Fake News
Page 10
“No, Mahatma Gandhi.”
“Sir?”
“Hoffman, is he in?”
A little more pleasant. “No, sir, he is very busyyou’ve seen the news?”
“How could I miss it?” He feigned a smile. “Is he in?”
“He’s in the control room, can’t be disturbed. He is personally directing our news coverage of this tragedy. Isn’t it awful?”
“You mean awful that he’s in the control room or the news is awful?”
“What? I’m sorry.” She frowned.
“Never mind. When he takes a break from the tragedy, would you ask him to please call me.”
“Could I tell him regarding what?”
“Upcoming fireworks display.”
“Excuse me?”
“The news.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The video you guys are playing.”
“Isn’t it awful?”
He wiped his palm across his face, “Please, just ask him to call me—Zackary Stearn, The Boca, 555-2624.”
“Yes. sir, I will. But I must tell you he is very busy and probably will be for some time.”
“Yes, I’m sure, thank you.”
“I’ll give him the message.”
“Thank you.” Zack punched the phone off and noticed a special BREAKING NEWS graphic flash on his TV set. The graphic dissolved to the Seal of the President of the United States.
“Where’d this guy come from,” Zack said and checked the time—5:15 p.m. He shook his head. “Benny, Benny, what are you doing on TV on this pleasant Friday afternoon of a Labor Day weekend.” He turned up the volume and watched:
The Presidential Seal dissolved to a close-up of a familiar pineapple blond–TV anchor person, Jerri Lipps.
Jerri: “and we’re standing by now for a special message from President Armstrong(pauses)now here is the President of the United States.”
The TV video switched to a split screen—on the right the President sat at his White House Press news desk. In a monitor to his left the Key Largo gruesome video that Channel 10 had been broadcasting, played.
The President peered into the television camera and spoke. “My fellow partners in democracy, I’ve just this past hour been advised of a grisly incident that occurred in the Miami area last evening. You may have already seen a video of the tragic event on your television,” he nodded to the monitor beside him, “it is playing here. Recalling similar incidents in our recent past, and upon hearing of this situation, I immediately called a meeting with key Cabinet officials to assess the implications of the crisis”
Dr. Barbara Lande entered, handed the President a note then left.
Zack mumbled, “That was my favorite fan, Dr. Barbara Lande.”
Armstrong, looking at the note: “Ah, excuse me, ladies and gentlemen”
Contemplating the President reading the note, Zack rubbed the top of his head, said, “Ben, isn’t it kind of early in the story for you to pop up?”
He walked to his coffee brewer, poured a fresh cup, returned to his desk and his thoughts danced like those familiar ping-pong balls dropping on a cement floor: What is the significance of what I am seeing, and why am I seeing it, and why is Benny showing that video, and why is he talking to the whole nation about an isolated incident that just broke in local Miami news about an hour ago, and what is Lande doing there, dribbling him notes like pills to a nursing home patient?
He noticed the President about to continue, watched:
Chagrined, Armstrong looked into the camera, “Ah, I’ve just been handed a note from my media affairs office. It says according to reliable sources, civil disorder in Miami is imminent.” He shook his head, then continued, “Notwithstanding this latest news, as I was saying a minute earlier, as a result of an executive Cabinet meeting, I have alerted special military units to be ready to move into Miami to protect property and, what is more important, innocent citizens.”
Zack pinched his wrist, “I’m not believing this.”
The video in the President’s monitor showed an angry mob exchanging blows.
Zack sat up, “Where in blue blazes did that come from?”
Armstrong frowned. “I am also sorry to tell you that major disturbances are feared in other highly volatile areas of the nation”
Again Dr. Lande appeared, handed the President another note.
Armstrong: “What? Oh, ah, yes, excuse me again, ladies and gentlemen.”
Zack massaged his lower jaw. “Busy little beaver, huh, Ms. Lande.”
