Fake News

by G L Rockey

  After a moment, “I am truly impressed.”

  “Do you?”

  “Do I?”

  “Believe it.”

  “What?”

  “The God of the universe allowed himself to be conceived in a Jewish woman’ womb, was born, suckled by her, grew to manhood, was crucified, buried, and in three days came back alive and is now in heaven.”

  “And the doubting betrays the truth. That’s why they call it faith.”

  “Nice try, but that’s a lie.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “So, do you believe it?”

  “There are some things we as humans just can never know. Divine mystery.”

  “That helpswas Ms. Elizabeth a mystery?”

  “Best I can do.”

  “Well you know Boca that is not exactly Sister Ursula’s lead-pipe cinch stuff.”

  “How did you know about Sister Ursula?”

  “You told me, remember? A million times.” Again, Mary mimicked Zack by wiping her palm across her face, “I recall flunking out, got an A on a final. Sister Ursula said it was a signlead-pipe cinch, a calling” She looked at him intently. “Did you steal the test?”

  He blushed.

  “I thought so. You go to confession?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Ah, you didn’t.” She continued. “Then it got complicated, this nagging doubtso, aside from Ms. Elizabeth, I made a Gideon-like decision, Judges six something, to test the question of my doubt. I put a fleece out and asked for a sign, the ground wet and the fleece dry. I demanded to know. I waited. Nothing. Neither the ground nor the fleece was getting wet. Damn, I would never be ignored like that.

  “Then along came Ms. Elizabethand what’s a body to do? She had these enormous, ah, what-a-ya-callneedseverything got wetby the way, whatever happened there? Why did she go to California and you stayed here?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Like, as in you were feeling guilty?”

  “I’m not going to talk about it.”

  “She dumped you.”

  He sipped.

  Mary continued with the Zack imitation. “And so, after the damsel dumped me, a brief frustrating bout with professoring at Florida State, which left even more doubt, I started The Boca with two computers, five thousand dollars, a couple of slave laborers and a second fleece-like prayer.” She hit the tabletop. “By God, show me or else.”

  “You know, you should have been in the theater, an actor.”

  “Tress, actress…go ahead, change the subject. Anyway, was it the doubting that got you?”

  “Try chastity.”

  “I’d never know.” Mary raised her eyebrows.

  “I must find a truth that is true for me.”

  “Is that Ms. Elizabeth’s line?”

  “Kierkegaard, ‘The idea for which I can live or die.’”

  “Are you showing off again?”

  “And we’re all in the middle like Buridan’s ass, starving to death between two bales of hay.”

  “You are showing off, and it’s not as complicated as you like to make it. Just choose. Either you want me or you don’t. Forget the fleece proof stuff.”

  “It’s more than that, isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “Fate, making a mistake, being and time, Heidegger”

  “Stop it.”

  “Maybe this is all an accident and I am a monkey’s nephew.” Zack said.

  “Maybe you’re the Monkey King being barbecued, and I’m The Buddha’s niece. Let’s put something simple in a complicated box.”

  “Do you think that’s complicated?”

  “Do you really think I fall for this red-herring floppy disk bullshit?” She shot him a cold stare.

  “Life is more complicated than, do I want you.”

  “Tragedy of life, free will, predestination, original sin, goals, sex, dying, all that ‘to do with living’ stuff” She sighed, “Life’s such a bitch.”

  Zack sniffed the air. He thought he smelled something burning, sniffed again. “Is that something burning?”

  She nodded. “Guy behind you, cigar. Nice try. It’s not that complicated. Just choose.”

  “I have, too late, too meekly.”

  “When did you ever do anything meekly?”

  “I’m doing one now.”

  “What?”

  “You.”

  She fluffed her hair and smiled. “And the meek shall inherit the earth.”

  “And that’s another thing I doubt. Look around.”

  Zack sucked his front teeth. “So, enough of the past, you could have any number of younger fellows, why me?”

