NIP 7

Mark reaches for the phone. His fingers quiver on the dial pad. He should have been informed of Ed Hayes’ release. Due to this heinous negligence Ed Hayes is on the street without supervision.

“Aunt Clara, it’s Mark. Call me as soon as you can. Ed Hayes has been released.”

*****************************************************************************

Sam’s driving is so incredibly erratic I am beyond nauseous as we pull up to the Lincoln Park Zoo.

I close my eyes and take a deep, meditative breathe in hopes of regaining my barrings. I am so off today. I am a reporter, I have taken an unspoken oath to get aroused by all of this unreal chaos. Sam is quite colorful, but he is right about one thing, this is my first big murder case. My first scoop…a real scoop. Deep breath out.

I open my eyes. Goosebumps crawl up my body. On any day this zoo is nestled on the city’s lakefront and desolate at this hour, even the animals are hidden inside. Not this day.

It is surreal, like a splash painting come life. The canvas is the grey-blue sky sprinkled with a dozen white cars and swiveling red and blue gumdrop lights, men hovering with glowing flash lights and EMT’s passing out shiny, metallic medical equipment. And one stretcher.

My eyes absorb this spectacle. Every hair on my body is standing straight up. As I step out of the van all I hear is a hum of voices. An ugly and eerie sensation rattles my bones.

“Here.” Sam shoves my mic in my hands. I mindlessly take hold of it, my eyes remain glued to the unfolding scene.

Sam saunters directly in front of me. Our eyes lock and I actually see a friend or maybe I am only searching for one.

“Sari, keep looking at me.” Sam says kindly. “This will surely be the most gruesome and fucked up thing you have and may ever see. But stay with me…you can do this. You Sari, the rookie, are getting the exclusive. No one else is here. This is your job, your biggest job yet.”

“Okay.” I nod.

“Show your compassion, cause I know you can’t hide it. But do not let your compassion own you. You will crumble if you do.” Sam’s pep talk continues. “You are a reporter of facts. Even fucked up facts. You are in the big leagues now. Got it. Let’s go.” Sam slaps my ass like we are about run out of a dugout. With ease, Sam throws his camera over his shoulder and casually walks the plank to the crime scene.

“Right Sam, you are absolutely right. We have a job to do.” It is taking every muscle in my throat to keep my voice from shaking. I chase after Sam, trailing him like a 4 year old. “Do you really think she is hanging from the monkey cage?”

“That’s what the guy said.”

“What guy?”

“The guy that called you line this morning dingbat. The reason we are scooping this story.” Sam’s face mocks me.

“I know but why did this ‘guy’ call me? Who is he?”

“Darlin’, I got the facts and location. That’s my program. I’m not looking to date the guy.” Sam chuckles. “My guess, you, good lookin’, have a secret admirer at dispatch. Nice work.”

“Really? But why would…”

“Great, just what we need. The bottom feeders. Christ. What the fuck are these idiots doing here!” Flails balding and beer bellied Detective Hughes in purposeful disdain.

“Be careful Detective. For being such idiots it is remarkable how hot on your tail we are.” I jab back. Old, stoggy detectives are the only part of this gig that doesn’t intimidate me. Out of the corner of my eye I see Sam smile as wide as Texas.

“Precisely my point Miss Clarke. Mark my words, after we secure this crime scene I will find a way to throw your ass in jail for illegally intercepting confidential police information.” Detective Hughes smugly turns on his heals.

Oh I don’t think so Detective Dick. I play fair.

“Actually Dic…Detective, I received a tip on my direct line explaining there is a woman hanging from the monkey cage.” I tilt my head making my perfected adolescent sneer and to my amazement Detective Hughes stops in his tracks.

Detective Hughes’ head flinches, his neck cracks. He slowly pivots in my direction. “Sari, say again.”

Our exchange is interrupted as a determined young officer approaches Detective Hughes with some type of paper…or is it a photograph? It is definitely a photograph.

“Christ!” Detective Hughes shouts. His hands quickly rummage in his coat pockets. “Do not leave this exact spot Sari until you speak with me.”

“It’s Miss Clarke.” I correct him with a straight face.

“You love to rile him up, don’tcha?” A friendly voice emerges out of the commotion. I turn to face a smirking Detective Callahan.

“Ah no. But I will continue to defend myself to that nasty, old fart.” On cue, I stick out my lower lip to pout.

“Well so be it. That nasty, old fart gets the job done.” Oddly Brad does not encourage my banter. “What are you doing here?” I am unfamiliar with this stern tone of his.

“What?” My god, what is with all the inquisitions today. Number one, I am a reporter and we are required to report live on location. And two, we are friends. “Brad…we work together.?.” He doesn’t even blink. “Who pissed in your Wheaties?”

“WE, the police ‘we’, Sari, got the call literally 5 minutes ago and yet you managed to beat me here. Hughes makes a point…how is that possible?” With obvious exaggeration, I look around to show a lot of people beat Brad here.

“What is with the accusatory tone Detective!?! A tip came through on my line. I am on TV…the news…it is not a stretch to think whoever called you guys, and by you guys I mean police, called me too. My name and place of employment are not hard to find.” I am really heating up now. “God, Hughes’ ego seems to be rubbing off on you.”

This exchange is terribly uncomfortable. Brad and I grab a drink at least once a week for crying out loud. He knows everything about me. I cannot even fathom Brad thinking I am in any way unethical. He is down right hurting my feelings. My face reveals my feelings while his stays stone cold.

Brad and I buddied up and became fast friends the day we met each other. It was six months ago, my first day on the job. I raced to the South Side after getting word of a stray bullet from a drive-by killing a 5 year old little girl. I was bound and determined to be an instant broadcasting success. I showed up with bossy Sam in tow, his camera, my mic, lights and was all set to go for my first assignment. I immediately interviewed the girl’s distraught mother. As she spoke my heart broke little by little. I managed to hold my composure by convincing myself I was playing a role in a movie. But behind my words I was crushed. My heart ached for this poor woman.

I finished my last report on the ten o’clock news. With a hanging head I gathered my things and sulked off to the van. Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to find a tall, ruggedly handsome, dark-haired man. Although I was engaged there was plenty there to get my attention. Detective Brad Callahan introduced himself to me as a rookie detective with 10 years as Chicago cop under his belt. A nice man with true intentions. He explained he had been observing me all night, studying me and my compassion for the ‘vic’ and her family. He said he couldn’t ever remember a reporter who actually cared about what or who they were reporting on. Which is why friction exists between reporters and law enforcement, he said. At the time I thought that was nonsense. And even to this day I refuse to believe when the camera stops rolling the reporter drops the mic and demands to be fanned with fig leaves. He presented his card saying ‘we are about to get to know each other real well.’ I had no idea how right his was.

“A caller? To you?” A puzzled expression replaces his stone cold glare as he rubs his forehead. “Attention seeking prep…” He is thinking out loud...his habit.

“And brutal.” I interject his thoughts.

“Huh.” His brow furrows as he snaps back to reality. He pauses, then points at me, exhales and with immaculate articulation asks, “You have seen the body?”

“Oh no…” I stutter. “No, no not yet.”

“Not ever.” He retorts.