The camera zoomed in to a close-up of the President. He looked up, concerned, spoke: “Ah, as you undoubtedly noted, I have just been handed another note.” Looking morose, he stared into the camera and continued, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but you know I’ve always been forthright with you. I have just been advised of some very disturbing international chicanery in this local Miami incident. I will have to look at this more closely before commenting. In the meantime, I will be watching the situation closely.
“And let me say this to would-be law violators: unlawful activity will not be tolerated and you will be brought to justice swiftly. Make no mistake about that. And to you good, law-abiding citizens, who are fearful for your family and home, don’t be. I will protect you and your property. Don’t panic, we will keep abreast of the situation and keep you posted as to our response.”
The camera began a slow zoom-out and the screen dissolved to reporter Jerri, who was about to speak.
Zack flipped the sound off and stood behind his desk.
“Sorry, Jer, I need to think.” He looked up. “It’s all a movie, right? Can’t be real, right? No? Then what is it? A play. A novel. A poem. An epic. Keystone Cops. No. What, then? I got it—a reality TV show staring non-other than Benjamin Armstrong. No? What, then?”
He waited. “Oh, I see. You’re rewriting the whole damn thing, new beginning, everything, right? No? Then what is this guano?”
Zack walked to his window. He checked the time—5:30 p.m. He went over the recent events in his mind: Sheriff’s deputy finds murder victim on Key Largo this morninglooks like drug-relatedthis TV video story broke an hour agoBenny appeared on TV two minutes agodisturbing international chicanerymilitary units
He scratched his head, “Am I missing something here?”
He sat at his desk and dialed Mary O’Brien. After five rings, Mary’s face appeared. Looking tired, she said flatly, “Hi.”
“Mary, are you seeing this sideshow on the boob tube?”
“Am.”
“You hearing anything about rioting anywhere else?”
“No.”
“You hear Armstrong?”
“Yes.”
“You see Lande?”
“Yes.”
“You feeling okay?”
“No.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Tsingtao.”
“Oh. Anyway, no reported riots here, right?”
“Not yet.”
“Where are they getting this stuff?” Zack said.
“Looks like Dr. Lande’s White House News Bureau is busy, busy, busy.”
“Dr. Lande’s news bureau is nuts.”
“Somebody is nuts.”
“We need to talk.”
“When?”
“Half an hour.”
“Okay, maybe we can have dinner.”
“No dinner.”
“Oh, okay, so maybe we can have some fresh coffee. I’ll make it.”
He hesitated. “Ahah, okayyes, you make it. Half an hour. I told Ted we might need to do a special ed”
“For when?”
“Tomorrow.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Ted’s coming up, half an hour. In the meantime, think about what we’re going to do with this blessed story.”
“What’s to think?”
“Half an hour. Bye.” Zack hung up and his phone buzzed. He pressed on and up popped the
horsy WSUN secretary to Channel 10’s Doug Hoffman.
Zack peered into his camera. “Well, hello there”
“Mr. Hoffman will speak to you now. He’s not at a camera phone. He’s in our control room, so this will be audio only.”
“Super.” Zack waited.
In a moment, with much background shouting, Hoffman’s voice: “This is Doug Hoffman, what can I do for you?”
“Hello there, this is Zackary Stearn, The Boca”
“I know who you are. What’s up?”
“Busy over there, huh?”
“Bet your ass. I’m smack in the middle of it. What’s up, make it snappy.”
“I was wondering, where in the world did you get that video you all have been showing?”
“Dynamite stuff, huh?”
“Something like that. Where on earth did you get it?”
“Confidential source.”
“Is that like it came from a stringer or something?”
“Confidential source.”
“I see, affiliated with a reputable news”
“Confidential source. Is that all you wanted?”
“Yes, I”
“That’s it?”
“I”
I gotta go. Listen, next time you need some routine thing like that, just ask the news desk. Gotta go.”
Zack heard the disconnect and his screen went to the Miami phone company’s logo.
