Hard News

33

"Father?" Maisel asked, frowning.

"My mother," Bradford said, gazing at the reporter with angry eyes, "was one of the secretaries who worked at a station where my dad was a newsman twenty-two years ago. I was one of Lance Hopper's illegitimate kids the tabloids were so happy to start rumors about. Only in my case it wasn't a rumor. Four years ago my mother told me who my real father was. I came to see him.

"At first he thought I wanted money or something. But then he realized I just wanted to meet him, get to know him. We spent some time together. I liked him. He was a good man at heart. He had his vices and weaknesses-" Bradford laughed. "I guess I was the product of one of those vices. But he was somebody I started to admire. I decided to become a journalist and switched majors. He was going to get me a job here at the Network but I said no, I wanted to do it on my own. I applied for the internship and got accepted and that gave us an excuse to spend time together. We had different last names so no one ever knew who I was. But then he was killed… It just about destroyed me. I assumed the story about what happened was true and let it go at that. But a few weeks ago I was doing mailroom duty, going through all the unsolicited mail, and I found Boggs' s letter. I read it a dozen times. I got to thinking that maybe there was more to my father's death than what came out in court."

"You're the one who put the letter on my desk," Rune said.

Bradford smiled. "You're a crusader, Rune. Nobody else here'd give a damn about finding the real killer. But I had a feeling you would."

"You were using me too!"

"Let's just say I was looking over your shoulder. The more you found, the more I got to thinking that it must've been Piper or Dan Semple who'd killed him. Lee, you crossed my mind too – that Beirut situation always seemed fishy to me." He nodded toward Rune. "When she told me you were going to meet down here – a deserted studio – I figured you might be the one so I hid up there." He glanced at the empty control booth.

"Look, kid," Jack said impatiently. "Why don't you just let us walk out of here. And we'll forget everything. You go your way and we'll go ours."

But Bradford ignored him. He nodded at the control booth and said to Maisel, "I got everything you said on tape, Lee."

Maisel closed his eyes. He slumped in the chair.

Jack sighed and shook his head. "Think you're on your own here, Lee. Nice doing business with you." The killer grabbed Rune by the hair and pulled her to her feet.

"No!" she cried.

Bradford pointed his pistol toward Jack but the fat man paid no attention. He walked to the table where his own gun lay and picked it up.

"Don't!" Bradford said.

"Yeah, right," Jack muttered.

"Shoot him!" Rune shouted to Bradford. "Now!"

But the young man froze. His eyes wide, his mouth open in fear as Jack lifted the gun and fired at him as casually as if he were tossing coins in a wishing well. Rune couldn't tell whether Bradford was hit or not. He fell or dove to the floor. Maisel slid from his chair and rolled to cover under the table.

Tugging Rune after him, Jack said, "Let's go, honey. May need some insurance, in case the kid called the police."

"No! Goddammit!" she raged, trying to pry his hand off her hair. But he simply got a better grip and dragged her more quickly behind him.

"Shut up," he whispered.

Maybe Bradfordhad called the police. Maybe Sam Healy and a hundred other cops were outside right now, their guns pointed at the door. Jack'd see that and give up.

He pulled her in front of him and kicked open the door that led to the parking lot.

Please, she thought, let there be a thousand knights waiting here to slay the dragon…

They stepped outside. Nobody. She scanned the alley and the parking lot. Empty.

Oh, no…

Jack squinted, orienting himself.

"Car's on the other side of the building. That way." He pointed.

"Let go of me!"

He released her hair but took her firmly by the arm and led her forward. She recalled what he'd said, about being amercenary soldier. She said, "If you let me go I'll give you eight thousand dollars."

"No."

"I can get it for you right now."

Jack was walking more slowly now. He seemed to be considering what she was saying. Finally he shook his head. "Not enough."

"Maybe I can get a little more." She thought desperately about where she might get some cash.

"How about fifty?" Jack said.

"I don't have fifty."

"Forty-five."

Tears in her eyes. "I don'thave that. I can get… maybe twenty. I don't know. From friends maybe…"

"Forty-three thousand," Jack said.

"I…" She shook her head.

"Tell you what," Jack said. "You give me thirty-nine thousand five hundred and I'll let you live. I'll let you walk away."

More tears. "But I can't get that much."

"Thirty-eight two."

When she glanced at his face a sick smile on it, she knew that he was just being cruel. He was playing with her, reciting the odd numbers. And whether she had fifty thousand or a hundred he wasn't going to let her go. This was business and the bargain he'd made was with Lee Maisel. Jack's job was to kill her.

