Hard News (25 page)

He paused. What was the noise? The TV? They were fucking and the TV was on? Maybe she was a screamer and Boggs kept the sound up so other guests wouldn’t hear. That was good. Maybe it was a cop show and there’d be gunshots, which would help cover up the sound of the Steyr.

Nestor walked closer to the door. He pulled the slide back on the gun. He saw something flashing. That putz . . . Boggs was so horny he’d left the key in the door, which wasn’t even fully closed. All Nestor had to do was push. He made sure the safety was off, slipped his finger into the trigger guard and swung into the room. Empty. The bedclothes weren’t even turned down. The bathroom was dark but he walked inside anyway, thinking that maybe they were fucking in the tub. But no, that was empty too. The only motion in the room was the flicker of the TV screen, on which several
Hill Street Blues
cops were looking solemn. Nestor shut off the set. Then he noticed that Boggs’s bag was gone. Shit. He picked up the note, which rested on the pillow. Shit.
Jack, Lynda - that’s her name - and me went back to her house. Seems she is going to Atlanta tomorrow, that’s a coinsidence, huh, so we’re going to be driving together for a spell, her and me, I mean. I will meet you at your place in Florida in a couple days. Sorry, but you don’t have legs like her.
Son of a bitch. Motherfucker!

Nestor kicked the bed furiously. The mattress bounced off the springs and came to rest at an angle. He slammed the door shut violently, which brought a sleepy protesting pounding from the next room over. Nestor hoped the guest would come over because he had an incredible desire to beat the living hellout of someone.

He sat down on the bed, picturing Boggs balling the scrawny bitch while the passbook sat in a crumpled paper bag probably five feet away from them. The anger seeped away slowly, as he decided what to do.

Well, it wasn’t the end of the world. It was a change of plans was all. He had to kill the girl anyway - the one on the houseboat. He might as well do that now then get down to Atlanta or Florida and take care of Boggs. It didn’t really matter who he did first. Six of one, half a dozen of another. The way Piper Sutton found out was the
Post
headline: “TV Scoop Becomes Oops.” Which she wouldn’t have paid any attention to, except that there was a picture of Rune talking to a couple of men in suits. They didn’t look happy. Rune didn’t either, and now Piper Sutton joined the club.

Standing on the street corner near her apartment, she stared at the story. She’d bought the
Post
and then a
Daily News
and a
Times.
Ripping open each furiously, skirt and hair tousled by the wind as she stared at the smudged type. Thank God for a big assault in Central America that buried the
Daily News
story inside. The
Times
had simply reported, “Houseboat Burns in Hudson,” with a reference to a possible convict’s escape.

But the
Times
would be on the story today. How the Fit-to-Print paper loved to take potshots at the competition, especially TV.

Sutton flagged down a cab, giving up her usual mile walk to the office, and sat with the newspapers on her lap, staring out the window at people on their way to work. But not seeing a single one of them. At her office Sutton found her secretary juggling two calls. “Oh, Ms Sutton, Mr Semple has called several times, there’re calls from all the local

TV stations, and somebody from the
Village Voice.”
The fucking
Voice?
“And a Mr Weinstein, with the Attorney General’s Office, then-“ “Hold all the calls,” Sutton hissed. “Ask Lee Maisel to come over. “Get me the legal department. I want Tim Krueger here in fifteen minutes. If any other reporters call tell them we’ll have a statement by noon. If any of them say they have an earlier deadline take his or her name and let me know immediately.” Sutton pulled her coat off. “And I want
her.
Now.” “Who, Miss Sutton?” “You know who,” Sutton replied in a whisper. “Now.” Rune had been fired worse but the sad thing was that the other times she didn’t care. She’d screwed up often in the past, sure, but there’s a big difference between getting fired from a video store or restaurant and getting fired from a real job, one you cared about. Usually she’d say, “Eh, happens,” or “Them’s the breaks.” This was different. She’d wanted to do this story. Badly. She’d
lived
for this story. She’d breathed it and tasted it. And now not only was she getting axed but she was getting fired because the whole thing had been a complete lie. The very core, the most very basic fact was false. The worst. It was like reading a fairy tale and then the writer telling you,
Oh, yeah, by the way, I was just kidding. There’s no such thing as evil spirits.
Although she had proof there was such a thing. And his name was Randy Boggs. Rune now stood in front of Piper Sutton’s desk. Also in the room were a tall, thin, middle-aged man in a gray suit and white shirt. His name was Krueger. Lee Maisel leaned against the wall behind Sutton, reading the
Post
account. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. He looked at Rune with dark, impenetrable eyes and went back to the paper.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” Sutton said. “Don’t embellish, don’t minimize, don’t edit.” Rune explained about the fat man and Boggs and what happened on the houseboat. “So Boggs did it, after all,” Maisel said. “There was another killer but they were

partners. Jesus.” “Sort of looks like it.” Rune wasn’t counting
“likes,” “sort-ofs “
and
“kind-ofs.”
“When I saw them there, kind of hugging each other, I totally freaked. I mean . . .” Her voice faded.

