Scoop

by Rene Gutteridge

  Ray glanced over his shoulder. “I’m…I’m not covering the story.”

  Tanya frowned. “Why not? It’s the biggest story in town.”

  “Hugo thought this was…you know, a big story too.”

  Tanya frowned again. “Okay…”

  Ray bit his lip. Tanya always had good information. How could he let this opportunity pass him by?

  “Tell me,” he said.

  Tanya hesitated. “I don’t want to waste good information.”

  “It won’t be wasted.”

  Tanya didn’t look convinced, but she leaned closer and said, “The director of the plant is a man named Howard Crumm. He has a criminal record. He was charged with embezzlement sixteen years ago.”

  Ray jotted down the information.

  “I have to go. Dont let this go to waste. You know I’ve got other options.” By other options, Tanya meant she could go to other news stations. She’d threatened Ray with this before, but he knew she just liked to see him squirm. So he tried to look worried.

  She touched his arm. “But I know I can count on you.” She walked away, and he leaned against the wall. He had the information. Now what was he supposed to do with it? He pressed his fingers against his forehead, trying to figure this all out when he heard his name being called.

  When he rounded the corner, Beaker was headed in the opposite direction.

  “Over here,” Ray said.

  Beaker spun around and threw up his hands. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  “Just, um, going for some coffee.”

  “Well, the captain’s ready.”

  “Okay.” Ray’s head pounded. Never in his life had he felt so conflicted. The thing he knew he should do was the thing he least wanted to do in the whole world.

  “What’s the problem?” Beaker asked.

  Ray glanced at his watch. “Give me a minute, okay?”

  “We need to shoot this now. The captain’s waiting.”

  Ray walked back to Beaker and in a low voice said, “You and I both know that he will wait around to see his mug on television. I just need a minute, okay?”

  “For what?”

  “Coffee.”

  Ray found a side exit and walked out. It was very cold and he noticed snowflakes falling, which was odd. He didn’t remember that in the forecast. Glancing around to make sure he was alone, he called Jill’s cell.

  “Hello?”

  “Jill, it’s Ray.”

  “Hi, Ray. How are you?”

  “Fine.”

  “And to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

  Ray paused. Jill was acting a little strangely.

  “It’s about the sewage plant story. One of my sources has given me some information about the director of the plant.”

  Jill was silent for a moment. Then she started laughing. “So this is it, huh? I knew you would somehow try to ambush me. You’re going to have me chasing rabbits, aren’t you?”

  “Jill, for crying out loud, of course I’m not trying to ambush you.” He sighed. They’d been rivals for a long time, but it surprised him that Jill was this suspicious of him. “I’m trying to help you.”

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  Ray held the phone close to his ear, trying to figure out what to say. It wasn’t really in his nature to be argumentative with people. It wasn’t that he couldn’t be. He’d done plenty of investigative stories through the years where he had to shove a microphone in someone’s face and demand answers. But at the end of the day, he wasn’t one to go out looking for a boat to rock.

  “Jill, my source here tells me that Mr. Crumm has a criminal record and has been charged with embezzlement but never convicted.”

  “Who is your source? The National Enquirer?” Ray suddenly realized what was so attractive about Hayden. She was the exact opposite of Jill.

  “I have to go,” he said.

  “Good, because as far as I can tell, you have your own story to cover.”

  Ray ended the call. Both cheeks were stinging now, and though he had willed it in his heart to do the right thing concerning Jill, the unsettled angst swirling inside his heart afterward was glad he didn’t have a third cheek to offer.

  He headed back inside the police station, fighting with Jill inside his head. Why did she always want to stay on the surface of a story? She was so content to do the fluff interviews. She was the queen of interviewing every person who could offer a wide-eyed account of something, but she never dug deeper, where the real story was.

  By the time Ray was inside, he was marching straight toward the captain’s office. Beaker met him at the door with a not-so-subtle expression of weariness. “Wynn’s irritated,” he whispered. Ray stopped and looked over Beaker’s shoulder at Wynn, who sat behind his desk, dusting dandruff off his shoulder and rubbing his teeth with his forefinger.

