. Said Luke and I were better off staying here at my sister’s until everything got sorted out.”

  Ethan was speechless.

  “Are you still there?”

  “Yeah, babe,” he said apologetically. “I’m sorry. I really misjudged how dangerous these guys are, and Paul’s right, until we figure out what to do, you and Luke should stay as far away as possible.” He thought about how the big man had threatened his family and his heart sank. “I guess I shouldn’t have taken this on by myself. Maybe if I’d confided in Paul or the police, none of this would’ve happened.”

  “Should you give up the story?” she said imploringly. “Maybe it’s just too dangerous?”

  “I gotta finish it. You know that,” he said, listening to Sarah sigh deeply. “I can’t give it to somebody else. That wouldn’t be right.”

  “Ethan, I want you to listen to me,” she said pleadingly. “I love you and so does Luke. Please be careful, and don’t take any more risks.”

  “I won’t, Sarah. And I love you guys, too. More than anything.”

  “Call me. Every day. I want to make sure you’re safe.”

  “I will, babe. I will.” He blew her a kiss and said good-bye, then hung up the phone.

  • • • • •

  It was almost noon when he got to the eleventh floor of the Broadcast Center, accompanied by his personal security guard. He said hello to Jennifer the receptionist and was buzzed through the door. He slowly limped down the long hallway, past two secretaries poised like palace guards in front of Paul’s wall of fame, then stopped when he reached Monica’s desk. She looked up from her typing. “You look like shit, Ethan. I heard somebody worked you over real good last night.”

  Ethan grimaced. “Not funny, Monica. Paul’s expecting me?”

  “He’s waiting in the conference room.” She turned to the security guard. “You can take a seat over there.” She pointed to a couch across from her desk and went back to her typing.

  Ethan opened the door and walked into the room. Paul was sitting at the head of the table, Lenny Franklin to his right, and Jamie Summers, chief counsel for Global Broadcasting, to his left. Mindy and David were across from them, wearing somber expressions, like mourners at a funeral. Alone in the corner, studying the still pictures, was Lloyd Howard.

  Paul motioned to Ethan to sit down.

  He slipped into a chair and nodded hello. “I guess you all know what happened last night.”

  “We’ve been briefed and seen the pictures,” Paul said, carefully examining Ethan’s face. “I can see you’re banged up. Are you all right?”

  “Just a little sore,” Ethan said, feeling Mindy’s icy stare. Was she trying to decide if he was telling the truth?

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Paul said pointedly. “Mindy says these guys have been after you for days. Why’d you pull this harebrained stunt on your own? They could’ve killed you.”

  “I thought I could handle it,” Ethan said, putting up a front.

  “But you couldn’t,” Paul said. “Instead, you were secretive. Arrogant. And downright disrespectful to me—again. I put you on notice when you started this story for just this kind of behavior and warned you what I’d do if you failed to keep me in the loop. I should suspend you for going around my back.”

  “I gave this a lot of thought before taking the pictures,” Ethan said, defending himself. “If I’d told you first, you would’ve shut me down, and we wouldn’t have the photos or any way to figure out who these guys are or if they’re connected to Feodor and the murder. They would’ve disappeared as soon as they found out we were onto them.”

  Paul started doodling. “So who the hell are they?”

  “That’s why Lloyd’s here,” Mindy said. “David and I took the liberty of asking him to join us. That was your plan, right, Ethan? You wanted to show Lloyd the pictures and see if he recognizes them.”

  Mindy nodded to the PI.

  Howard glanced around the table, then held up a picture of the man dressed in black kicking Ethan in the side. “His name is Anatoly Gennadi. He first surfaced about five years ago in a heroin deal that went bad for the Russians. He’s their muscle, their enforcer, their hit man.” Howard turned to Ethan. “The only reason you’re still alive is because the Pakhan told him not to kill you.”

  “Well, that’s just great, Ethan,” Paul said bitingly. “You decided to take on a contract killer for the Russian Mob all by yourself. Real smart. Who’s the other guy, Lloyd?”

  “His partner—Mischa Polchak. Another hit man. They work as a team.”

  Paul turned to Ethan. “So what do you want to do now, Ethan? We can’t just let them stalk you until you’re dead.”

  “The last thing I want to do is go to the police,” Ethan said, not backing down. “That’ll scare them off and jeopardize our story. The private security guards should give me and my family all the protection we need.”

  “Are you crazy?” Paul said. “Those guys will keep coming after you. We gotta go to the police. Otherwise, I’m gonna dump the story.”

  “You can’t do that, Paul. It’s my story.”

  “No. It’s the show’s story, and I make all the programming decisions.”

  “Hey, slow down,” Howard said, placing the pictures on the table. “What happened last night is way out of the norm for the Mob. The Russians rarely go after journalists, and they never kill them. It would bring down too much heat. If you want my opinion, I think they’re trying to scare Ethan into canceling the interview. They don’t want Feodor talking to the press. That’s one of the reasons they’re secretly meeting with his attorney.”