  “Cause I’m a widow, and I’m so depressed, and I’m going to commit suicide”

  “Mary”

  “And you own a newspaper, are filthy rich, can buy me clothes, take me to faraway places, bed me in five star hotel suites, dine me in elegant restaurants, know maitre d’s around the world, get the best tables, but most of allmost of all” She threw a quarter in his drink and looked into his eyes. “You own a boat.”

  Chapter Ten

  Over more drinks, this and that conversation–the upcoming presidential election, Beno, Armstrong– the evening moved along and, The Tea Company empty except for two at the bar, Zack looked at his watch.

  Mary tilted her head, “Taking pills?”

  “Getting late.”

  Passing Mindy at the cash register, Zack said, “Hear anything from Joe Case, be sure to let me know, thanks.”

  Outside, Mary suggested they stop at a super market, buy a couple T-bones, go to her place, cook on her patio hibachi, she had a new bottle of Merlot, “Get close.”

  They compromised.

  Seated In a corner booth at the Pulp Fiction Grill, Mary said, “What is it with you and booths?”

  “Privacy.”

  After small talk over coffee and a shared a bagel, Mary said, “My place or yours.”

  “Neither, go home.”

  “Misogamist.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The next day

  10:00 a.m. EST

  Friday, August 29, 2024

  The long Labor Day weekend coming up, the morning thermometer on Miami Beach nudged ninety degrees with the media reporting that Saturday looked like a sure bet to break all temperature records.

  Two miles inland, Russ Parker slowed his car and stopped next to one of the few remaining pay phones located in a shopping mall on Howard Drive.

  Russ–five-six, two hundred pounds, dressed in leafy green Hawaiian shirt, blue Bermudas and gray flip-flops–ran a hand through the thick hair of his black wig then checked his fake mustache in the rearview mirror. His wide-set brown eyes calm, he flicked beads of sweat from his stunted brow as he scanned the area around him.

  Nothing unusual, he stepped out of the car. Thick humid air greeted him as he made his way to the pay phone, took a notepad from a shirt pocket, and dropped two quarters in the phone coin slot. The phone number written on his notepad would connect him to local Miami television station, WSUN-TV, Channel 10.

  He pressed the numbers and waited.

  After three rings a pleasant female voice answered. “Thank you for calling the SUN of Miami, Channel 10. How may I help you?”

  “Morning, ma’am, News Department, Doug Hoffman, please,” Russ said in a rehearsed drawl.

  “One moment, please.”

  After a few seconds, another female voice, with less pleasantness: “Mr. Hoffman’s office.”

  “Good morning, ma’am. Is he in? Mr. Hoffman, I mean.”

  “Whom shall I say is calling?”

  “Ah, a news source. I have a video”

  “One moment.”

  A minute passed.

  Come on, Hoffman, come on, Russ said to himself.

  Fifteen seconds later the less-pleasant female voice was back. “Sir, whom did you say you were with?”

  “Ah, rather n
ot say, ma’am, a news source. I have this here video, something Doug oughta see. Shot it last night.” Russ wiped sweat from the fat under his double chin.

  “One minute.”

  Thirty seconds ticked off Russ’s cheap wristwatch. He felt moisture trickle under his arms.

  After another fifteen seconds, a sharp male voice answered. “News, Hoffman.”

  “Hiya, Doug, this is Russ Parker, how ya doing?”

  “I’m doing fine. What can I do for you?”

  “You don’t know me but I”

  “You’re right, I don’t know you. Secretary said you’re from a news source. Which one?”

  “Ah,” Russ wiped his lips. “Listen, I got this video you gotta see.”

  “That’s what I hear.”

  “Yessir, it’s plumb something else.”

  “Something else, huh?”

  “Yessir, I couldn’t believe it.”

  “Of what?”

  “Whattaya mean?”

  “The video, what’s on it?” Hoffman said.

