footage for police camera shows. It is the police who give neverending press conferences and appear on public- involvement TV programmes, appealing for witnesses. Chief Cornell knew that he himself had staged many spectacular operations with the cameras and publicity principally in mind. If the cops wanted to be stars, why shouldn’t the hoodlums?
Chief Cornell sighed. ‘Just as long as the bastard doesn’t throw a tantrum and keep us here all day while he sits in his trailer and sulks.’
Chapter Thirty Three
Inside the house Wayne returned to the lounge with the little ENG crew.
Scout was still watching TV. ‘Shhh,’ she said.
‘A camera operator and a recordist are now inside the siege mansion,’ the studio anchorwoman was explaining, ‘so we should be getting pictures soon. The recordist is trailing a twohundredmetre cable feed to the control truck which is parked in the grounds… there you can see it there, that’s the truck… That is the control truck isn’t it, Larry?’
‘I believe that is the control truck, Susan,’ said her partner, ‘but I can’t be sure. Let’s bring in Doctor Mark Raddinger, of the East LA Academy of Media Studies. Doctor Raddinger, is that the control truck we can see now?’
‘Yes,’ replied a bearded man in polo neck and corduroy jacket who was seated beside Larry, ‘that is the control truck.’
‘So you can confirm that?’ asked Larry.
‘Yes, I can confirm that,’ replied Doctor Raddinger. ‘That is the control truck.’
‘Well, it’s as we suspected, Susan,’ said Larry, ‘and we have a confirmation on that. The truck currently on our screens is, as you rightly predicted just moments ago, the control truck.’
‘And we can confirm that?’ Susan asked.
‘Yes,’ Larry replied. ‘We do now have confirmation. It is the control truck. The truck to which the recordist, who is currently situated inside the siege mansion, is linked by a twohundredmetre broadcast feed cable.’
‘Thanks, Larry,’ said Susan. ‘And further to that, I can also confirm that the recordist is linked to the TV ratings computer.’
‘The TV ratings computer?’ Larry enquired. ‘That would be the computer which analyses and delivers the TV ratings, right?’
‘Yes, it would, Larry.’
‘Let’s bring in Doctor Mark Raddinger again, here. Mark, can you give us a little background detail on the TV ratings computer?’
‘Yes, I can, Larry. The TV ratings computer is the computer which the TV companies use to analyse and deliver an accurate statistical analysis of the TV ratings via computer.’
‘I see. Fascinating. And you can confirm that?’
‘Yes, I can.’
‘And the TV ratings would be how many people are watching?’ Susan enquired.
‘Statistically and demographically speaking, yes it would-’
Wayne turned the set off. It was giving him a headache.
‘That’s enough TV now, Scout. We got work to do,’ he said. ‘OK, everybody, listen up. This is Bill and Kirsten, and they are going to make us stars.’ He ushered the crew into the room.
Bill and Kirsten entered rather gingerly. They were a tough pair, who had covered wars, famines and presidential elections, but their current circumstances were scarcely likely to put them at their ease. It wasn’t so much the woman in the bloodsoaked gown who lay gurgling on the floor near the drinks cabinet who bothered them. Nor was it really the two psychopathic maniacs who were pointing automatic weapons at them. It’s just never easy to be the only people who turn up at a social gathering dressed only in your underwear.
They felt naked. Bill and Kirsten were a tough, lean young news team, and they liked to look the part. Bill missed his survival tunic with its numerous pockets, out of which he often claimed he could live and work for a month. Kirsten missed her sixteenlacehole combat boots, the mere pulling on of which always made her feel tougher and braver. Most of all, they both missed their trousers. There was, however, nothing either of them could do about it, so they applied themselves to the task in hand like the proud professionals they were.
‘How do you want to stage this thing?’ Bill asked.
Wayne looked at Bruce. ‘Bruce, you’re the director. Where should these people set up?’
But Bruce remained tightlipped. He wasn’t going to facilitate his own disgrace if he could avoid it.
Wayne shrugged. ‘Well, I guess I can do this myself. Maybe I’ll get an Oscar too, ha ha! OK, I reckon you guys should set up the camera right there in front of the fireplace.’
Bill and Kirsten did as they were bidden and began to arrange their equipment. Meanwhile, Wayne thought about his staging. ‘I believe we should use this couch as kind of centre of the action, OK? ‘Cos one thing I know is that whenever anybody’s doing any talking on the TV there is just about always a couch somewhere. So if I push it round a little, then I guess you’ll be able to include Brooke in the shot. Is that right, Bill?’
‘Yes, I can see her,’ Bill answered.
‘Well that’s good, because I think she looks just great lying on the floor like that. Like some kind of wounded swan or something.’
Scout loved it when Wayne talked like that. She firmly believed that, given an education, he could have been a poet. Bill would not have agreed. Seen through his viewfinder, Brooke did not look like a wounded swan at all. She looked like a wounded person, a badly wounded person. Bill had seen many such sights during his career as a war correspondent but he never got used to them and never found them anything but appalling.
‘She’s dying,’ said Velvet, placing a coat over Brooke.
‘We’re all dying, darlin’,’ Wayne replied, ‘from the very first day we’re born. What I’m saying is that her pathetic condition kind of underlines the point I’m making here. A kind of livin’, or maybe I should say dyin’, example of what men like Bruce here exploit and promote. So get that coat off her, sugar. It ain’t cold and that coat’s spoiling my picture. Ain’t nothing sexy ‘bout a coat.’
Velvet did as she was bidden.
‘OK, that’s good.’ Wayne nodded his approval. ‘This thing’s really coming together now. So how ‘bout you?’ He turned on Farrah. ‘What can we do with you?’
‘What do you mean?’ Farrah was startled. She had begun to imagine herself exempt from the action. She was sadly deluded.
‘This is TV, honey. Goodlookin’ woman like you’s gonna be a big draw, particularly ‘longside of your cute li’l daughter. Scout baby, take Mrs Delamitri and Miss Delamitri and cuff them to that lampstand behind the sofa… C’mon, c’mon, get over there, girls. We ain’t making
Scout put her hand in Wayne ’s bag and produced a pair of handcuffs.
‘Got these off a cop,’ she explained, adding darkly, ‘He don’t need ‘em no more.’
As Scout manacled Farrah and her daughter to the lampstand, with uncharacteristic humility Wayne asked if it would be OK to take a look through the camera lens.
‘You’re the director,’ said Bill.
‘Well, that’s right, I guess I am.’ Wayne dropped the humility and strutted over to the camera as if he was Cecil B. de Mille. Pressing his eye to the viewfinder, he surveyed the scene thoughtfully. He could see Bruce sitting on the couch. Behind him were Farrah and Velvet and to one side lay Brooke.
‘OK now, Scout,’ Wayne said, further composing his shot, ‘get down there beside Bruce, ‘cos that’s where we gonna to be sat, OK? Right next to the man.’
But he was still not quite satisfied.
‘It seems all right to me,’ Kirsten commented nervously. ‘I mean, it contains all the elements, doesn’t it?’ She wanted to get done and get out of there.
‘The elements is just the basics of the shot,’ Wayne replied. ‘What we got to do here is make one compelling
