The Journalist (13 page)

Jim: “Watch this.”

The fat cop pushed the female into her car,
placed his pistol to her head and shot her.

Zack pinched the bridge of his nose, blinked
his eyes, sat motionless then whispered, “This can’t be.”

“We both wish.”

The video played out and the TV screen
switched to a shot of Steve Eaton. Zack increased the sound.

Eaton shook his head. “What can I say, folks,
incriminating video? Let’s take a break. We’ll be right back.”

“No, you won’t.” Zack muted the set and asked
himself, how could that be? He looked at Jim. “How could that
be?”

“How could what be?”

“That, what we just saw?”

“Seeing is believing.”

Scratching the top of his head, Zack stood.
“Jimbo, this can’t be.”

“Like I said, Bwana, seeing is
believing.”

“Yes, you did say that.”

“Zackary, this is a bat out of hell.”

Zack tugged a thread hanging from his
T-shirt. “When did Channel 10 hit the airwaves with this little
ditty?”

“I just saw it

this
is the second time

half an hour ago.” Jim
stood and straightened his tie.

Reading each other’s thoughts, thinking, they
remained silent for several minutes. Zack broke the ice, “You
thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I think so.”

“Tell me.”

“The unabridged version or the other?”

“Other.”

“This city is going to fucking explode.”

Zack drained his coffee in a long swallow and
pondered Jim.

Jim squeezed his focus to Zackary’s eyes.
“It’s insane.”

“At least.” Zack picked up a Camel then
decided on a MORE. He scratched a wooden match across his desk and
lit the cigarette. “Channel 10 broke this story half an hour ago,
you say?”

“Something like that, yes, about thirty
minutes ago.” Jim sat on the sofa and leaned back. “I can’t believe
it.”

Zack stroked the top of his head. “Did you
notice if they gave the source of the tape?”

“Eaton said a confidential source.”

“He did say that, didn’t he.”

Jim glanced at the television. “There it is
again. Look at that, I cannot believe that.”

Zack slipped his shoes on and, surfing
through the TV channels as he went, walked to the television. “I
guess none of the other TV people have it yet.” He changed back to
Channel 10. The tape played.

“Look at that, I can’t believe that.” Jim
said.

“Seeing is believing.”

“Bastards.”

Contemplating, Zack walked back to his desk
and sat. “Anyway, Mr. Roberts, like the good reporters that we are,
we need to check it out.”

“What’s to check out, it’s on TV

”

Exhaling, he replied, “D-minus,” glanced at
his watch. “Five o’clock. I’ll start working the phones. You need
to get down to the Chief Manny’s office and find out what he is
saying about this. We’ll do a special edition for tomorrow. Two,
three pages

”

“You’re kidding.” Jim tipped his head.

I got a long weekend planned

”

“Our readers expect it.”

“But

it’s Labor Day
weekend

”

“And we shall labor.”

“But, weren’t you

aren’t you going out on
Veracity
?”

“Was.”

“Shit.”

“That, too.”

“What can Manny say?”

“I don’t know, he might think of something,
usually does.”

“Not this time.”

They looked at the TV as another play of the
video unfolded.

“Look at that.”

“You’re going over to the Chief Manny’s
office, right?” Zack said.

“Right.”

“Manny has to be offering some
explanation.”

“Explanation for what?” Jim frowned.

“What’s on that video, who, what, why, all
that stuff.”

“What can he say?”

Zack stretched. “So, you’re going over to the
Manny’s office now, I assume?”

Jim stood and stepped to the door. “I had
this fabulous weekend planned

lady friend
got a boat, we were going to

”

“So did I.”

Jim raised an eyebrow, “Ms. O’Brien going
with you?”

“D-minus. Alone.”

“Right.” Jim pointed to the television screen
as the video played again. “Look at that. I cannot believe
that.”

“And while you’re over there, we need to find
out the name of the female victim

where,
what, why, when, all that stuff, and who those two idiot cops
are.”

Jim glanced at the TV. “I can’t believe
that.”

“I can’t either

anyway, when you get ready, go on over there.
Meantime, I’ll see if I can find out the name of the so called
‘confidential source’ that furnished the video to our friends at
Channel 10, and if said source is a ‘reliable source.’”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

“Call me after you talk to Manny.”

“I need a raise.”

“Cut back on the cologne.”

Jim started down the stairs.

Zack shouted, “We’ll hold everything till we
hear from you.” He propped his feet on his desk and eyed the play
of the video again. “Go ahead, kiddies, play that video again.
Analyze it again, slow-mo it again, reverse angle it again,
zoom-in-the-detail again, go ahead, play it again.”