  “I gotta show you. Can I come on over, only take a”

  “I’m very busy. What is the video of?”

  “It’s really something. I never seen anything like it. Last night, was out on Key Largo in my camper. About three in the morning heard some dern funny noises—screaming, laughing. Looked outside. Cops, two of ‘em, white dudes, and a lady.”

  “Lady?”

  “Yessir, tall Negra beauty.”

  “Negra, huh?”

  “The lady, yeah.”

  “Uh-huh. So, what’s on the video?”

  “Ya gotta see this video, two cops”

  “What cops? City cops?”

  “Miami, white.”

  “Okay, so, whattaya got on two white Miami cops?” Hoffman said.

  “Rather not talk about it on the phone. You won’t believe ithave ta see it.”

  “Look, ah, Ralph”

  “Russ, Russ Parker.”

  “Yeah, look, Russ, I’m really very busy, unless this is somethingare you looking to sell it?”

  “Shucks, no, no, not at all. It’s justit’s something ya gotta seethe news, this morning’s news”

  “Morning news, huh?”

  “Yessir.”

  “You’re not looking to smear the Miami cops are you, maybe a relative of Tina Taylor?”

  “Tina Taylor?”

  “You don’t know Tina?”

  “Ah, no, sir.”

  “Ex Miami Police department Deputy Chief, fired by Chief Manny six months ago?”

  “Oh, shucks, no. Don’t know her. Not up on that stuff.”

  “Uh-huhlook, Russ, I don’t have all day to screw around. What is it that you just have to show me?”

  “I think you oughta see it, sir. I’m almost afraid to have possession of the video.”

  “I’m waiting to hear what the video is of, but not much longer.”

  Russ cleared his throat. “Ah, Doug, I’m sorry to have bothered ya. I’ll just call Channel 6, maybe they’d like to see the video. I didn’t mean to bother”

  “Maybe they would, maybe they wouldn’t.”

  “I’m sorry, I’ll just call on over there and”

  “Wait a minute. Okay, what did you say the video is of?”

  “Two white cops stopped a lady Negra driver, andyou ain’t going to believe this one.”

  “Okay, okay. Look, you’re not far, pay phone, right?”

  “How’d ya know that?”

  “Come on, Parker, this is a television news room.”

  “Oh, yeah. Can I bring the video down?”

  “By the by, why are you at a pay phone?”

  “AhI was going to just drop by your station, earlier, on my way to work, but I kinda choked at the last minute, know what I mean? If the cops knew I had thisI’m afraid I’d be fish bait.” Russ held his breath.

  “But why a pay phone?”

  “I’m a short-order cook, on my way to work, can’t call from work.”

  “Why not from home?”

  “Like I told youwas going to stop at your stationchickened out, I guess.”

  “You don’t have a cell phone?”

  “Can’t afford it.”

  “Right.” Hoffman paused. “Okay, I’ll see you after lunch, say, one-thirty.”

  “Yes sir, okay.”

  Hoffman, suspicion in his voice, said, “What about workcan you get off work?”

  “Oh, sure, sure, no problem.”

  “Right.”

  “Hey, Doug, thanks, see ya then, one-thirty.”

  “Right, but, ah, Russ, listen, I’m only interested in exclusive stuff. Other stations have it; I’m not your man.”

  “Oh, yessir, I know what you mean. I didn’t tell nobody else. You’re the first.”

  “See you at one-thirty.”

  Chapter Twelve

  1:45 p.m. EST

  That afternoon

  In his cramped Channel 10 News Director’s office, Doug Hoffman inserted the SD card Russ Parker had handed him into the side of a large television monitor. The monitor dominated eight other smaller monitors that flickered with a glut of video offerings from local, cable and national sources. The cluttered office had cinder block walls painted beige, a green polyester sofa and Hoffman’s gray metal desk. Setting on top of the desk a computer-phone’s monitor pulsed screen saver red-white-and-blue stars. Two orange upholstered chairs faced the desk.

