Scoop (18 page)

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.

B
eaker was stomping around like a scorned woman, and Ray had to will himself not to smile.

“You are unbelievable!” Beaker continued to say as he went from one side of the van to the other, gathering his equipment. Ray leaned against the side of the vehicle and studied his notepad, trying to ignore Beaker’s ranting. “Plus, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s snowing! I hate snow!”

Maybe this was crazy. Maybe? It
was
crazy. He was getting ready to confront the man who had assaulted him…the man who’d just gotten out of jail for it. But the story was here, not in some police captain’s office. There were a lot of unanswered questions. Why would Petey Green assault him, especially when the station was going to present his side of the story in the more favorable light? After all, who couldn’t relate to a man disgruntled about pigs next door?

In Ray’s heart, he knew he’d just scratched the surface of this story. There was something else going on, and he would get to the bottom of it. There was no reason he couldn’t make
this
story the lead story. With the right information, it could slide into the top spot.

“You about ready?” Ray called.

He heard Beaker growl before he finally came around the van with the camera equipment. “At least we’re here in daylight, though I can’t say that brings me a whole lot of comfort. What are you going to do when he opens the door and pokes a shotgun in your face?”

“Hope that you’ve got the camera rolling.”

“Funny. I only hope he’s so distracted by you that he doesn’t see me. But you and I both know they always go after the camera guy. The reporter is standing there asking all these obnoxious questions and poking
a microphone in the guys face, and what does he do? He shoves the cameraman.”

“Well, Beaker, lucky for you—and I’m talking from experience here—Mr. Green seems more focused on me.”

“You should’ve told me we were coming here. I would’ve packed a heat.”

The edges of Ray’s mouth trembled with restrained laughter at Beaker’s misuse of Hollywood cop lingo. Ray had never known someone who watched more cop shows and movies. Beaker watched every version of
CSI
and
Law and Order
, plus he would rent two or three cop movies every weekend. Yet no matter how hard he tried, he could never get the jargon quite right. Once he’d gone through the day trying impressions of Mel Gibson’s Martin Riggs character in
Lethal Weapon.
Somebody had recognized it from the movie, which prompted Beaker to grow out his hair for two years to try to look like the character. Ray never understood why Beaker couldn’t at least feign a little bit more courage outside his imaginary world.

“We’re going to be fine,” Ray said. “Let’s just both be on guard.”

Ray couldn’t deny the apprehension that built with every step he took toward Petey Green’s house. The cut on his forehead even started to throb again.

He noticed that Beaker trailed a good distance behind him, pretending to fiddle with his camera in order to lose ground. He didn’t let that deter him, but his feet felt heavy as he stepped up to the porch.

Petey Green’s house was not unlike Elva Jones’s house, with a screen door that looked barely attached and windows covered with sheets. Ray noticed two peepholes and wondered if the homeowner was staring through one of them at this moment.

Captain Wynn’s quiet office suddenly didn’t look so unappealing. Here Ray was, out in the action where he wanted to be, but his hands shook enough to make him realize that perhaps he hadn’t made the wisest
choice. Plus Hugo had specifically instructed him
not
to interview Petey Green, so now he was putting his life
and
his career on the line.

Ray knocked anyway.

Besides Beaker’s heavy breathing behind him, the only things he heard were the pigs snorting next door. The smell was horrendous.

Ray knocked again.

“Nobody’s home,” Beaker said. “Great. Now we don’t have an interview from the captain or any other footage. Maybe I could just get a closeup shot of your wound there, and if we’re real quiet, and don’t scare it, maybe it will give us a quote.”

Suddenly the front door flew open, causing Ray to spin around and drop the microphone.

Obviously, they’d woken up Petey Green. That, or he was coming off a very bad hangover. Either way, this wasn’t starting out well.

Green blinked at the dull daylight and scowled, looking as if he was trying to get his bearings. Ray used that moment to scoop up the mike.

“Mr. Green,” Ray said, and to his horror, his voice cracked.

“Nice,” Beaker whispered.

Ray kept his focus on Petey Green. “I’m Ray Duffey from News Channel 7.”

Green’s harsh, narrow e
yes
widened.

“I wanted to talk to you about the situation next door and give you a chance to tell your side of the story.”

Green stumbled forward and out the front door. Ray backed up a little. “Ain’t you the one that trespassed on my property before?”

“Sir, we just want your side of the story concerning the pigs. What about the pigs makes it difficult to live near them?”

Green was rubbing his left cheek for no apparent reason and pulling on his pants with the other hand. “I thought I told you to get outta here. I already went to jail once for
making
you get out of here, and here you are again. Ain’t you learned your lesson?”

“Sir,” Ray said, “I’m not here to harass you. I just want the truth.”

“The truth is that I hate News Channel 7, and if you don’t get yourself off my property, I’m going to call the police, who I know won’t get here fast enough. So then I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands again.”

Ray turned to Beaker and said, “Turn the camera off.”

“What?”

“Turn it off.”

“Why?” Beaker asked.

“Just do it.”

The cameraman sighed and switched it off.

“I have the camera off now,” Ray said.

“So?” Green said. “I ain’t afraid of no camera.”

“Mr. Green, I believe there’s more to this story than we’re seeing on the surface. And what better way to get the truth out than to tell it yourself?”

Petey Green walked toward Ray, who had backed down the porch steps until he stood in the middle of the man’s front yard. “You’re not here about the truth. You don’t care no thin about the truth.”

“That’s not true, sir. That is indeed why I am here. I just can’t see why you would risk going to jail over a news station covering your neighbor’s pigs.”