Chapter Sixteen

4:50 p.m.
EST

Zack punched Night Editor Ted Stallings’
first-floor video phone number. After three rings an image of Ted’s
slender gothic face appeared on Zack’s phone screen.

Ted said in his normal dry dot-com tone, “I
know the question. Did you see the latest insanity on TV?”

“Know the answer?”

“A special edition, like for tomorrow.”

“A-plus

couple pages,
some facts, our readers will be expecting it. Let’s talk.”

“When?”

“Half an hour.”

“Why so long?”

“So you can call the printers, get a new
deadline for late tonight, then do a quick call around to your
contacts, see what’s up—victim, cops involved, names, you know, a
few facts.”

“Why muddy things up?”

“I’ll call our friends at Channel 10, try to
find out where they got that video,” Zack said.

“Lots of luck on that one.”

“Half-hour.”

“Yep-purr, half-hour.”

Zack flipped his phone off and began thumbing
through his Rolodex for Channel 10’s phone number. He mumbled to
himself, “Channel 10, Channel 10, call letters, call letters,
WSUN-TV, General Manager, Lucy Lockman. I know her from somewhere.
You’ll never get through to her. Media in this town thinks you’re
insane. Feeling is mutual

never mind.”

Noticing yet another play of the infamous
video on TV, he said, “What is it with carnage and sex that rivets
the attention of higher forms of animal life? And the gorier the
better. I mean, do other creatures pause along the road to ogle
Bull Durham mounting Elsie in the clover? Anyway, run that video
again, Steve, just go on, keep running it, stir the pot up good.
We’ll have lunch over the witches’ brew.”

Zack pushed his Rolodex aside and muttered,
“You have a phone directory in the video phone, why don’t you use
it? Don’t push me, okay. I’m trying, okay?”

He accessed the local phone directory and
punched in WSUN-TV. The number appeared—555-1010.

“Cute how they get that number to match their
channel number.” He touched enter and waited through fifteen rings.
“Must be busy over there at Disney central.”

Continuing to wait, he scratched notes on a
yellow pad for an editorial:
In an age when seeing is
believing

He paused to think and remembered a quote
from E.B. White, a course he had taught. “‘We shall stand or fall
by television, of that I am quite sure.’ Hummm. Insert news after
television and you, E.B., may have hit the nail on the head.”

He noticed the image of a perky blond WSUN
receptionist appear on his video phone. He positioned himself in
front of his phone’s camera.

The TV receptionist oozed sweetness. “It’s
SUN in Miami. Thank you for calling CBS, Channel 10, WSUN. How may
I help you, sir?”

“This is Zackary Stearn,
The Boca
. Is
Lucy Lockman in?”

“I believe she has gone on vacation, but I’ll
connect you with her secretary if you like.”

“No, no, that’s okay. Is your news director
there?”

“Mr. Hoffman? Yes, one moment, please.”

“Thank you.”

The telephone screen switched to a logo of
WSUN—rising yellow sun, green palm trees, huge orange WSUN-TV
letters. Zack leaned back, propped his right foot on his left knee
and studied a small scratch on his bare ankle. For some reason Joe
Case popped into his mind, and he pondered a thought out of
nowhere.
How many steaks can you eat a week?

He noticed yet another female on the
telephone video, this one a brunette.
Looks like she won the
Belmont by a nose
, he thought.

Cold and superior, she spoke. “This is Mr.
Hoffman’s office, how may I help you?”

He leaned closer to the camera. “Hi, I’m
Zackary Stearn, editor of
The Boca
. Is he in?”

“Are you referring to Mr. Hoffman?”

“No, Mahatma Gandhi.”

“Sir?”

“Hoffman, is he in?”

A little more pleasant. “No, sir, he is very
busy

you’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 familiar CBS female anchor, pineapple-blond 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 video WSUN, 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 squinted his eyes and pinched his wrist.
“I’m not believing this.”

Armstrong: “Ah, excuse me, ladies and
gentlemen

”

Contemplating what he had just seen, Zack
walked to the Mr. Coffee brewer and mumbled, “That was my favorite
fan, Dr. Barbara Lande.”

He poured a fresh cup of coffee, 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 rubbed the top of his head and said to
Benny, “Isn’t it kind of early in the story for you, Ben?”

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 government sources, civil disorder in
Miami is imminent. Well, 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.”

The video in the President’s monitor showed
an angry mob exchanging blows.

Zack rubbed his chin. “Where in 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.”