  “Pack up the stuff,” Ray said. “Were leaving.”

  “What?!” Beaker cried.

  Captain Wynn looked up, as did another officer who stood in his office.

  Ray kept his voice low. “The story isn’t here.”

  “What are you talking about? Have you lost your mind?”

  “I’m thinking very clearly, Beaker. Hugo wants a human drama out of this, does he not?”

  Beaker’s mouth was half open.

  “Then let’s get the real story. Let’s dig deep.” He patted the cameraman’s arm. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

  Beaker groaned. “Fine. But you’re handling Wynn.”

  Ray nodded and looked at the police captain, who was now combing his hair to the side.

  Chapter 15

  Ronny Bode stood in Hugo’s office, his hands folded outward in his perpetual state of explanation. But it wasn’t Ronny’s hands that Hugo couldn’t stop looking at. In fact, it was the red, oozing sores all over the top of his head.

  “I wasn’t supposed to be on air until Sunday,” Ronny said. “They told me I just needed a day to heal. But it’s been, well, a couple or three days now…”

  Hugo had never seen anything like it. It was worse than a toupee.

  “Ronny,” Hugo said, his voice cracking like he was about to cry, which maybe he was. “Hair plugs?”

  Ronny’s embarrassment was evident. “Hair inserts. We ran that segment, you know? The one Trent did? And, well, it looked like a viable option for me. I mean, it’s no secret what’s been happening to my hairline.”

  “But…but…,” Hugo stammered as vivid memories flashed through his mind. Ten years ago they’d had a fiftyish sportscaster, Monty Parker, who had worn a toupee since his midthirties. During some kind of midlife crisis, Monty decided that he was no longer going to wear his toupee and that he was going to face the world “as the man he really was.” There had been a big uproar about it because, without his toupee, Monty was completely bald. Monty said that he would lay his career on the line, but that he was tired of hiding behind his wig.

  With great trepidation, management decided to let him do it. It was a jaw-dropping moment for everyone, because to Monty’s credit, his toupee looked very much like real hair. The glare on his scalp was so intense they had to put special filters on the lights. And for the next two weeks, they had to assure viewers that Monty wasn’t ill or insane. Six weeks later, Monty resigned. Last Hugo had heard, he was selling cars somewhere north of town. Ever since then, they’d included a clause in the anchors’ contracts that they could not drastically change their hair or appearance without written consent from the station.

  “I thought this would be a good thing,” Ronny said meekly. “I know it bothers everyone that I’ve been losing my hair. It bothers me too. I thought I’d just get a few pieces, then add some here and there, real subtle.”

  “Didn’t you think even a few pieces would’ve been noticeable?”

  “If it hadn’t gotten infected, nobody would’ve noticed it. They might’ve thought something looked slightly different about me, but nobody would’ve guessed i
t was my hair.”

  Hugo looked down at his desk, trying to find some kind of compassion for the man. “Well, um, do they have you on antibiotics?”

  Ronny nodded. “A ten-day round.”

  “It looks painful.”

  Ronny put on a brave face. “Oh, it’s not too bad. It itches like crazy and feels like someone’s sewn grass through my scalp, but I’m sure that’s going to go away with time.”

  “Well,” Hugo said, trying to smile, “I’m sure it will look…uh, more natural…once the antibiotics kick in.”

  “I did it for the station, Mr. Talley. I don’t want to be the weekend anchor forever. I know Tate’s young and good-looking, but I’ve got good attributes too, and I can anchor alone.”

  Hugo nodded. “Why don’t you go home and get some rest.”

  Ronny looked like he was about to burst into tears. He quickly left the office. Hugo ran his fingers through his own thinning hair, gray thanks to years in the news business. He decided, against his better judgment, to see how Tate was doing taping the teaser. Since Gilda had yet to arrive, they had to do something, and Tate was really their only option.

