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〃Don't 'now Mr。 Kleigel' ME！〃 he barked； his voice a razor of rusty tin。 〃They're having some kind of shooting match down there。 It sounds like a drug…related gang war to me！ I coulda been KILLED； fercrissake！〃
Dave gave the notion a vigorous thumbs…up。 〃Well； we certainly wouldn't want that；〃 Dottie said。
〃Yeah； well； you better get somebody out here before someone DOES get hurt！〃
〃I'll send someone out right away。〃
〃You goddam well better！〃 Bernie groused； still chewing the bone。 〃I pay my taxes and I …〃
〃Someone will be right out。 Just sit tight；〃 Dottie concluded； yanking Bernie's plug。
〃You fucking dickhead；〃 Dave appended； busting Dottie up。
〃Your mouth！〃 she gasped； Dottie didn't take to cussing。 〃Oh my；〃 she sighed。 〃It's too early for that guy！〃
〃You got that right！〃 Dave nodded； throwing his pencil up to stick in the ceiling tile。 He flipped his shoulder…length blond hair back and assumed a more contemplative pose： arms behind his head； feet up on the low bookshelf that held the code manuals。 〃So who gets the honors this time？〃
〃Bernie's on RD 23；〃 Dottie said。 〃Hellam Township。〃
〃Oooh； Adam…sixty；〃 Dave checked the roster sheet gleefully to see who was on duty。 〃That's Hal。 Oh； he's gonna love this。〃 Dave loved to give Hal shit。
Dottie time…stamped the call card。 〃Nine thirty…six。 He's probably out on rounds by now。〃
〃Yeah； sure。〃 Dave smirked and reached through the sliding glass partition that separated their desks。 He filched another donut hole。 〃Hal's rounds are glazed； with sprinkles。〃
〃Now； don't start。〃 Dottie glanced balefully at her own diminishing snack supply as she keyed the mike transmit button。 〃Metro to Adam…sixty 。。。 Metro to Adam…sixty； do you copy？ e in； please 。。。 〃
Dave leaned back in his chair； gazing up at his still…embedded pencil。 His lines were quiet。 Later on things would likely liven up： some drunk and disorderlies； a fight maybe。 Probably an accident or two。
With any luck； the day would not portend much worse than a morning rant from Bernie the crank。 Dave reached through the partition to steal another doughball。 Dottie slapped him playfully； kept on paging till she got through。
〃Adam…sixty here；〃 a voice came over the radio。 〃What's up； dispatch？〃
〃Uh； yeah；〃 she began。 〃We've got a plaint on shots fired in the Black Bridge area 。。。 〃
Nine
WPAL was the area's NBC affiliate； located downtown in a two…story brick building on south Beeker Street。 It was a medium…market station； with a staff of thirty and a fifteen…hundred…foot tower on nearby Mt。 Hope； to better serve the tri…county broadcast area。
Most weekdays； it was a bustling little pressure point。
Weekends were another story。
It was 10：12 a。m。 At the moment； the Studio A control room was a ghost town。 John Bizzano； the day shift engineer； slumped in the control chair； half…dozing under the funny papers as he kept things nominally on the air。 Sunday Today with Maria Shriver played silently on Monitor One。 CBS Sunday Morning with Charles Kuralt was on Monitor Three。 Jerry Falwell preened in the center on Monitor Two； tumescent and smug。 And nobody was watching any of them。
Downstairs； in the editing booth； the real show…The Kirk Bogarde Show…was on。
Mike Clifford and Laura Jenson crammed into folding chairs； facing the console in a room so small they could choke on each other's fumes。 Kirk paced in place behind them； excited by his own televised presence。 He was twenty…five and fresh out of Brown； the only son of second…generation monied liberal Republicans。 Ma and Pa Bogarde had groomed their baby boy for success； and it was damn well going to happen。
Not that Kirk didn't work at it。 His Protestant ethics were firmly in place； and he burned for his shot。 Five…ten； lean and salon…tanned； he had meticulously cultivated the sandy…haired； blandly handsome yuppie…drone persona that the networks craved； retaining just enough edge to set him apart from the pack。
He wore khaki Levi's dockers with red suspenders； a Ralph Lauren button…down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to masculine mid…forearm； and loafers with little tassels。 He toned up with Nautilus and honed his killer instinct three times a week on the racketball courts at the Athletic Club。
Kirk had his program down： give him ten years and he'd have his own show； give Geraldo a run for his mustache。