They were on the sidewalk now, deserted except for a homeless guy in the middle of the block. The street was shimmering with a light rain that wasn't so much falling as hanging in the air.

Jack said, "This way," and tugged her forward. Ahead of them, on Broadway, a few cabs and cars bounded up- and downtown. Maybe she could tear away and sprint the half block to the corner. She'd just charge right into traffic and hope she didn't get hit. Maybe she'd be lucky the same way Randy Boggs wasunlucky at Lance Hopper's apartment building and a cop car would be cruising past.

But Jack's grip was fierce and, besides, he still had his gun in his other hand, hidden inside his jacket.

Jack stopped at a car. He slipped his pistol in his pocket and reached into his other pocket to get the keys.

"Hey," the drunk called, staggering in their direction. His head drooped forward in his stupor. His clothes were drenched from rain and he looked like a straggly mutt. "Change? For something to eat. You got some change?"

"Shit. Fucking people in this town," Jack muttered, pulling the keys out of his pocket. He leaned down and said to Rune, "I can feel you, honey. You're thinking the guy comes up and he's going to distract me and then you'll run for it. You think I'm stupid?" He shoved her in the car. "You think I'm not expecting that?"

Nearby now, the homeless man called, "Change, please?"

Jack, his eyes still on Rune, said to him, "Fuck you, mister."

The drunk suddenly stood up and became completely sober. "Fuck you too, Jack," Randy Boggs said and leapt forward, slamming his fist into Jack's face.

"Randy!" Rune cried.

"Run!" Boggs shouted as he grabbed Jack around the waist and tried to pull him to the sidewalk.

Rune scooted out of the car fast. She hesitated, watching them scuffle. It wasn't a fight – they were wrestling. Boggs was gripping Jack's shoulders, pinning his arms so he couldn't reach his gun. Jack, blood streaming from his nose, tried to knee Boggs in the groin but couldn't get his leg up without falling over.

"Run, damn it!" Boggs shouted again.

She did. To the nearest corner, to a phone kiosk. Hitting 911 as she watched the men, on the ground now, a dark squirming mass, half in, half out of the street. She told the calm voice of the police dispatcher about the fight, about the gun. By the time she'd hung up, she heard sirens. Distant, but moving in close. She thought she should go back, distract Jack, hit him with something. But she didn't move. For some reason an image of Courtney came into her mind and she thought, No, even if Claire's back, I can havesome role in the girl's life and it wouldn't be fair to her to risk myself. This was their battle now.

Then Rune saw Jack break free and scramble away. He had the gun in his hand. Randy leapt back into the street, scrambling beneath a car for cover. Jack fired two fast shots at him then turned to run just as three blue-and-white police cars squealed around the corner. The officers poured out, shouting like madmen for Jack to stop, to drop the gun. He fired at their cars twice and turned to run but he slipped and went down on one knee.

"Drop the weapon," a metallic voice came over the loudspeaker.

Jack leapt to the side and lifted the gun again.

The big sparking explosion of a shotgun was like a thunderclap. Jack tumbled backwards. He tried to get up, muttering some distorted words. Something about "pictures," Rune thought. The fatman lay back. His body convulsed once. Then he was still.

Ten squad cars, with lights flashing, were parked in front of the Network building. Several EMS ambulances were here too and, for some reason, so were two fire trucks. Already the crowd of spectators was large. Rune noted with a laugh to herself that the three news crews on hand to capture the story on tape were all from the competition; no one at the Network seemed to have heard about the incident.

Rune was standing next to Randy Boggs, who leaned against a squad car. His hand and chin were bandaged. Jack had missed when he'd fired those two shots at him but he'd cut himself in several places during the fight. (He seemed most upset because the ugly tan suit he wore was torn and greasy.)

Bradford Simpson, however, had been hit by Jack's bullet but only in the leg. He'd be all right.

Lee Maisel was in custody.

"How did you get here?" Rune asked, shaking her head in confusion.

"I went to your houseboat – saw what'd happened there. I'm plenty sorry about that. Did Jack do it?"

"Indirectly." She didn't mention the actual arsonist was three years old.

Boggs continued. "I just came to the TV station here to see if maybe the guard or somebody could tell me where you were. I saw you and Jack coming out of the back door. Didn't know what was going on but I figured it wasn't good. And that I better do something about it. So I pretended to be a – you know, homeless man so I could get in close."

