Hard News (19 page)

The tapes went on and on and on, endlessly. The format of the
Current Events
stories made Rune’s job tough. Piper Sutton insisted that she herself be on camera for a good portion of each segment. Most of the story would be the interviews Rune was now editing. But every three minutes or so would be a cut back to Sutton, who would continue with the story, reading off a TelePrompter. Then, back to more tapes the crime scene, atmosphere footage, interviews. The Bennett Frost revelation. Coordinating everything - the voice-over and the dialogue on the tape segments, and Piper Sutton’s script - was overwhelming.

(“And,” Lee Maisel had warned her, “if you put a mixed metaphor or string of sibilants into her mouth, not even God can help you.”) But so what if it was tough? Rune was ecstatic. Here she was - three in the morning, Courtney (and a stuffed bear) dozing near her feet - editing tape into what was going to be a sensational news .story on the number-one-rated prime-time newsmagazine on network television. Best of all, the story would get seen by ten million people, who unless they made a snack or John run immediately after the Fade Out would also see her name. And, she considered for a moment, the best part of all: She’d be responsible for getting an innocent man released from prison - a man whose muscles got nervous when he couldn’t move. Prometheus, about to be unbound.

20 The conference room. The legendary conference room on the fortieth floor of the

Network’s skyscraper. It was here that the executives and senior newsmen planned the special coverage for Martin Luther King’s assassination and Bobby Kennedy’s and Nixon’s resignation and the taking of the hostages in Iran and the
Challenger
explosion. It didn’t look very impressive -yellow-painted walls, a chipped and stained oval table and ten swivel chairs whose upholstery had faded to baby-blue from the parent company cerulean. But the shabbiness didn’t detract from the fact that history had been chronicled - and sometimes even made -in this room. Rune paused outside the teak door. Bradford Simpson, who hadn’t been invited to the meeting, handed her the files he’d helped carry from her desk. “Break a leg,” he said and gave her a kiss on the cheek - one that lasted a bit longer than your standard goodluck •buss, she thought. He disappeared back to the lowly newsroom. Rune looked inside. Lee Maisel and Piper Sutton sat at the table. Behind them was a map of the world with red stickers showing where the Network had permanent bureaus. No more than a couple inches of space separated any of the red dots, except in the oceans and at the North and South Poles.

This was a room Rune never thought she’d be in. When she’d applied at the Network for a job as assistant cameraman they’d told her there was no chance to move into news, producing stories herself; those slots were all reserved for newsmen with experience or star journalism school students.

But here she was, a line producer working for Lee Maisel, and holding in her nervous hands a draft script, one she’d actually written for Piper Sutton.

Rune fought down the assault of anxiety. She shifted the huge stacks of notes and tapes from one arm to the other. Her heart was beating wildly and her palms left sweaty stains on the black cassettes she held. Sutton noticed her and nodded her in. “Come on,” she said abruptly. “What’re you waiting for?” Maisel gave Rune a fast distracted glance. “Let’s get on with it,” Sutton said. “Let’s see the script. Come on.”

Rune distributed them and they both read in silence, except for the tapping of Piper Sutton’s gold Cross pen, impatient, on the table. Stone-faced, they skimmed the sixteen pages. First Sutton, then Maisel, slid the sheets into the center of the table.

“All right,” Sutton said. “Why is it so important that you do this story?” This was right out of left field. Rune hadn’t expected a question like that. She swallowed, looked at Maisel but he didn’t offer anything. She thought for a moment, and began to speak. She
knew
better than she could
say
(words, goddamn words again). As she responded to Sutton a lot of “uhms” and “what I means” slipped in. She corrected herself, said the same things twice. She sounded defensive. She tried to look into Sutton’s eyes as she spoke but that just turned her mind to jam. Words came out, about justice and journalism’s responsibility. Which was all true but Rune didn’t, of course, tell Sutton one tiny piece of the answer: She never once said,
Why am I dying to do this story? Because part of me wants to be you. I want to be tall and have crisp blonde hair that stays where 1 put it, and walk on high heels and not look like a klutz. I want presidents of networks and corporations to look at me with envy and lust. I want a mind that’s as cool and sharp as a black belt’s body. I want to try your kind of power, not mine. Not like magic in fairy stories but the power to cast the strongest kind of spells - the ones that make it seem like you know exactly what to do every minute, exactly what to say . . .
But she talked’ about the press, about innocence, about Boggs. When she’d finished, she sat back. Sutton must have been satisfied with the response. She said, “All right, let me ask you a few specific questions.” These were even worse, though, because they were about things Rune should have thought of herself.
Did you interview the original crime scene team?
(Good idea; never occurred to her.)
Did you talk to any of Boggs’s earlier lawyers?
(Rune didn’t know he’d had any.)
Did he ever see a shrink about his criminal tendencies?
(She never asked.)