  As he headed toward editing bay one, he noticed Hayden walking briskly toward him. His chest constricted. It didn’t look to be good news.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked while she was a good ways away.

  “Mr. Talley, must something always be wrong?” she said with a grin.

  “Nothing’s wrong?”

  “Yeah, something’s wrong. But you shouldn’t always assume something’s wrong. It’s not good for your health.”

  Hugo groaned. “What is it now?”

  “Well, it’s—”

  “Wait.”

  “What?”

  “Hayden, you seem to be in good with God. Tell me, does God hate me?”

  “Mr. Talley, of course God doesn’t hate you.”

  “You don’t know that for sure. Have you asked? Specifically about me?”

  Hayden folded her arms together and her angelic face suddenly turned stern. “Mr. Talley, are you saying you haven’t been praying?”

  Hugo couldn’t help be amused by the fact that she looked exactly like his personal fitness trainer used to look when she’d ask if he’d been doing push-ups.

  “It’s been awhile,” Hugo confessed.

  “Well no wonder you’re uptight all the time.”

  “I’m not uptight, Hayden. I’m focused.”

  “Focused on everything that could go wrong.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, everything is going wrong. Which is why I’d like to know if God has it in for me.”

  “Well, did you do something wrong?”

  Hugo put his hands on his hips. “I’m no expert on the evangelical faith, but isn’t this the part where you’re supposed to assure me that God loves me no matter what I’ve done?”

  “Yes, God loves you and forgives you. But if you’re not working for God, then you’re working for the devil.”

  Hugo cackled. “I’ve heard Chad called a lot of things, but I’ve never been so bold as to call him the devil.”

  “I’m talking about the real devil.”

  “Oh.” Hugo stopped smiling. “Look, forget I said anything.”

  “Hugo, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s not that your life will get any better when you serve God. Sometimes it gets harder. But God will carry you through and make you stronger for it.”

  Hugo was smiling again, because he tended to smile at absurd things. “Are you for real? I mean, do you hear yourself? You’re like a walking Sunday-morning pulpit.”

  “I’m just telling you the truth, Mr. Talley.”

  “It’s just that you and Ray are so different.”

  “We are?”

  “I’ve known Ray for years, and I happen to know that he goes to church every Sunday. The reason I know that is because he will not, under any circumstance, work on Sundays. I completely respect that. I also happened to notice the cross on his key chain. But not once has Ray ever told me I’m serving the devil.”

  Instead of looking even the slightest bit insulted, Hayden patted Hugo’s arm. “God will never give up on you. And neither will I.”

  “Let me guess, you’ve been praying for me.”

  “Well, isn’t it obvious? Now,” she said, taking his arm and guiding him toward the editing bay, “we have matters to discuss. Tate is—well, he’s struggling.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Maybe you should see for yourself.”

  Hugo walked into the editing bay as Tate sat on the editing desk with monitors behind him to serve as a backdrop. As soon as he saw Hugo, he jumped up, his lavaliere microphone ripping from his shirt. “Did you find her?”

  “Gilda?” Hugo asked.

  “Of course Gilda.”

  “No, Tate. Nobody can find her.” Hugo sighed.

  “I can’t do this!” Tate said, flinging his arms in the air.

  “Do what? The teaser?”

  “It’s just not working. I don’t know. Maybe its the…the…wording.” Tate glanced around the small room. “Or the way the walls feel like they’re closing in on me.”

  Hayden stepped up. “I’ve been trying to help Tate relax. He’s feeling pretty uptight about having to do the news alone tonight.”

  “Don’t focus on that right now. Gilda will show up. She’s never missed a newscast, and she’s well aware that we’re closing in on sweeps week. She wouldn’t dare ditch us.” Hugo’s emphasis on the word dare caused the room to grow still. Who was he trying to kid? He was as uptight as Tate. “It’s just that—Tate, we really need this teaser, okay? We’ve got to start running this tonight.”

