‘Because my actions are peaceable and within the law.’
It was weak. Bruce knew it, she knew it.
‘A real man answers to his conscience, not to the law.’
‘And I am perfectly happy to do that. Is your conscience clear?’
Wayne laughed. ‘Of course, it’s not clear, man. We kill people we’ve never met.’
‘Yes, like every king and president there ever was,’ Scout added.
Bruce felt his bowels almost move with tension. This woman was pulling out red herrings like a demented fishmonger. Christ, if they were going to spread the debate that wide, he was finished. To Bruce’s intense relief, Wayne himself headed this one off. ‘Now I’ve told you before I don’t want to hear that kind of Communistic bull Scout. I do not respect much in this world but I do respect the American way. And in my opinion things’d be a whole lot better if the president was to shoot a few more people, ‘specially them damn Arab towel heads who keep burnin’ Ol’ Glory.’
‘Excuse me,’ Kirsten said nervously, looking up from her equipment. ‘Um, this is all very interesting, of course, and the producers are delighted, they’re very happy in control… it’s just that the ratings are beginning to drop – see here, it’s all displayed on my monitor. The chief wants to know if it would be OK to record this and then edit it for the evening news?’
‘No need for that, Kirsten. I have an idea. Hey, America!’ Wayne shouted at the camera. ‘Listen, phone your friends, tell them all to tune in, because in ninety seconds I’m going to shoot Farrah Delamitri. In one minute and one half, the wife of the guy who just got the Oscar gets shot dead live!’
Chapter Thirty Seven
Farrah screamed. Velvet screamed. Even Kirsten thought about protesting, but then she remembered the sacred duty of the newsgatherer: never intervene, not even if the news is being created for your benefit.
‘Please, Wayne, don’t,’ Bruce said.
‘She’s my Mom!’ Velvet sobbed.
Outside, in the command truck, Chief Cornell was in agony. Should he send his SWAT teams in now? If he did, there would certainly be bloodshed. If he didn’t, likewise.
Oh, how he wished that somebody else would take responsibility.
Inside the mansion, Wayne had got up and was studying the ratings on Kirsten’s computer screen.
‘They’re climbing, aren’t they?’
‘Yes they are,’ Kirsten replied, ‘but none the less my producer is saying please don’t kill the woman.’
Farrah sobbed, pulling pathetically at her manacled hand.
In the control truck a lively debate was in progress.
‘We have to terminate the broadcast,’ some were saying. ‘He’s feeding off it. It’s creating his crimes.’
‘He killed plenty of people before there were any cameras to play to,’ others contended. ‘We can’t turn off. We don’t choose the news. We don’t have a right to censor national events just because they’re unattractive.’
‘But if he’s creating the news for us?
‘We can’t take responsibility for his actions.’
‘Can we take responsibility for our own?’
The cameras stayed on, as no one had doubted for a moment that they would, and the ratings continued to climb.
Inside the lounge Wayne showed off his guns to the camera. ‘Hurry up now, y’all,’ he said. ‘You don’t want to miss it, do ya?’
When the ninety seconds ran out Wayne shot Farrah dead.
Chapter ThirtyEight
‘OK, hit it,’ said Chief Cornell, and silently, through the doors, the windows and even the roof, the SWAT teams began to enter Bruce’s house.
In the siege room the shot still resonated.
‘You bastard! When will this end!’ Bruce had rushed over and was holding Velvet, who sobbed hysterically, still handcuffed to the lampstand beside her dead mother.
‘You saw the ratings, man. They went up. Blame the couch potatoes.’
‘You hypocritical swine!’ Bruce shouted. ‘
‘I’m just saying I wouldn’ta shot her if people hadn’t switched to
‘You are responsible!’
‘Yes. I’m responsible for me, but you are responsible for you and they are responsible for them. I don’t see anyone doing much about that. I’ve got an excuse, I’m a psycho. What’s your getout?’
Kirsten received a message from the producer. She turned to Bill. ‘Get down! There’s a SWAT team coming in!’
‘No!’ Wayne shouted into the camera.
Above them they could hear the sound of the roof being breached. Wayne grabbed Scout by the hand, and addressed the camera. ‘Wait! Hold it. I’ll give myself up, Scout too, I swear. Stop the attack. Keep the cameras rolling. We’ll give up.’
Outside, Chief Cornell signalled that his forces should pause. Was it possible that they could get out of this nightmare without further bloodshed?
Wayne continued to shout at the camera. ‘But we give ourselves up to the people. The people are responsible. They decide our fate, the fate of everybody in this room.’ He had hold of the ratings computer now. ‘It’s up to you, the people out there… the lives of us all are in your hands. Here’s how it is. When I’ve finished talking, if everybody watching switches off their TV, I swear me and Scout will walk out of here with our hands up… But if you keep on watching, I will kill every last mutha in this room, including myself and Scout. Not a bad show, huh? Exciting, right? And to see it, all you have to do is stay tuned for another few seconds. Well, you’re responsible. Are you gonna turn off your TV?’
Chapter ThirtyNine
INTERIOR. THE LOUNGE. DAY.
Wide shot. The room eerily still. Wayne stands with Scout before the television camera. In one hand he carries his weapon, in the other the ratings computer.
Closeup on Wayne from the TV camera’s point of view. Grainy, videostyle quality to the picture.
WAYNE
(Snarling into camera)
I said, are you gonna turn off your TVs?
Whip pan down from Wayne ’s distorted face to the ratings computer. Picture turns to sudden hard focus. We see what is clearly some kind of graph climbing. Wide shot of room. Wayne hurls the computer to the ground.
