by Jenna Baker
*****
An hour later I was sitting face to face with Flanagan, preparing to conduct his on-camera interview. While Mac and Manny were setting up, I had gone next door to pick up a dozen donuts and a box of coffee. Flanagan had already eaten three of them, and he was in good spirits.
Flanagan was in an interview chair and I was sitting next to the camera, my head positioned next to the lens so that the detective would appear to be talking to camera rather than to me. Mac had lit the scene beautifully. Flanagan was in the foreground with the interrogation room behind him. He was placed twelve feet away from the wall so that the background would go into soft focus. Mac had positioned a grouping of three items behind him on a table for ambience – some case files, a pair of handcuffs and a flashlight. In television interviews we always used the rule of three – the perfect number of objects to keep a shot interesting, but not overcrowded. The lighting was harsh, giving the scene an old movie vibe, and Flanagan, a.k.a. Foxy, was actually looking pretty damn tough. I instructed him to take the questions I asked him and rephrase them into his answer.
“When I ask ‘How did you get here today?’ you say ‘I got here today by x’ – get it?” I explained.
Flanagan nodded, and I asked Mac to roll the camera. Mac glanced at Manny, who was sitting on a wooden box called an apple crate, and Manny gave him the thumbs-up, indicating that sound was ready.
“So, Detective Flanagan, how long have you been a cop?” I asked.
“Call me Foxy, okay?” he said.
“Okay,” I answered.
“Ten years,” Foxy said.
“Remember to incorporate my question into your answer, Detective…I mean, Foxy.”
“Oh, right,” he said. “I’ve been a cop for ten years and a detective for two.”
“Great,” I said. “What made you want to become a detective?”
“The women.” Foxy smiled. I shook my head at him. “Oh, right,” he corrected. “I decided to become a detective for the women.” He grinned, proud of himself.
We went back and forth for a while, and I found out that Foxy had a wife and two kids. He was married right out of the police academy to the girl next door – literally. They had known each other their whole lives and had dated since they were in junior high. His wife was named Sherry, and she loved cherry pie and sherry wine. Foxy was a cop for the same reason lots of people were cops – because his dad was a cop and his dad’s dad was a cop. He didn’t love the physical aspects of the job, so he pursued detective work because it was more his speed. He liked talking to people, finding out their stories, and putting together the pieces to solve cases. He also said his wife slept better at night knowing he wasn’t out patrolling the streets and risking getting shot in the process. Sure, there was still danger in detective work, but far less.
“Tell me about your partner,” I said.
“Bradley Reid,” Foxy said dramatically. “The dude’s got one of those Hollywood names like his parents thought he’d be a movie star. I got some pretty good mileage out of that one.”
“Okay, Dustin,” I joked.
“Hey, don’t speak that name and don’t put it on the screen when you show me either. My parents were crazy too. You can put “Foxy Flanagan” on the screen – now that’s entertainment!”
I laughed. “So you like working with Detective Reid, then?”
“He’s okay. He’s quiet, but that’s his deal. It’s better like that anyway – no one to interrupt me when I’m talking.”
I was learning that Foxy was a joker and a prankster too, and I was pretty sure he was last night’s puppet master.
By the end of the interview, I decided that Foxy was a good guy. He would be an easy character to create for the show: an honest man trying to keep the streets clean for his wife and kids. Easy as cherry pie.
Mac and Manny prepared the next setup, and I went to find Detective Reid to try to convince him to talk to me on camera. I found him at his desk with his head buried in a case file.
“Anything good?” I asked, smiling.
Reid glared up at me, then pulled out a crime scene photo of a man who had his throat slit and tossed it in front of me. “Yeah, real cool stuff,” he said bitterly.
My face turned white at the sight of the picture. Foxy quickly scooped it up and handed it back to Reid. “What’s the matter with you? That’s a real person you’re throwing around.”
Reid shook his head and placed the picture back in the file.
“Mac is prepping the next setup. Would you be free for an interview in like thirty minutes?” I asked him.
Reid ignored me and kept reading.
“Detective Reid? Did you hear me?”
He looked up, anger in his eyes. “Yeah, I heard you, honey. I just don’t care what you have to say. Like I said earlier, I am doing real work here, and your presence is starting to irritate me.”
I was about to speak when Foxy held up a hand. “Can you excuse us, Victoria?” he asked.
I took a deep breath and nodded. “Sure.” I walked away and watched the two of them talk. This was embarrassing. This was my set and this jerk-off was running all over me. I was going to lose the respect of everyone if I didn’t get things turned my way. I watched Foxy as he presumably tried to reason with Reid while Reid just got madder and madder. Finally, Reid pointed a finger to Foxy and said something, then walked out of the room and out the front door.
Foxy looked at me and shrugged. I knew I had to take control here. I put on a stern face and marched outside.
Out front, I scanned the parking lot and saw Reid sitting on the hood of a charcoal grey Mustang. His choice of car didn’t surprise me; the only thing that did surprise me was that it wasn’t bright red.
“Detective Reid,” I called out. He looked at me, then turned away and lit a cigarette. I approached him, hot and bothered. “Look, I get that you’re this tough guy and everything, but we’ve got to find a way to work together on this.”
Reid stared at me. I could tell he was seething inside, but I pressed on. I had to do it now while I still had the courage. Besides, we were alone out here so if he punched me or embarrassed me in some way no one would see it. “I am not here to screw up your work; I’m just here to document how you do it. You have a job to do and so do I.”
“Ha, some job.” Reid laughed blowing out some cigarette smoke.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I guess my career isn’t good enough for you, right? No one can be as great as the almighty Detective Bradley Reid.”
“Glad we’ve come to an understanding.”
“Why don’t you get over yourself? If you’re such an amazing detective why don’t you put your money where your mouth is and show me? I don’t know you from Adam, buddy, and if you want me to earn your respect, you’re going to have to earn mine too.”
Reid stared at me for a moment then started clapping slowly and obnoxiously. “Wow, great speech.” He let out another puff of smoke in my general direction. It sent me over the edge.
“What an asshole you are!” I blurted out. “You’re like one of those bullies in high school that always has to act like Mister Cool. Well nobody is impressed, you know – I mean, grow up, for God’s sake!”
Reid stopped clapping. “And name calling is mature, right?”
“Okay so maybe I shouldn’t have called you that – but guess what? If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, it’s probably a duck!”
Reid cracked a smile. “Okay, so I’m a duck and what animal are you? Rhymes with…hitch.”
“Don’t get smart with me.” I said. “I am determined, that’s what I am.” I paused and took a breath. “Look, we just have to do some initial interviews to get some background on you and the department, but after that I will try my best to stay out of your way. Can you handle that…Brad?”
“Don’t call me that, Vicky.”
“Fine I’ll call you Reid and you call me Sharpe.”
Reid sized me up. “You’re pretty proud of yourself
, huh? You think you made some real headway with me don’t you?”
“You’re speaking to me and that’s a start.”
Chapter 3.