‘If you’re thinking of trying to make friends with her,’ said Bruce, ‘don’t bother. Brooke tried that, and got a busted lip.’
But Farrah had other things on her mind. She had been thinking a lot since Wayne announced his plan and now she had a favour to ask. ‘Look… Miss… um, Scout? Speaking of nice sides, I would like it so much if you could do something for us. A favour.’
‘What kind of favour?’
‘Would it be all right if my husband made a call?’
‘A call? Who’s he going to call? The whole world’s standing right outside on his lawn.’
‘What’s on your mind, Farrah?’ said Bruce. ‘Who do you want me to call?’
Farrah had to make her pitch. She knew it would not sound good, but she had no choice: everything she had was in danger of disappearing with the morning dew. Farrah was a woman who knew what it was like to have nothing, and as far as she was concerned it sucked.
‘Bruce, think about it. This thing isn’t just going to ruin you as an artist. It will completely destroy you financially as well. Once you claim responsibility for inciting murder, the family of every victim of violence in America is going to sue you, and not just Wayne and Scout’s victims’ families either, but everyone whose life has been touched by violence. We will be in litigation for ever. Velvet’s grandchildren will still be paying. Do you understand? Overnight bankruptcy. What we have to do is transfer all your assets into my name, right now, before you make the broadcast – it won’t wash afterwards. So if Miss Scout here will just let you send a little fax to our bank…’
It was an impressive display. Everyone was surprised.
‘Mom!’ Velvet protested. ‘This is
‘Lady, I am protecting your future here.’
Scout was laughing. ‘You’re something, ain’t you?’ she said.
‘
‘Well, no one’s making any calls, and no one’s sending no faxes either, so I guess you’ll just have to start thinking ‘bout being poor. So there!’
The room was silent for a moment.
‘Besides which,’ Scout added irritably, ‘I reckon maybe that waitress in Milwaukee would have a point. Maybe the great Bruce “Mr Oscar” Delamitri shouldn’t have gone making them films and all. Maybe all that stuff Wayne ’s going to make you say ain’t so dumb.’
Bruce was angry now, angry enough to ignore his fear. ‘I don’t believe it! You are actually trying to convince yourself that you’re not really to blame, aren’t you? It’s not just a trick, you seriously want to believe it. You actually want to dodge responsibility for what you’ve done. You cowardly little bitch!’
‘Daddy, be quiet,’ Velvet pleaded. ‘She’ll kill us!’
Scout fondled her automatic weapon. ‘I ain’t going to kill no one, cutie, not ‘less they don’t do what we tell ‘em. All I’m saying is that-’
‘You are the sole perpetrators of your crimes,’ Bruce shouted. ‘Nobody pulled the trigger but you.’
‘I know that, Mr Delamitri. I admit that. It was us done our crimes, I admit we’re to blame.’
‘Well, that’s mighty big of you, I must say.’
‘Daddy, please, be nice,’ Velvet begged.
‘It’s just, well…’ Scout continued, ‘I don’t think it helps any that everything is so ugly all the time. That’s all.’ She seemed almost wistful.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Well, you know, songs and films and stuff. All that used to be an escape from being poor and living in fear. Now everything just seems to rub your face in it. I mean, your films are like, what’s that word?… when someone’s getting off looking at stuff that’s none of their business…’
‘Voyeuristic,’ Velvet said helpfully, hoping to mitigate her father’s aggression.
‘That’s right. They’re voyeuristic. I mean, you live in a big old house in Hollywood with a pool and a security guy and all-’
‘Until your boyfriend cut his head off,’ Bruce said bitterly. ‘Now I have a decapitated security guard.’
‘I told you I know we done that stuff and we’re to blame.’ Scout was getting angry too. ‘I’m just saying you got all this luxury, like a king or a president or something, and you pay for it by making films about ordinary, sad, dumb people, people who live in ghettos and projects and trailer parks, and making them look ugly and sick and violent-’
‘You
‘Yes, I guess I am, and I deserve whatever I get. It just seems to me that half of America lives in hell and the other half gets its rocks off watching.’
Scout didn’t want to talk about it any more so she put on the TV. Bruce’s house was still on the screen and approaching it, rather nervously, were two people in their underwear.
Chapter ThirtyTwo
Wayne opened the front door carefully and let the nearnaked camera operator and recordist into the house.
‘I sincerely apologize for the undignified working conditions,’ he said, somewhat taken aback to discover that one of the team, the sound recordist, was a woman, and wondering what Scout would make of that. ‘But I’m sure you understand my position here.’
Across the lawn, behind the ring of armoured vehicles that the police had established, the forces of authority watched the scene.
‘Well, yet another murdering bastard is about to get his fifteen minutes of fame,’ Chief Cornell reflected. The chief had with him his numberone siege team, his top negotiator, his Commander of Special Weapons and Tactics, and his press and media publicist.
‘And maybe when he takes a dump we can send someone in to wipe his ass,’ said the SWAT boss, furious at the lack of direct action. ‘I have Special Forces in position and ready to move, sir. Let my men take this bastard. We can be in and out again in fortyfive seconds.’
The publicist was adamantly opposed to this. ‘It’s too big a risk, sir,’ he said. ‘All the hostages are in one room, and both targets are heavily armed. If the SWAT guys go in, there could be a complete bloodbath, which I need hardly remind you would be in full view of every TV camera in Hollywood.’
‘Yeah, and supposing we pull it off?’ the SWAT man replied. ‘Stun grenade the bastards and bring ‘em out in chains? How about that for the cameras, huh?’
It was a tempting prospect. There is nothing quite so glamorous as a siege broken and hostages saved, especially if those hostages happen to include teenage girls.
‘There is no way Wayne Hudson is going to let you take him out of there alive,’ the publicist argued.
‘Dead then. Even better. As long as we save the hostages.’
‘As long as.’
In the end Cornell decided that, for the time being at least, cautionary counsel must prevail. ‘I think we have to see if this media stuff works. Who knows, maybe once he’s had his say he might throw the towel in.’
The head of SWAT turned away in disgust. Chief Cornell did not blame him; the decision stuck in his craw too. Even before the Uni Bomber, criminals had been showing a worrying predilection for blackmailing their way on to the media. Deep down, everyone wants to get on TV. A glance at any game show is enough to show just how far people will go to achieve that aim. Why should criminals be any different? More and more, it seemed to Chief Cornell that he and his men were becoming extras in a procession of lunatics’ private movies.
‘It’s getting so we ought to turn ourselves into agents and start charging ten per fucking cent,’ he reflected bitterly.
Of course the police were themselves partly to blame, and Cornell knew it. It is the police who supply the
