hadn’t considered this, he’d just figured they would express their grief for a while before discussing it. “She had that interview with Frank Beachum at Osage.”
“Oh yeah. That’s right. They’re putting the juice in old Frank tonight, aren’t they?” Alan chuckled. He pried the lid off his coffee cup and sat back with it in his high leather chair. He leaned his head on the headrest and gazed up at the white ceiling, thinking. “Did Ziegler have a seat for the show?”
“Yeah. She was going to go down and do the interview, then come back, then go down again at night to witness the execution.”
“Christ. Why me?”
Bob laughed. “I think it’s a little worse for Michelle, Alan.”
Alan only grumbled into his coffee.
Bob said, “I don’t know if the warden’ll go for a replacement on the interview. Or if Beachum will, for that matter. But the witness spot is assigned to the paper; we cansend anyone we want. I thought I’d take Harvey off the fraud meeting and put …”
“Put Everett on it,” Alan said. “The interview and the execution, both. Put him on both.”
Alan sipped his coffee, letting the blow sink deep. Drawing out the moment. He knew how Bob felt about me.
“Steve’s not here,” Bob said, quickly, but without much hope. “He was on the cops all weekend. He’s got the day off.”
“Not anymore he hasn’t. We need him. Whatshisname, down at Osage, the warden—Plunkitt—Steve’s dealt with him before. I can get him in. And Beachum’s not gonna care who he talks to.” He sipped his coffee again. He loved arguments like this.
But Bob felt wary, he felt he had to be careful. He didn’t feel it would be politic to run me down. Alan Mann and I were friends, good friends; we went way back. Alan had been a professor when I first came to Columbia. Later on, he left to take a job as a city editor and, when I graduated, he helped me get a job at the paper where he worked. We were there together for five years before he returned to his native Missouri. And when he heard I’d been fired and couldn’t find a spot in New York anymore, he called me up and urged me to come join him at the
News
. We’d always got along, the two of us, despite the difference in our ages. We drank together after work sometimes. Our families had Sunday dinners together. All the same, Bob felt strongly about this—and he never backed away from a confrontation with anyone who scared him as much as Alan did. It was a point of honor.
“I’m sure I can get Harvey past Plunkitt too,” he said in his soft, reasonable voice. “Plunkitt prides himself on his good relations with the press.”
“And you think Everett’s an asshole,” Alan said.
“I don’t think he’s an asshole …”
“You’re wrong. He is an asshole. Trust me: I know him. A lot of people who’re good at their jobs are assholes, Bob.”
Bob raised his hand in that calming gesture. “I know that, Alan.”
“If I had to run this paper without assholes, it’d be a circular.”
Bob smiled, by way of appeasement. But he wasn’t giving up. “It’s just that I think Everett is stronger on the news angles. I don’t mind him covering the execution itself. But the interview, basically, is a feature sidebar. Michelle was looking for some emotional stuff to tag her story with.”
“Her
story?” said Alan loudly. “The Incoming Michelle Fire?” He set his styro down on the desk. He was really getting into this now. “Listen. I think it stinks that Michelle’s gonna die. A girl in her twenties? If I ran the world that’d never happen, believe me. But all the same, you know Michelle’s sidebars as well as I do. She wouldn’t know a good angle if it bit her on her college-girl ass. Everett would.”
“A
news
angle, but this is an issue piece.”
Alan reared up, wide-eyed. “An issue piece? Whoa! Dog my cats! An issue piece.”
“Come on, Alan …”
“What’s the issue?”
“Capital punishment is the issue. I
“Oh yeah. That’s right. They’re putting the juice in old Frank tonight, aren’t they?” Alan chuckled. He pried the lid off his coffee cup and sat back with it in his high leather chair. He leaned his head on the headrest and gazed up at the white ceiling, thinking. “Did Ziegler have a seat for the show?”
“Yeah. She was going to go down and do the interview, then come back, then go down again at night to witness the execution.”
“Christ. Why me?”
Bob laughed. “I think it’s a little worse for Michelle, Alan.”
Alan only grumbled into his coffee.
Bob said, “I don’t know if the warden’ll go for a replacement on the interview. Or if Beachum will, for that matter. But the witness spot is assigned to the paper; we cansend anyone we want. I thought I’d take Harvey off the fraud meeting and put …”
“Put Everett on it,” Alan said. “The interview and the execution, both. Put him on both.”
Alan sipped his coffee, letting the blow sink deep. Drawing out the moment. He knew how Bob felt about me.
“Steve’s not here,” Bob said, quickly, but without much hope. “He was on the cops all weekend. He’s got the day off.”
“Not anymore he hasn’t. We need him. Whatshisname, down at Osage, the warden—Plunkitt—Steve’s dealt with him before. I can get him in. And Beachum’s not gonna care who he talks to.” He sipped his coffee again. He loved arguments like this.
But Bob felt wary, he felt he had to be careful. He didn’t feel it would be politic to run me down. Alan Mann and I were friends, good friends; we went way back. Alan had been a professor when I first came to Columbia. Later on, he left to take a job as a city editor and, when I graduated, he helped me get a job at the paper where he worked. We were there together for five years before he returned to his native Missouri. And when he heard I’d been fired and couldn’t find a spot in New York anymore, he called me up and urged me to come join him at the
News
. We’d always got along, the two of us, despite the difference in our ages. We drank together after work sometimes. Our families had Sunday dinners together. All the same, Bob felt strongly about this—and he never backed away from a confrontation with anyone who scared him as much as Alan did. It was a point of honor.
“I’m sure I can get Harvey past Plunkitt too,” he said in his soft, reasonable voice. “Plunkitt prides himself on his good relations with the press.”
“And you think Everett’s an asshole,” Alan said.
“I don’t think he’s an asshole …”
“You’re wrong. He is an asshole. Trust me: I know him. A lot of people who’re good at their jobs are assholes, Bob.”
Bob raised his hand in that calming gesture. “I know that, Alan.”
“If I had to run this paper without assholes, it’d be a circular.”
Bob smiled, by way of appeasement. But he wasn’t giving up. “It’s just that I think Everett is stronger on the news angles. I don’t mind him covering the execution itself. But the interview, basically, is a feature sidebar. Michelle was looking for some emotional stuff to tag her story with.”
“Her
story?” said Alan loudly. “The Incoming Michelle Fire?” He set his styro down on the desk. He was really getting into this now. “Listen. I think it stinks that Michelle’s gonna die. A girl in her twenties? If I ran the world that’d never happen, believe me. But all the same, you know Michelle’s sidebars as well as I do. She wouldn’t know a good angle if it bit her on her college-girl ass. Everett would.”
“A
news
angle, but this is an issue piece.”
Alan reared up, wide-eyed. “An issue piece? Whoa! Dog my cats! An issue piece.”
“Come on, Alan …”
“What’s the issue?”
“Capital punishment is the issue. I
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