The three of them debated for ten minutes and in the end both Maisel and Sutton nodded and said that the program should go forward as long as the show didn’t claim Boggs was innocent - only that there were some serious questions about his guilt. That left only the question of when the story should air. They asked her opinion. Rune cleared her throat, shuffled papers, then said, “Next week’s show.” Maisel said, “No, seriously.” And the battle began. “The thing is,” Rune said, “he’s got to get out of prison as soon as possible. They

don’t like him in there. They’ve already tried to kill him, I told you that.” Sutton said, “They’? Who’s ‘they’?” “Other prisoners.” Maisel asked, “Why?” “I don’t know. A guard told me he isn’t popular. He’s a loner. He-“ “Today’s Friday,” Maisel barked. “Rune, to air next Tuesday, the whole program should have been shot and edited by now. It has to be in the computer by Monday. That just can’t be done.”

“I don’t think he’ll last another week. They tried to kill him once, and they’ll try again.”

Sutton and Maisel looked at each other. Sutton looked back to her and said, “Our job is to report the news, not save anybody’s ass. Boggs gets killed the story’s still valid. We could-“ . “That’s a horrible thing to say!” “Oh, come off it,” Sutton said. Maisel said, “Piper’s right, Rune. The story is the important thing, not springing a

prisoner. And I don’t see how we can do it. There just isn’t time.” “The script’s all written,” she said. “And I’ve spent the last three nights editing. I’ve

got everything timed to the second.” “The second,” Sutton said in a tired sigh. Maisel said, “Piper’d have to tape on Sunday night or Monday morning.”

In a soft, spiny voice, Rune said, “I want the story to air next week.” She folded her

hands and put them in her lap. They both looked at her. Rune continued. “What’s going to happen if somebody finds out that we could have

saved his life and we just didn’t get around to doing the story in time?” Silence, as Sutton and Maisel exchanged glances. Maisel broke the tension, asking

the anchorwoman, “What do you think?” Rune felt her teeth squeeze together with tension. Sutton responded by asking. “What

else was scheduled for that show?” “The Arabs in Queens,” Maisel said. “It’s half edited.” “I never liked that story,” Rune offered. Sutton shrugged. “It’s soft news. I hate soft news.” She was frowning, apparently

because she found herself agreeing with Rune. “My story isn’t,” Rune said. “It’s hard news.” Sutton said, “I suppose you’ll want a credit.”

“You bet I do.” The anchorwoman continued, “But that name of yours. You’ll have to change it.” “Not to worry,” Rune said. “I have a professional name.” “A professional name?” Maisel was fighting to keep down the smile. “Irene Dodd Simons.” “Is that your real name?” the anchorwoman asked. “Sort of.” Sutton said, “Sort of.” And shook her head then added, “At least it sounds like the name of somebody who knows what she’s doing.” She pulled her personal calendar out of her purse; the scents of perfume and suede followed it. “Okay, honey, first we’ll get together and do a script-“

“A script?” Rune blinked. “But it’s all finished.” She nodded at the sheets in front of them.

Sutton laughed. “No, babes, I mean a
real
script. We’ll meet at six-thirty tomorrow morning in the
Current Events
newsroom.”

Rune’s first thought was: Shit, a baby-sitter. Where’m I going to get a sitter? She smiled and said, “Six, if you want.” “Six-thirty’ll be fine.”

You don’t have a right to talk on the phone but they usually let you.
A privilege, not a right.
(One day, Boggs’d heard some prisoner yelling, “Gimme the phone! We got rights.” A guard had answered, pretty politely under the circumstances, “You got what we give you, asshole.”)