A detective came up to her and said, "Could you give us a few more details, miss?"

Rune answered, "Can we be alone for a couple minutes? Just him and me? Then I'll tell you everything."

The detective nodded. He walked over to the medical attendants, who were putting Jack's body on a gurney.

"I thought you'd taken off," Rune told Boggs angrily.

He stared at the ground, not able to return her gaze. "I just went down to Atlanta for a day or two to get my money and then I was coming back. I was going to do that all along -I have some business to take care of here."

"Business?" she asked skeptically.

"I'm giving some of my money to the family of this friend of mine from Harrison. He got himself killed

'cause he was my friend. Anyway, Icouldn't leave -remember, Mr Megler said I had to stay in New York until the case was officially over?"

"When has obeying the law ever meant anything to you?" Rune snapped. "Why didn't you tell me about you and Jack?"

"Was a new suit," he said, studying at his torn sleeve. Then he looked up, focused on the flipping lights atop a squad car. "Was the deal I made with him."

"Him?" Rune asked in disbelief. "That son of a bitch?"

"Way I was brought up is you don't snitch."

"He used you!"

"Know that now. Didn't then. Didn't until just a few days ago."

"Didn't you think it was kind of funny that he took you along on this credit card thing then coincidentally somebody gets killed?"

"Not at the time I didn't think so. And then, when maybe I started to think itwas a little off he give me all that money. I needed a nest egg. A hundred thousand dollars – where'd I ever get money like that otherwise? Nowhere I know of."

Rune's head swam with painful emotions. Wanted to slap him, to scream, to grab his thin collar and shake him.

Randy Boggs said, "I'm sorry."

She didn't answer.

"I coulda just left. I'm thinking of going to Hawaii after everything gets settled in court, you know. I coulda just got my money and kept going there."

" Hawaii?" she asked as if he'd said "Mars."

He nodded. "Buy me a store of some kind. On the weekends I could sit on the beach and drink those drinks that look like pineapples. With umbrellas in them. You could come visit. You like them drinks?"

She didn't answer.

"I wanta give you some money."

Rune said, "Me? Why?"

"It was on account of me that your house got burned down. How's ten thousand?"

"I don't want your money."

"Maybe fifteen?"

"No, forget it."

"Maybe your little girl-"

"She'snot my little girl," Rune snapped.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then Boggs said, "I'm just trying to tell you I'm sorry."

Rune said, "I wanted to help you. That was why I did the story in the first place. Everybody told me not to. Everybody told me to forget about you, that you'd killed a man and that you deserved to be in jail."

Boggs said, "I'd appreciate it if you'd consider taking the money."

"Give it to Courtney's mother, Claire. She needs it more than me."

"I'll give her some, sure. But I'll give you some too. How's that?"

Rune slapped the top of the police car. She shook her head then laughed. Boggs was looking around, smiling too, though he didn't know what was funny. She said, "Hell, Randy, no wonder you never made any money – you give it all away."

"Haven't held on to it too good. That much is true."

She turned to him and said, "I need to do my story again. I'll have to interview you. Will you talk to me? And this time give me thewhole story?"

"If I do that will you forgive me?"

She said, "I really don't know."

"Could we go drink beer some time?"

"I don't go out with felons."

"I've done some things that'recriminal, I admit that, but I'm not sure I'm a felon exactly."

The detective returned and said to Rune, "Need to get some statements from you both now." He was in his politely firm civil-servant mode.

"Sure," she answered.

He took Boggs aside first and, for the moment, Rune was alone, surrounded by a pool of dull colors on the wet street – reflections from the streetlights, from apartment windows, from the emergency cars. She felt a huge desire to get home, to go back to her houseboat and to Courtney. But, of course, the boat was gone: And the little girl was with her grandmother.

Rune looked at the scene in front of her.

The news crews – at last joined by one from the Network – were busy taping their three-minute segments on the shooting. But they were virtually the only ones left on the street. Like the explosion of the shotgun that killed Jack Nestor the incident had erupted fast and then vanished immediately, pulled into the huge gears of the city and ground up into nothing. But for TV audiences throughout the metro area the events would live on in future newscasts until they were preempted by other stories, which would in turn be replaced by still more after that.

Rune sat down on a doorstep to wait for the detective, and to watch the young reporters, holding their microphones and gazing sincerely into the eyes of their loyal viewers as they tried once again to explain the inexplicable.