“Huh, nice chap.” He leaned back and out of the corner of his eye noticed new video on the television of a mob smashing store windows. He checked the time—5:45 p.m.
He read the superimposed graphics that identified the pictures as Live from Chopper 5. He asked, “Well, Chopper 5, where are you from?”
He clicked the sound up and recognized anchor Steve Eaton’s voice over the video: “We just picked up this video off our Spot Satellite News Service. It reportedly took place in Dallas just minutes ago. Sources report”
Zack surfed around the TV news channels. Two of cable news guests were commenting on the President’s remarks, analyzing the implications, condemning the Miami Police Department. One channel was reporting on the Dallas mob. Another showed the Key Largo rape and murder video.
He clicked the set off, slammed the remote control on his desk. “Excuse me, but this is bullshit.”
He lowered his chin and, while standing behind his desk, imitated TV Anchor Steve Eaton’s baritone delivery: “Well, I got it from Chopper 5, so, I mean, anything from the sky has to be hot, you know, KISS, keep it simple, stupid!”
He kicked the side of his chair and looked up. “Are You watching this?” He wiped his face with his palm. “These are Your people. How could You allow I know, free willI do not like some of Your people.”
Chapter Seventeen
5:55 p.m. EST
Sitting behind his desk, Zack watched Ted Stallings wander his slender six-foot-two frame into his office. A Georgia transplant, his burnt umber eyes magnifying his reported 162 IQ, he strode, like a strolling giraffe across some field, in one deliberate speed.
Wearing a UPS-brown short-sleeved shirt and matching Bermudas, his white ankle socks drooped over his brown crepe-soled shoes. Tugging up his shorts, he ran a hand over his red crew cut hair, “I heard you all the way downstairs. I don’t like one in ten people either.”
“I figured you for at least two.”
“Yep-purr.” Ted sighed and looked at his pocket watch. “Never fails. Why do these things always have to happen late on a Friday afternoon? Never fails. Could have been worse, I guess—Sunday or Monday, it being Labor Day. Never fails, everybody getting ready to party, big news story hits. You’d think it’s all planned, probability statisticsbet the big media boys are scrambling.”
“Mary is coming, too.”
“So is Christmas.”
“Ted, be nice, you call the printers?”
“Yep-purr, midnight.”
“Good, find out anything?”
“Nope-purr, nobody knows anything for certain. Chief Manny can’t be reached, his information officer says it’s drug-relatedset-upsaid that explains Miami’s finest on the videofoul playconspiracy.”
“Hummm, what’d the mayor’s office say?”
“She’s in London, Paris, Moscow—trade mission, something or other. Monroe County Sheriff is out of town, too—holidays” He ran his tongue between his lower lip and teeth, “Nobody knows nothing.” He stretched and almost touched the ceiling. “And I was going to get out of here early, got a 3-D touch chess game.”
“What is a 3-D touch chess game?”
“Three dimensional with the opposite sex.”
“How’s that work?”
“Depends how many are playing.”
“More than two can play?”
“Yep-purr, up to…”
“Never mind, I don’t want to know. Find out anything from Channel 10?”
“Video’s from a ‘confidential source,’ short and sweet.”
“Nothing else.”
“Nope.”
“Figures.”
“Ted, why do you think President Benny showed up on TV so fast?”
“That’s Bennymedia guyin his blood, loves the limelight.”
Zack clucked his cheek and lit a Camel. “That’s what you think explains it?”
Ted pinched the tip of his nose. “He’s a proactive type of leader, wants to keep a lid on this thing. Tjosvold defines it as ‘a capacity to affect outcomes.’”
“That, too.”
“Yep-purr.” Ted sat on the sofa and crossed his bony legs.
Zack dragged on his cigarette, “What about the civil disobedience in other cities, you read, hear anything?”
“You saw that thing in Dallas?”
“Yeah, from Chopper Two or Five, whatever.”
