The Journalist (14 page)

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 incident. I will have to look at this more closely
before commenting. In the meantime, I will be watching the Miami
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. More an epic. No, I got it—Keystone
Cops. No? What, then? I got it—a reality TV show, a Benny sit-com.
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
morning

looks like
drug-related

this TV video story
broke an hour ago

Benny appeared on
TV two minutes ago

disturbing
international chicanery

military
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. “Ah

ah,
okay

yes, 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, Hoffman’s voice with much
background shouting: “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 the cable news net reporters 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 will

I 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 umber eyes magnifying his reported 162 IQ,
he strode, like a strolling giraffe across some field, in one
deliberate speed. Stallings wore a UPS-brown short-sleeved shirt
and matching Bermudas, his white ankle socks drooping 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 statistics

bet 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 nothing for certain.
Chief Manny can’t be reached, his information officer says it’s
drug-related

set-up

said that explains Miami’s finest on the
video

foul play

conspiracy.”

“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?”

“3-D touch chess?”

“Yes.”

“Depends how many are playing.”

“More than two?”

“Up to ten can play.”

“Ten. Okay, so

”

“You 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 Benny

media
guy

in his blood, loves the limelight.”

Zack clucked his cheek and lit a Camel. “That
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. “3-D chess,
huh, ten?”

“Depends, could be just two.”

“Humm

what about the
civil disobedience in other cities, you read, hear anything?”

“That’s what Benny said.”

“That’s what I mean.”

“You saw that thing in Dallas?”

“Yeah, from Chopper Two or Five,
whatever.”

“The Internet

tons of
stuff there, 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

” He 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 female murdered on Key Largo
this morning, claims it’s drug-related. WSUN, Channel 10 breaks a
video this afternoon shows two Miami cops blowing the lady’s brains
out.”

“And an hour ago, President Benny is on
national TV blabbing civil disruption.”

“That, too.”

Zack closed his eyes and scratched his chin.
“Ten, huh?”

“Yep-purr.”

“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 it for tomorrow’s special
edition. Front page stuff.”

Chapter Eighteen

7:45 p.m.
EST

His job to deliver the video to Channel 10's
news director finished, Russ Parker had stopped at the Hole-in-One
lounge for a Budweiser. After enjoying a baseball game, several
cold drafts, an order of nachos, 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 his swimsuit. After
applying 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 a cheeky looker,
Phil, they went back to Russ’s room. Half-hour later, Phil’s nude
thighs straddling Russ’s chest, the last thing Russ saw was a glint
of steel. The last thing he heard was his sucking blood and air
through his sliced trachea.

Chapter Nineteen

8:10 p.m.
EST

Zack glanced at his wristwatch. “Ten after
eight. Okay, enough ifs, ands or buts, lady and gentleman, midnight
deadline.”

He stood behind his desk. Mary, seated on the
sofa next to Ted, said, “Can you play that 3-D touch chess with a
computer?”

“Only if you don’t square it.”

“Bull.”

Zack said, “Deadline.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Then we use the
Channel 10 video pictures, front page, blow by blow?” She held her
hand up. “No pun intended.”

Ted clucked his cheek. “Good, that’s real
good. Real funny.”

Ignoring him, she stood, stretched her arms
over her head and yawned. “Use the pictures, right, Boca?”

She fluffed her hair.

Zack gave her a blank stare. “D-minus.”

“Why?” she said.

Ted smirked. “Because it’s gratuitous
violence

pandering to salacious
emotions

”

“Bullshit,” she said.

Zack sat down and 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 picture thing?”