  “What does he mean they’re secretly meeting with his attorney?” Paul said, snapping at Ethan. “Are you hiding something else from me?”

  “No, Paul,” Ethan said carefully, not wanting to pour oil on the fire and further inflame his relationship with his boss. “I just haven’t updated you on everything I’ve been doing. Lloyd and I staked out a Mob law office in Brighton Beach the other night and shot some undercover footage from his surveillance van. We’ve got tape of Frankie O’Malley meeting with a guy named Alexey Kolkov. He’s the Pakhan—the godfather of the Russi
an syndicate—and we think O’Malley’s part of a conspiracy to frame Pavel Feodor for Cynthia Jameson’s murder. That’s the other reason I don’t want to bring in the police. As soon as the cops find out we know about O’Malley, they’ll go straight to the district attorney’s office.”

  “So what’s wrong with that?” Paul said, irritated. “Shouldn’t Nancy McGregor know about O’Malley and the Russians?”

  “I don’t trust Nancy McGregor,” Ethan said firmly. “She’s been warned about the Russians and their involvement in the drug deal that night. David confirmed it with his DEA sources in Washington. I can’t prove it—not yet—but I think McGregor is somehow tied up with Kolkov and O’Malley and part of a massive cover-up to hide the truth.”

  “You think she’s working with the Russian Mob?” Paul said, stunned by the revelation.

  “Maybe,” Ethan said, pausing and shooting a quick glance at Mindy. “Any news from the US attorney’s office?”

  “Nothing on McGregor. But there’s a RICO investigation in the works. The US attorney is gathering evidence against Kolkov and his syndicate,” Mindy said, checking her notes. “Besides the usual stuff—drug trafficking, prostitution, extortion, and money laundering—the Feds are pretty sure Kolkov is paying off Edward Jenkins for inside information about the Feodor case.”

  “Fits right into everything we know about the lead detective,” Ethan said sarcastically. “But they’ve got nothing on McGregor?”

  “Nothing yet,” Mindy said. “But they’re watching her.”

  Ethan turned back to Paul. “The Russians are pulling the strings in this case. So it’s way too risky to tell the police about my run-in with the hit man. If Jenkins finds out, he’ll tell Kolkov, who’ll tip off O’Malley and maybe McGregor, and that, Paul, will be the end of our story. Everybody will bail out of their interviews, and we’ll have nothing left but Feodor and the Jamesons.”

  Paul gazed at the GBS attorney. “Jamie, does the show face any legal issues if Ethan doesn’t report the incident to the police?”

  “If I were Ethan’s personal attorney,” Summers said, “I’d tell him to file a police report. That guy should be arrested and put behind bars. But the show has no legal responsibility to go to the police. It’s Ethan’s decision, and if he doesn’t want to press charges, he doesn’t have to.”

  “And what about O’Malley? Won’t we be concealing a crime if we don’t go to the cops? I’m sure he threw Feodor’s defense,” Paul said.

  “All we have is a theory—based on a clandestine meeting in Brighton Beach we know nothing about. So legally—the show and the network should be in the clear if we don’t tell the authorities about the public defender. Morally—well, that’s another question.”

  Paul thought a moment, doodling furiously. “Okay, so we won’t go to the authorities, at least not at the moment. But you and your family, Ethan, aren’t going anywhere without a private security detail. Anywhere. And if you don’t agree to this, I won’t only report your run-in with Gennadi to the police, I’ll shut down the production.”

  “Don’t you think that’s overkill?” Ethan said angrily.

  “No. I don’t,” Paul said sternly.

  “I have a better idea,” Howard said. “The Kolkov crime family knows I’ve been trying to bust them for years. Let me guard Ethan. I won’t charge you any more than AAA Protection. Once they see me, I think they’ll back off. They don’t want me digging up any new information on them. They know I’ll feed it to the Feds.”

  “I’ll buy that plan,” Ethan said.

  “What do you think, Jamie?” Paul said.

  “No objections on this end,” Summers said. “But I want security assigned to each and every member of the team until we’re sure the syndicate backs off.”

  “That’s going to cost a fortune,” Paul said.

  “I don’t care,” Summers said. “I’ll get the network to pay for it. It’s either AAA Protection or the police.”

  “Done,” Paul said, turning to Lenny Franklin. “Set up a security detail for everybody starting the moment this meeting breaks up. And tomorrow, I want extra manpower for the trip to Rikers Island. Ethan, are you all set for your interview with Feodor?”

  “Everything’s in place and ready to go.”

  “And Peter’s briefed?”

  “I updated him yesterday with a new set of questions and a final production schedule. I’ll call him one more time to make sure he’s okay. Did you happen to tell him about last night?”