Laura's ambitions； on the other hand； were substantially less showbiz in tone。 That was probably why she liked Sundays' so much。 NBC carried the AFC doubleheader； which meant the six o'clock news was preempted； which meant no broadcast until eleven and a skeleton crew on board。 It gave her plenty of time； as weekend assignment editor cum news director； to catch up： to clean shop； to put together the ubiquitous 〃evergreen〃 segments； the human…interest and seasonal filler that they always needed and never had enough of； in short； to take care of all manner of unfinished business。
And； of course； to program the eleven o'clock edition。
It had been a pretty dead weekend； news…wise。 If nothing better happened； they'd end up carrying the network lead as their own； an extra minute on weather to cover last night's storm； and a good eight minutes for sports； replete with the obligatory highlights and wrap…ups。
And； God help her； the pulsory 〃local story。〃
She winced。 At the moment； this meant watching Kirk's proposed follow…up to the controversial 〃pooper…scooper〃 ordinance； just passed by City Council。 She listened as his canned voice filled the claustrophobic booth。
〃 。。。 leading to public uproar；〃 Kirk's televised talking head intoned； 〃as residents face down the rising tide of canine waste。 The passing of the legislation led to a 'terrorist incident' by anonymous pet protestors late Saturday afternoon； who set a bag of burning stools on the courthouse steps 。。。 〃
〃Okay；〃 he said； leaning over Laura's shoulder； faintly brushing the fabric of her blouse。 〃Right here's where we cut to the bag。〃
Mike； in the edit chair； shifted between the Beta decks。 The youngest cameraman on the team； he and Kirk were 'PAL's odd couple。 He was twenty…two； with long stringy blond hair hanging over wire…rimmed aviator…framed glasses and a horsey； open face。 On slow days； he did bong hits out in his van。 So far； it had been a very slow day。
〃Cutting to B；〃 he said； toggling the controls。
On the monitor； the image blipped； cutting from Kirk and his microphone to a close…up of a burning paper bag on the courthouse steps。 Black smoke plumed off the flames。 The color drained from Laura's face。
〃Jesus；〃 she whispered； aghast。 〃You got footage？〃
〃Actually； it's a re…creation；〃 Mike said； smiling。 〃We shot it after everyone left。〃
Kirk smiled。 Laura didn't。 The psychological room temperature dropped twenty degrees。 His voice…over continued。
〃 。。。 while no one knows what the oute will be； one thing remains certain： the fight for pooper…scooper repeal will go on for some time to e。 From the county courthouse； this is Kirk Bogarde； WPAL Action News。〃
A slo…mo close…up of the burning bag appeared on the screen； smoke wafting up as a foot came down to stomp it。 It froze and held。
〃Awesome；〃 Mike grinned； mostly to himself。 Kirk looked at Laura expectantly。
〃Well？〃 he said； beaming。 〃What do you think？〃
Laura took a deep breath； exhaled wearily。
〃Give me a minute to recover；〃 she said。
Laura Jensen was a tough； cool； petent woman in her middle thirties。 She was dark…eyed； slim； and elegantly restrained。 She was also smarter than almost everyone she knew； a simple fact that simultaneously shaped both her conscience and her cynicism。
The eldest daughter of New England liberal Democratic professionals； Laura had graduated top of every class she ever joined； from kindergarten through University of Atlanta。 Her last job…with an Atlanta…based CBS affiliate…had ended when her husband's job transfer had brought them north to the outbacks of Pennsylvania。
Laura had taken the change in grudging stride； mitigating the culture shock by parlaying it into an upward move in a lateral market。 Weekend news director was a rung up the ladder； and she wanted to make the most of it。
She was ready for controversy； hell； she lusted for it。 But this 。。。
〃Words fail me；〃 she said； resisting the urge to simply eviscerate him。 〃First； I don't think bags of flaming shit will sit well with Chris or Tom。 Or our audience。〃
〃Jesus； get real。〃 Kirk countered； standing his ground。 〃City Council was in session for a fucking week over dog turds； for chrissakes！ Besides；〃 he continued； 〃it's not even real shit。 We soaked some rags in kerosene 。。。 〃
〃That's not the point；〃 Laura said angrily。 〃We are a news department； Kirk！ News！〃 She drew the N…word out for emphasis。 〃This isn't America's Most Wanted； okay？ We don't do reenactments！ Am I getting through to you？〃
Laura searched Kirk's features for a glimmer of understanding。 Not even。 It was gonna be one of those days。 She could already feel a headache building； the kind that would take up residence behind her sinuses and wang all the livelong