Sutton closed her eyes and shook her head slowly, then asked the gray-suited man, “What’s the legal assessment, Tim?”

The lawyer said calmly, “I don’t think we have any liability. We didn’t fabricate evidence and the court decision was legitimate. I wish she” - not looking at Rune “hadn’t gotten him released without telling anybody here. That adds another dimension.”

For the first time since she’d known him Maisel turned angry eyes on Rune. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to get Boggs sprung?” “I was worried about him. I-“ Sutton couldn’t keep cool any longer. “I’ve told you from the beginning that our job

isn’t to get people out of jail. It’s to report the truth! That’s the
only
job.” “I just didn’t think. I didn’t think it would matter.” “Didn’t . . . think.” Sutton stretched the words out for a vast second. “I’m really-“ Sutton turned to Maisel. “So, what’s the next step?” “Nighttime News.” The lawyer winced. “It’s a New York story. Can’t we justify keeping it local?” Maisel said, “No way.
Time
and
Newsweek’ll
cover it. You know what the other nets are going to do and forget about the
Times.
They’ll crucify us. It’ll be understated but it’ll still be a crucifixion.”

“We’ll have to preempt them,” Sutton said. “Put it on the
News at Noon,
then do a piece at five and have Eustice do it at seven. We tell all. We confess. Not a single word of excuse or backpedaling.” Krueger said, “God, that’ll hurt.” Maisel sighed. The lawyer asked Rune, “You have any idea where Boggs went?” “All I know is like he came from the South. Atlanta was where he was born and he

lived in Florida and North Carolina but other than that . . .” She ended in a shrug. The lawyer said, “I’m going over to our law firm and brief the litigators, just in case.” With a fast, curious glance at Rune he left the office. Sutton stared at the
Daily News.
Lee Maisel played with his pipe and sat in a slump. He was uncomfortable. Rune looked into his eyes, though his darted away quickly. What she saw hurt her more than the hatred she felt gushing from Sutton. Oh, how could I do it? He believed in me and I let him down. Sutton looked at Rune. “Don’t talk to the press about what happened. You’ve already

blabbed your mouth off, I see.” Waving her arm at the newspaper. Rune said, “I didn’t say anything. The police must’ve told the reporters.” “Well, all I’ll say is, the Network is going to be in deep shit for this and heads are probably going to roll. If you make things worse for everybody because you can’t keep your mouth shut, then you’ll be opening yourself up to a big fat fucking lawsuit. You understand me?” Rune nodded. There was a long pause, broken by Sutton’s saying. “Well, I guess that’s it. You’re

out of here.” Rune stared at her, blinked. “Just like that? Today?” “Sorry, Rune,” Maisel said. “Today, yes. Now.” Sutton added, “And don’t take any files or cassettes with you. That’s our property.” “Do you mean I should go back to my job at the O&O?” Sutton looked at her with a disbelieving smile. Rune said, “You mean, I’m like totally fired.” Sutton said, “Like totally.”

Sam Healy woke up at eight the next morning when Courtney emptied a box of

Raisin Bran in their bed. The noisy cascade didn’t wake Rune up. “Jesus Christ,” Healy muttered and shook her arm. He rolled over. Rune opened her

eyes, and said, “What’s that noise? That crunching?” Courtney stood in front of the bed and looked down at it, frowning. Rune swung her feet over the side of the bed, her legs covered with cereal.

“Courtney, what did you do?” “I’m sorry,” the little girl said. “Spilled.” Healy, who’d gotten home two hours before from duty watch, said, “I’m going into

Adam’s room.” He vanished. Rune scooped the cereal up and brushed it off her legs, then put it back into the box.

“You know better than that. Come on.” “I know better.” “Don’t look so damn cute when I’m yelling at you.” “Damn cute,” Courtney said. “Come on.” Rune trudged into the kitchen. She poured juice and bowls of cereal,

made coffee. “Can we go to the zoo?” Courtney asked. “Tomorrow. I’ve got some errands to do first. You wanta come?” “Yeah, I wanta come.” She held up her hand. “Five-high.” Rune sighed then held up her hand. The little girl slapped it.