But maybe because Boggs had been knifed or maybe because he wasn’t a punk or just maybe because it was a nice warm day, the guard in charge of the mail and telephone room sent somebody to find him so he could take the call.

“Randy, how you feeling?” Rune asked. “That you, miss?” “You out of the infirmary?” “Kicked my butt out yesterday. No pain to speak of, unless I stretch. I read that story. In the book you give me. I like it. Don’t think I look much like him, though, and if I ever stole fire from the gods I sure don’t know a fence who’d handle it . . .” He paused and she laughed, like she knew she was supposed to, thinking he’d probably spent a good amount of time thinking up the joke. Which he had. “Guess what?” she asked. “Don’t know.” “I found a new witness.” “New witness?” “Sure did.” “Well, my, tell me about it.” She did, from start to finish, all about Bennett Frost, and Randy Boggs didn’t utter a single word the entire time she was speaking. In fact, not a single syllable or grunt or even, it seemed, a breath. When she was through there was silence for a long moment.

“Well,” she said, “you’re not saying anything.” “I’m grinning, though, I’ll tell you that. Damn, I can’t believe it. You done yourself

something, miss.” .”What’s going to happen now is I’m going to try to get the program on the air next week. Megler said that if he gets his name and picture on the air he’ll do the motion for a new trial for free.” “Mr Megler said that?” “It hurt him to. I could see the pain but he said he would. He said if the judge buys it,

and grants the motion, you could be out right away.” “The judge might not grant it, though, I suppose.” “Fred said that having the program on
Current Events
would really help. The judge’d

be like more inclined to release you, especially if he was up for reelection.” “Well, damn. Goddamn. What do I do now?” “You just take care of yourself for the next week. Don’t go getting knifed anymore.” “No, ma’am. . . One thing . . . What you did... ?” Silence. “I guess I’m trying to say thank you.” “I guess you just did.”

After they hung up, Randy Boggs, the grin still on his face, left the administration

building to go find Severn Washington and tell him the news. As Boggs left the building, another prisoner, a short Colombian, followed, then overtook him. Prisoners like this were what used to be called trusties in the prisons of the forties and fifties and were now generally known as pricks or assholes or scum. He’d just had a short conversation with the guard he worked for, the guard who randomly monitored prisoners’ phone conversations. The prisoner smiled at Boggs, said,
“Buenos dias”
and walked ahead, not hearing what Boggs said in reply. He didn’t particularly care what the response was. He was in a hurry. He wanted to get to Juan Ascipio as soon as he could.

21 Rune decided she’d found a great new drug, one that was completely legal and cheap. It was called “awake,” and you didn’t even take it. All you did was not sleep for thirty hours straight and it sent you right on the most excellent psychedelic trip you could imagine. Gremlins climbed out of the Sony, dragons swooped down from Redhead lights and trolls had abandoned bridges and were fox-trotting on the misty dance floor of her desk. Weird amoeba were floating everywhere.

It was six P.M. on Tuesday and the reason for the hallucinations - and sleeplessness was a small plastic cassette containing a one-inch videotape master of a news story to be shown in a few hours on that night’s
Current Events
program. The story was called, “Easy Justice.” The voice-overs were mixed, the leads and countdown added, the “live” portions of Piper Sutton’s commentary added. The tape, which ran the exact time allocated for the segment, rested somewhere in the bowels of the Network’s computer system, which acted like a brilliant, never-sleeping stage manager, and would start the segment rolling exactly on time, at 8:04:36 P.M. The system would then automatically broadcast the Randy Boggs story for its precise length of eleven minutes, fourteen seconds, which was the Network’s version of a quarter hour a bit shorter than in Edward R. Murrow’s time, but back then each additional minute of advertising didn’t mean another half-million dollars in revenue the way it did today.

Piper Sutton had been satisfaction-proof. “What’s this? What do you call this?” she’d shouted, pacing back and forth behind Rune, who sat terrified, willing her hands not to shake as she typed. “Is this supposed to be fucking
poetry!
Is it supposed to be
art!”

Sutton would walk another ten feet, leaving behind a wake of cigarette smoke and

Chanel No. 5. Nothing she’d write could please Sutton. “Is that a fact? Is it supported? Who’s your attribution? . . . What the fuck is this? A figure of speech? ‘Justice is like a lumbering bear’? Sure, I know a
lot
of