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ed 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 day。
The kind with Kirk's name written all over it。
Chris Crowley； the genius who'd hired Kirk； was off weekends。 Chris was the news director； and her immediate boss； answering only to Tom Huntington； the station manager。 In the immediate chain of mand； that left Laura in charge and； hence； Laura's butt on the firing line。
Super； she thought。 Thanks； Chris。 Thanks； Tom。 And thank you； Jesus。
〃Alright； tighten it up； and lose that goddam bag；〃 she decided。 〃We'll run it if nothing better happens。〃
Kirk took the biscuit badly。 Aw； thought Laura； pressing on。 〃What else have you got？〃
The image blinked out on the monitor。
〃Uh…oh；〃 Mike said。 〃Looks like brunch。〃
〃Oh； shit！〃 Kirk wailed as the Beta deck； in its infinite wisdom； gobbled his reenactment。 〃Shit； shit； shit！ Can you fix it？〃
Mike shrugged； hit 〃eject。〃 It groaned and locked up tight。 He poked the cartridge with his pen； tried to jiggle it free； to no avail。 It was jammed； tape bunching into the heads like an Escher ribbon。
〃Nope；〃 he said。 〃I told you； man； these decks are hammered by the time they make it down here。 There must be fifteen thousand hours on the heads。 They're ready for the tar pit。〃
〃Let's go to Two；〃 Laura suggested； rising from her seat。
〃Two's down；〃 Kirk said； frustrated。
Mike nodded。 〃Maintenance。〃
〃Great；〃 she muttered； then turned to Mike。 〃Call Bob and tell him to get someone down here； ASAP！〃
Mike got up to make the call； squeezing past Kirk and out the door。 It left Kirk and Laura unfortably close to one another。 She stood and went to press past him； and he grabbed her shoulder。
〃Let go of me；〃 she said。 A static charge of electricity sparked between them。 Their eyes met and held； defiance and denial slam…dancing in the airspace between them。 He disengaged pointedly； hands up in a gesture of ersatz supplication。
〃So； fine；〃 he said； pouting。 〃You didn't like it。〃
She made a terse what can I say？ gesture。 〃I didn't like the bullshit 。。。 〃
〃Dog shit；〃 he corrected； still moping； though he took the time to slip a little bad…boy twinkle in his eye。
For some reason； that was all it took to push her over the edge。
〃Listen！〃 she snapped； and before he could react； she was bouncing her knuckles off the top of his skull。
〃Ow！〃 His hands came up。 He backed off； startled。
〃Hello！〃 she called out； rapping smartly on his scalp again。 〃Hello； Mr。 Potato Head！ Anybody home 。。。 ？〃
〃HEY！〃 This time； he caught her hand and held it。 〃DON'T 。。。 〃
〃Don't what？〃 she snarled。
He stopped in his tracks。 She nailed his gaze。 He let go of her hand。 She drove the point home。 Throughout it all； their eyes never left each other's。
〃Now you listen to me；〃 she growled； low in her throat。 〃If you want to keep your job； you just shut up and listen。〃
She paused to make sure he got the message this time。 He certainly seemed to。 His eyeballs were huge。
〃You're good；〃 she continued。 〃And everybody knows it。 You're talent is not the problem here。 But if you want to be taken seriously； you've got to cut the kiddie shit and bring me something real 。。。 〃
〃Well； fine；〃 he spat； defiant。 〃When are you gonna let me do some real news？〃
〃When you learn to distinguish your ass from your elbow。〃 She hoped that the words were as cold as she felt。 〃There's a whole wide world of real news out there！ When you bring me some； I'll use it。 Believe me。〃
〃In the meantime； why don't you just grow the hell up。〃
Kirk's gaze faltered； the eyeball war was； for the moment； won。 She wanted to rejoice； but alas； there was still no joy in Mudville。 He was making his wounded puppy face。
And； damn her heart； she felt guilty again。
Their affair was one of 'PAL's worst…kept secrets； studboy…reporter meets married boss…woman。 Film at eleven。 It was yet another piece of unfinished business； Laura wondered why she'd ever started it more often than she liked to admit。
It wasn't just the age difference； or the point spread on the IQ scale； or the fact that he plugged some of the holes her marriage had left unfilled。 In fact； she really didn't know what it was。 They certainly didn't respect each other。 She thought he was a harbinger of doom for a generation weaned on style over content。 He thought she was a tight…ass； both literally and figuratively。
The first time they fucked； it was like worlds colliding。
And every time since； she swore it would be the last。
Here in the station； however； Laura held her ground。 No retreat in battle。 Ever。 When his gaze dragged back up to lock with hers； she was more than prepared to fire his ass if she had to。
Then the police scanner went off； and changed their lives forever。
When the squad car came up against the first downed tree； Officer Hal Thoman was forced to hump the last leg of Toad Road on foot。 All the while； he thought of Trina。 As substitutions went； it left a lot to be desired。
Trina was the hot little blonde tending the night counter down at the Mister Krispy donut shop。 Only twenty…two； and rumor had it her personal hygiene regimen included shaving where the sun don't shine。 Now； normally Hal hated small…town gossip…small…minded people who knew too much about other folks' business and not enough to mind their own…but in this case； he had to admit he was intrigued。
Their paths had been crossing for quite some time； as she went off shift and he came on； and lately； she'd taken to lingering way past quitting time。 Hal both appreciated and drew encouragement from this； and in fact just this morning had hit Mister Krispy with every intention of asking her out。
Until； of course； the goddamned call came in。
Now he was slogging through puddles and mud instead； hot on the trail of hardened； squirrel…hunting desperados。
Courtesy of Bernard S。 Kleigel。
Goddammit； it ain't right； he thought as he rounded the bend； his cruiser disappearing； swallowed by woods。 The whole damn county knows about Bernie Kleigel； between his letters to the editors and his goddam nine…one…ones。 If ol' Bernie said there was a drug war in the forest； Hal figured