  “I filled him in as soon as I found out. He was genuinely concerned about your safety but wasn’t happy when I informed him I was going to station a security guard outside his house as a precaution. He grumbled for a few minutes and then agreed it was probably necessary.”

  “Sounds like Peter,” Ethan said knowingly. “Look, Paul, I’ve got some last-minute housekeeping to do before the shoot. Is there anything else we need to talk about?”

  “No. We’re done here,” Paul said. “Make me a copy of the hidden camera footage from last night. I wanna screen it, and Ethan, don’t hide anything else from me. I wanna know immediately if that guy harasses you again. I’m gonna bring in the cops if he so much as breathes on you. Am I clear?”

  “Perfectly,” Ethan said as he watched Paul and his management team leave the room.

  “Well, I just dodged a bullet,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “The big boss didn’t lock me in the brig and throw away the key. I live to work another day.” Nobody smiled. “I guess there’s really nothing to joke about, is there? So let’s get out of here before Paul changes his mind and decides to formally court-martial me.”

  They all burst into laughter and headed to the tenth floor.

  CHAPTER 28

  LLOYD HOWARD WAS WAITING by the front door when Ethan walked out of his building. It was six a.m. and still dark, the neighborhood dappled in weird shadows cast by street lamps kitty-cornered every fifty or so feet up and down the block. Ethan cautiously peered toward Madison Avenue but couldn’t tell if a black Lincoln was hiding, ready to pounce as he made the trip to Rikers Island and his interview with Pavel Feodor. A chill cascaded through his body as he lit a cigarette. “Any sign of them, Lloyd?”

  “There’s a Navigator parked on Fifth Avenue and a second one on Madison and Ninety-Second Street. They’re here in force this morning. I’m sure they know today’s the day.”

  Ethan dialed a number on his iPhone. “Mindy, it’s me. Are you with the crew?”

  “Everybody’s here. The grip truck, the two camera vans, and the extra car David’s driving to the prison.”

  “Is there a black Lincoln watching you?”

  “It’s parked about a block away. Been here since I arrived half an hour ago. There are two guys sitting in the front seat, but neither one has gotten out of the car. They’re just staring at us. It’s creepy.”

  “How many security guards are with you?”

  “Four. One for each car. And they’re in full uniform.”

  “Good. Let’s get rolling. Meet me on the corner of Ninety-Sixth and Madison in fifteen minutes. We’ll link there and head to Rikers Island as a group. And be careful. There are two carloads of Kolkov’s goons staking out my neighborhood.” He hung up the phone and turned to Howard. “What do you think? Are we safe?”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Lloyd said, reaching for the passenger door of their rental car. “Let’s see what happens.”

  Slowly, they made their way around the block, Ethan checking his rearview mirror as they passed the first Lincoln on the corner of Ninety-First and Fifth. It slinked away from the curb and settled in behind them as Ethan turned left onto Ninetieth Street and headed to Madison Avenue. “What are they doing?”

  “Trying to scare us.”

  “Do you think we can shake them?” Ethan said, a thin layer of sweat forming on his brow.

  “Maybe.”

  “Should we link up with the crew somewhere else? Should I call off the shoot
?”

  Howard didn’t respond, checking the handgun in his shoulder holster as Ethan crawled up Madison and stopped for a red light—the Lincoln still behind him—the two men in the front seat staring tenaciously, their eyes reflecting in the rearview mirror like laser beams.

  “There’s the second Lincoln,” Howard said calmly, “on the left side of the street, about halfway up the block. Do you see it, Ethan?”

  “Yeah. What should I do, Lloyd?”

  “Pull up right behind it,” Howard said, not wavering for an instant.

  “Why do you want to do that? They’ll have us boxed in,” Ethan said, alarm dripping from his pores as he remembered the hit man kicking him in the stomach as he lay on the sidewalk.

  “Just do what I say,” Howard said.

  Ethan waited for the light to turn green, then slowly made his way through the intersection, stopping ten feet behind the Lincoln. He could see two men sitting in the front seat, smoking cigarettes.

  They didn’t turn around.

  “Don’t get out of the car,” Howard said as he opened the passenger door.

  “What are you doing?” Ethan said, grabbing his arm.

  “I’m gonna try to get rid of them.”

  “How?”

  “Never you mind. Just keep the engine running in case we have to make a run for it.” He reached for his Glock .45, lowered it to his side, and started walking toward the Navigator. When he got to the rear bumper, he stopped, raised the weapon, and locked eyes with the man sitting in the passenger seat. Anatoly Gennadi was smiling as he pointed his finger and pulled an imaginary trigger. Then the Navigator suddenly screeched away from the curb and roared up Madison Avenue—followed by the second Lincoln that had pulled up behind them. Lloyd holstered his Glock and grinned at Ethan as he walked back to the car. “That was easier than I thought,” he said gloatingly.

  Ethan’s heart was pounding. “That was the same guy who jumped me—the hit man. He could’ve opened fire and killed you. He could’ve killed me, too.”