Part 26 (2/2)
He stared at Fallow and paused, as if trying to figure him out. ”They'll be here...soon's Channel I gets here.” He used the sort of voice you use for someone who is blameless but dense.
”I see,” said Fallow, who couldn't see at all. ”When, uh, as you say, Channel 1 arrives, uh...what takes place then?”
”Give the man the release, Reva,” said Buck. An intense demented-looking white woman dug down into a big vinyl tote bag on the sidewalk by her feet and handed him two pieces of paper stapled together. The paper, which was Xeroxed-Xeroxed! Radium-blue! The snout!-bore the letterhead of the American People's Alliance. A headline, typed in capital letters, said: THE PEOPLE DEMAND ACTION IN THE LAMB CASE THE PEOPLE DEMAND ACTION IN THE LAMB CASE.
Fallow started to read it, but the words ran together like goulash in front of his face. Just then a bouncy young white man materialized. He was wearing an appallingly tasteless tweed jacket.
”Neil Flannagan from the Daily News Daily News,” said the bouncy man. ”What's going on?”
The woman named Reva dug out another press release. Mr. Neil Flannagan, like Fallow himself, was accompanied by a photographer. The bouncy Mr. Flannagan had nothing to say to Fallow, but the two photographers fell in with one another at once. Fallow could hear them complaining about the a.s.signment. Fallow's photographer, an odious little man who wore a cap, kept using the expression ”crock a s.h.i.+t.” That was all that American newspaper photographers seemed to talk about with any relish whatsoever, their displeasure at being asked to leave the office and take pictures. The dozen demonstrators, meantime, were clearly unmoved by the presence of representatives of two of the city's tabloids, The City Light The City Light and the and the Daily News Daily News. They continued to lounge about the van, their rage, if any, about the injustices wrought upon Henry Lamb successfully contained.
Fallow tried once more to read the press release but soon gave up. He looked about. The Poe Towers remained peaceful; abnormally so, given their size. On the other side of the street stood three white men. There was a little man in a tan windbreaker, a big porcine man with a drooping mustache wearing a warm-up jacket, and a balding man with blunt features wearing a poorly made gray suit and a Yank striped necktie. Fallow wondered who they were. But mainly he wanted to sleep. He wondered if he could sleep standing up, like a horse.
Presently he heard the woman, Reva, say to Buck: ”I think that's them.” Both of them looked down the street. The demonstrators came to life.
Coming up the street was a large white van. On its side, in huge letters, was the inscription THE LIVE THE LIVE 1. Buck, Reva, and the demonstrators began walking toward it. Mr. Neil Flannagan, the two photographers, and, finally, Fallow himself tagged along behind them. Channel 1 had arrived. 1. Buck, Reva, and the demonstrators began walking toward it. Mr. Neil Flannagan, the two photographers, and, finally, Fallow himself tagged along behind them. Channel 1 had arrived.
The van came to a stop, and out of the pa.s.senger's side of the front seat came a young man with a great fluffy head of dark curly hair and a navy blazer and tan pants.
”Robert Corso,” said Reva, reverently.
The side doors of the van slid open, and two young men in jeans and sweaters and running shoes stepped out. The driver stayed at the wheel. Buck hurried forward.
”Yo-o-o-o-o! Robert Corso! How you doing, man!” Suddenly Buck had a smile that lit up the street.
”Okay!” said Robert Corso, trying to sound enthusiastic in return. ”Okay.” He obviously had no idea who this black man with the gold earring was.
”What you want us to do?” asked Buck.
The bouncy young man broke in: ”Hey, Corso, Neil Flannagan, Daily News Daily News.”
”Oh, hi.”
”What you want us to-”
”Where you guys been?”
”What you want us to-”
Robert Corso looked at his watch. ”It's only 5:10. We're going on live at 6:00. We got plenty a time.”
”Yeah, but I got a seven o'clock deadline.”
”What you want us to do?” Buck insisted.
”Well...hey!” said Robert Corso. ”I don't know. What would you do if I wasn't here?”
Buck and Reva looked at him with funny little grins on, as if he must be joking.
”Where are Reverend Bacon and Mrs. Lamb?” said Robert Corso.
”In Mrs. Lamb's apartment,” said Reva. Fallow took it badly. No one had bothered to apprise him of this fact.
”Hey, whenever you say,” said Buck.
Robert Corso shook his great fluffy head. He muttered, ”Well, h.e.l.l, I can't run this thing for you.” Then, to Buck: ”It'll take us a little while to set up. I guess the sidewalk's the best place. I want to get the buildings in the background.”
Buck and Reva went to work. They began gesturing and giving instructions to the demonstrators, who now went back toward their van and began picking up the picket signs, which were stacked on the sidewalk. A few people had begun drifting over from the Poe Towers to the scene.
Fallow gave up on Buck and Reva and approached Robert Corso. ”Excuse me,” he said. ”I'm Peter Fallow, from The City Light The City Light. Did I hear you say that Reverend Bacon and Mrs. Lamb are here?”
”Fallow?” said Robert Corso. ”You're the one who wrote the stories?” He held out his hand and shook Fallow's with enthusiasm.
”I'm afraid so.”
”You're the reason we're up at this G.o.dd.a.m.ned place?” He said it with an appreciative smile.
”Sorry about that.” Fallow felt a glow inside. This was the sort of tribute he expected all along, but he hadn't expected to get it from a TV person.
Robert Corso turned serious. ”Do you think Bacon is really on the level about this one? Well, obviously you do.”
”You don't?” asked Fallow.
”Aw h.e.l.l, you never know with Bacon. He's fairly outrageous. But when I interviewed Mrs. Lamb, I was impressed, to tell you the truth. She seems like a good person to me-she's bright, she's got a steady job, she has a nice, neat little apartment. I was impressed. I don't know-I believe her. What do you think?”
”You've already interviewed her? I thought you were getting ready to interview her here.”
”Well, yeah, but that's just for the wraparound. We'll wrap around live at six o'clock.”
”Wrap around live...I don't believe I know about wrapping around live.”
The irony was lost on the American, however. ”Well, what we do is, I came up here with a crew this afternoon, after your story came out. Thanks a lot for that! I really love a.s.signments in the Bronx. Anyway, we interviewed Mrs. Lamb and we interviewed a couple of the neighbors and we got some footage of Bruckner Boulevard and the place where the boy's father was killed and all that stuff, and some stills of the boy. So we've already got most of the story on tape. It'll run for about two minutes, and what we do now is, we go on live during the demonstration, and then we'll roll the tape, and then we'll cut back in live and wrap it up with a live segment. That's wrapping it up live.”
”But what will you show? There's no one here but this lot. Most of them are white.” Fallow motioned toward Buck and Reva.
”Oh, don't worry. There'll be plenty of people here as soon as our telescope goes up.”
”Your telescope.”
”Our remote transmitter.” Robert Corso looked toward the van. Fallow followed his eyes. He could see the two crewmen in blue jeans inside.
”Your remote transmitter. By the way, where are your compet.i.tors?”
”Our compet.i.tors?”
<script>