  Standing with clicker in hand in right hand, after some glitches, the video Parker promised began to unfold. As they watched, Parker said, “Lotsa TV’s ya got here, Mr. Hoffman.”

  “Lots of news—information age, son.”

  Hoffman, not seeing much action so far on Parker’s video, sucked his front teeth. “This better get better—fast.”

  “It will, just watch.” Parker studied Hoffman scrutinizing the video playing on the TV.

  Hoffman did not resemble the photo Parker had been shown of him nor the thin phone voice he had projected when they talked earlier. Parker had imagined a tall, skinny pencil of a person. This guy was young, around twenty-five. Built like a shoe box with holes cut out for head, arms and legs; and those black bebop bifocal granny glasses are a bit much, he thought.

  Hoffman bit his puffy lower lip and stuck his left hand in a front pocket of his brown corduroy trousers. “No sound, huh?”

  “No, sir. Was inside, shot it through”

  “A camper window, you said that.” Hoffman shook his head, rubbed the side of his porous nose with his TV remote as he watched the dim video of a fat white cop standing beside the driver’s side of a four-door white car on a deserted beach road. Another skinny white cop stepped into the frame. In one quick movement, the fat cop jerked the driver’s door open and pulled an African-American female out of the car.

  Hoffman’s mind clicked off her features—tall, stacked, miniskirt, spike heels, nice ass.

  The fat cop slammed the female against her car.

  “What is this?” Hoffman said, casting Parker a beady look.

  “Bad, huh?”

  “Bad?” Hoffman continued to watch the video.

  The fat cop demonstrated that he wanted the female to extend her arms.

  She tried to comply but staggered forward.

  “Looks like a drunk hooker.” Hoffman tucked his arms over his chest.

  “Did ya ever.” Parker chuckled.

  “Ha.” Hoffman grunted.

  The fat cop drew a line in the sand and pointed to it. The female began walking the line, staggered, kicked her shoes off. The skinny cop pushed her against her car. The fat cop began to grope her body. The skinny cop joined in.

  “Wait a minute.” Hoffman pointed his remote, pressed replay then forward, watched again, said. “Come on, people, what is this?”

  The video tilted sideways for a moment then righted.

  “What happened?” Hoffman bit a fingernail.

  “I ran into th
e coffee table, shootin’ through the window.” Parker said.

  Hoffman smirked. “Sure you did.”

  The video blurred, cleared for a moment then blurred again.

  Hoffman tilted his head. “Don’t tell me—you don’t know where the focus is, either.”

  Parker chuckled. “Ah, Mr. Hoffman, you’re joshing me.”

  Hoffman shook his head. “Where’d you get this?”

  “Like I said, last nightwas out on Key Largo, I have a camper on my pickup, go out there a lot, crab at night. I heard these noises around three a.m., saw this patrol car and the white car there, cop’s lights flashing, so I thought, what the heck, started shootin’ video.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Hoffman watched.

  The fat cop spun the female around and cuffed her hands behind her back.

  Hoffman yawned. “Okay, so the chief’s boys play a little rough. They got a hooker, probably on drugs, drunk, whatever.”

  “But catch this.”

  Hoffman watched.

  The fat cop opened the rear door of the female’s car, forced her inside and climbed in on top of her.

  “What the fuck? Wait a minute!” Hoffman’s mouth hung open. “What the fuck are those clowns doing?”

  He put his hands on his hips and leaned closer to the television set.

  The video zoomed in.

  Hoffman said, “Jesus Christ, he’she’she’s”

  The video glitched, and scrambled lines appeared on the screen.

  Hoffman threw his hands up. “What happened now?”

  “Ran out of battery, changed it, it’ll come back.”

  “Sure, sure, right, probably jerking off.” Hoffman continued to watch the video.

  The picture cleared as the fat cop backed out of the car and pulled his pants up. The black woman began to emerge but the skinny cop shoved her back.