  But Tate shook his head like a schoolboy about to get beaten. Hugo had seen Tate nervous before, but he had never seen actual fear in his eyes.

  “I’m just not feeling it,” Tate said, his voice climbing into a falsetto.

  Hugo’s fists clenched. He would have to slap some sense into this kid without leaving a mark on him. But before he could do anything irrational, he felt a calm hand on his arm. Hayden was beside him.

  “Mr. Talley, if you don’t mind, I think I see the problem here.”

  Hugo could only hope Hayden wasn’t going to lay hands on everyone and pray the devil out of the room. Though if that helped, at this point he was open to anything.

  “I think, Tate,” Hayden said, “that you’re forgetting the basics. There’s so much pressure right now that you’re wanting to ride the bike but you’re forgetting to pedal it.”

  Tate didn’t look like he was following. Hugo couldn’t say he was either. Hayden sat next to Tate on the editing desk and pointed toward the camera. “What are you trying to convey here?”

  Tate blinked. “I…um…that your car could catch on fire and th-that you could get trapped and die.”

  “You’re trying to convey that in a desperate situation, there’s a way out if you only stop and think. Right?”

  Hugo’s eyes shifted to Tate. Tate nodded. Hugo nodded too.

  “You’re really telling the viewers not to panic, to look around and use what is available to get themselves out of the situation.”

  Tate took a breath. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “So you’ve got to forget the script for a minute. Look right into that camera lens.” She pointed and looked toward it. “Now, you’re not talking to a piece of camera equipment. You’re talking to my sister. Okay? Talk to my sister.” Hayden focused and said, “You’re in a burning car, and there’s nobody to help. How will you get out?”

  If only Tate could be that smooth. Hugo watched Tate take a deep breath and try it. “You’re in a burning car, and there’s nobody to help. How will you get out? Starting Monday we will have a week-long series on…how to save your life in a-a-a life-threatening—”

  Hayden held up her hands. “Let’s forget the script for a moment. Just look at my sister and talk as if you have important information that could save her life.”


  “What does your sister look like?” Tate asked.

  Hugo wanted to moan. Was Tate missing the point here? What was the point exactly?

  “Good question. She looks a lot like me, except she’s a little taller with shorter hair. Her name is Mackenzie, but we call her Mack.”

  “Mack. Okay.” Tate took a deep breath and looked at the camera. “What if you were inside a burning car and there was no one to help? What if your car plunged into the river and you had to get yourself out? What if your car stalled on a road in the middle of a blizzard and you were alone? How would you survive? What would you do? Next week we’ll show you ways you can survive life-threatening situations by being resourceful. It starts Monday.”

  “Good!” Hugo said, slapping his hands together. “That’s what we want, Tate. Do you think you can do that when the tape is rolling?”

  Tate looked down. “I don’t know. My nerves are rattled. If someone could just assure me that Gilda would be here tonight.”

  Hayden laughed and everyone looked at her. “Guess what, gentlemen? We did get it on tape. I gave Ted over there a little wink and he recorded the whole thing.”

  A little wink? Hugo looked at Ted, who could only smile and nod. “So…we got it?”

  Ted nodded again.

  Hugo sighed with relief. “Great. Get that edited and ready to roll.” He walked back toward his office, wondering how Tate was going to make it through the broadcast tonight. What were they going to do?

  “Look around you and use what is at your disposal to get yourself out of the situation…” Hayden’s words whispered through the storm inside Hugo’s mind. He stopped, looking back toward the door of the editing bay.

  “No…No.” He shook his head, mumbling at the absurdity of the thought. “Maybe…” Hugo’s heart thumped to the beat of fear. It would be a tremendous gamble, and if he failed, his career would be permanently over. But at the moment, he was banking everything on Tate’s ability to get a grip, which wasn’t likely, considering he couldn’t even tape a teaser.

  “Talley, you’ve lost your head.” And headless he went, back to the editing bay.

  Chapter 16