28 A half hour later Rune and Courtney got off the E train at West Fourth and started walking up Christopher Street to the water. Rune paused at the West Side Highway, took a deep breath for courage then plunged around the corner to survey the damage to her late home.

The houseboat still floated but it looked like a load of charred wood had been dumped onto the deck; irregular, glistening slabs of fluted charcoal rose above it. A haze of smoke still hung around the pier and made everything - the houseboat, the debris, the trash cans, the chain-link - appear out of focus. The front of the pier was cordoned off with a yellow police tape, fifty feet in front of where the boat bobbed like a man-o’-war that had lost a sea battle. Rune remembered seeing the houseboat for the first time, riding in the Hudson, fifty miles north of here. And now, a Viking burial. She sighed, then waved to the patrolman in the front seat of a blue-and-white. He was a friend of Healy’s from the Sixth Precinct, the station where the Bomb Squad was housed. “Look at this,” she called. “Sorry about it, honey. Some of us’ll drive by once in a while, check up on things,

just till you get your stuff moved out.” “Yeah, if there’s anything left.” There was, but the stink and smoke damage were so bad she didn’t have the heart to

go through it. Anyway, Courtney was restless and kept climbing on the pilings. Rune took her by the hand and led her back up Christopher Street. “What’s that?” Courtney asked, pointing at a storefront sign encouraging safe sex. It

showed a condom. “Balloon,” said Rune. “I want one.” “When you’re older,” Rune answered. The words came automatically and she decided she was really getting into this kid bit. They continued down Christopher then along the tail end of Greenwich and finally onto Eighth Street. It had become a lot shabbier in the past year. More graffiti, more garbage, more obnoxious kids. But, God, the shoe stores - more places to buy cheap shoes than anywhere else in the world.

They walked down to University Place, past dozens of chic, black-clad NYU students. Rune made a detour. She stopped in front of an empty storefront. Above the door was a sign,
Washington Square Video.
“I used to work there,” she told Courtney. The little girl peered inside. In the window was another sign, on yellow cardboard:
For Rent Net Lease.
Just like my life, she thought. For rent net lease. They walked to Washington Square Park and bought hot dogs then kept walking

south through SoHo and into Chinatown. “Hey,” Rune said suddenly, “want to see something neat?” “Yeah, neat.” “Let’s go look at some octopuses.” “Yeah!” Rune led her across the street to a huge outdoor fish market on Canal Street. “It’s

like the zoo, only the thing is the animals don’t move so much.” Courtney didn’t buy it, though. “Pukey,” she said about the octopus then got yelled

at by the owner of the stand when she poked a grouper. Rune looked around and said, “Oh, hey, I know where we are. Come on - I’ll show you something totally excellent. I’ll teach you some history and when you start school you can blow everybody away with how much you already know.” “Yeah. I like history.” They walked down Centre Street past the black Family Court Building. (Rune glancing across the square at the Criminal Courts Building and thinking of Randy Boggs. She felt the anger sear her and looked away quickly.) In a few minutes they were in front ofthe New York Supreme Court at 60 Centre. “This is it,” Rune announced. “Yeah.” Courtney looked around. “This used to be called Five Points. A hundred years ago it was the worst area in all

of Manhattan. This is where the Whyos hung out.” “What’s a Whyo?” “A gang, the worst gang that ever was. I’ll read you a bedtime story about them some

night.” “Yeah!” Rune remembered, though, that her present copy of
New York Gangs
was now just a cinder and wondered where she could get a new one. She said, “The Whyos were really tough. You couldn’t join them unless you were a murderer. They even printed up a price list -you know, like a menu, for how much it cost to stab somebody or shoot him in the leg or kill him.” “Yuck,” said Courtney. “You hear all about Al Capone and Dutch Schultz, right?” Courtney said agreeably, “Uh-huh.” “But they weren’t anything compared with the Whyos. Danny Driscoll was the leader. There’s this great story about him. He was in love with a girl named Beezy Garrity - isn’t that a great name? I’d like to be named Beezy.” “Beezy.” “And this rival gang dude, Johnny somebody or another, fell in love with her too. Danny and him had this duel in a dance hall up the street. They pulled out guns and blasted away.” Rune fired a couple shots with her finger. “Blam, blam! And guess who got shot?” “Beezy.” Rune was impressed. “You got it.” Then she frowned. “Danny was pretty bummed by that, I’d guess, but it got worse because they hanged
him
for killing his girlfriend. Right over there,” Rune pointed. “That’s where the tombs were. The old criminal building. Hanged him right up.”