“Tons of stuff on the internet, but what can you believe? One story has the homicide victim a mistress of Chief Manny, cops in the video are hit men—you know, shut her up, make it look like a drug thing. Another one has it hooked to the Cuban underground”
Zack held his hand up, “Please,” and lit a MORE.
“You got one lit.” Ted said.
“That’s a Camel.”
“Oh, right.”
Zack blew smoke toward the ceiling fan. “So, Mr. Stallings, minus the wisecracks, hearsay and general doo-dah-day, what is this quote unquote, breaking news, all about?”
“Sheriff finds black female murdered on Key Largo this morning, claims it’s drug-related. WSUN, Channel 10 breaks a video this afternoon shows two white Miami cops blowing the lady’s brains out.”
“And President Benny pops up on national TV blabbing civil disruption.”
“That, too.”
Zack closed his eyes and scratched his chin. “What’s your intuition tell you?”
“You mean the video?”
“Yes.”
“The whole nine yards, everything fits.” Ted re-crossed his legs.
Zack turned and looked out the window. “Fits what?”
“The homicide, body discovery this morning, drugs, probably a hooker stealing from a couple of rogue cops, somebody gets it on video, everything fits and here we are.”
Zack scratched his nose. “Ted, you’ve been reading too many Russian novels.”
Mary walked in and sprawled on the sofa. “They got pictures of that Channel 10 video on the Internet—gory but drive-by fascinating. I can lift images for tomorrow’s special edition. Front page stuff.”
Chapter Eighteen
Same evening
7:45 p.m. EST
His job to deliver the Key Largo fake video to Channel 10's news director finished and, after declining a cruise, Russ Parker had stopped at the Hole-in-One lounge for a cold draft. After enjoying a couple’s nude stage show, several more drafts, he drove to the Miami Beach Ocean Resort on Collins Avenue. There, he went to his room, discarded his black wig and mustache and changed into a thong swimsuit. After a
pplying a coating of sun screen, he took the elevator and stopped at the front desk. He deposited his cash, fake Russ Parker ID and car rental papers in a safe deposit box. Smiling, he ambled pool side.
Feeling on top of the world, he spent the late afternoon sunning, ogling male anatomy, drinking gin and tonic. A conversation struck in the hot tub with Philip, they went back to Russ’s room. Half-hour later, Philip’s nude thighs straddling Russ’s chest, the last thing Russ saw was a glint of steel. The last thing he heard was the sucking sound of his sliced trachea.
Chapter Nineteen
8:10 p.m. EST
Seated at his desk, Zack glanced at his wristwatch. “Ten after eight. Okay, enough ifs, ands or buts, lady and gentleman, midnight deadline.”
Mary, slouching on the sofa next to Ted, said, “Then we use images from the Channel 10 Key Largo video, front page, blow by blow?”
Ted clucked his cheek. “Blow by blow, good, that’s real good. Real funny.”
Ignoring him, she stood, stretched her arms over her head, fluffed her hair and yawned. “Use the images, right, Boca?”
Zack gave her a blank stare. “D-minus.”
“Why?” she said.
Ted smirked. “Because it’s gratuitous violencepandering to salacious emotions”
“Bullshit,” she said.
Zack leaned over his desk, a half-smoked Camel hanging from the side of his mouth. “Ted, tell me again how many times we been through the images thing?”
“Umpteen.” Ted cracked his knuckles.
“Mary stepped to Zack’s desk. “Boca, this is hot stuff—rogue cops, murder, rape, drugs, video.”
Ted yawned. “Gang bang, blow job, head shot, brains misting”
“Oh, bite me, Stallings.”
Ted said, “We’re not a hot-stuff newspaper, babe, we’re The Boca, fact and opinion, labeled as such.”
“Don’t call me babe.”
Zack wiped his face with his palm. “I think our angle is how this Channel 10 video became news, how it was handled by Channel 10potential impact on the public”
“Nobody cares about that Mass Media 102 sing-a-long yin yang crapboring, boring, boring.” Mary said.