Details at Ten Read Free Page B

down my mike and cursed, “Dap-gum-it!”
    All the kids scattered, mocking me: “Dap-gum-it!”
    “Zeke, Bing was yelling in my ear the entire live shot. I could barely think. He totally messed me up. Now all the viewers think I don’t know what I’m doing. But how can I do my job with a domineering boss yelling in my ear?”
    Zeke just shrugged.
    Then the phone rang in the truck. I didn’t need to dial 1-800-Psychic to know that it was Bing. I wasn’t about to take any more mess off Mr. News-it-all. I moved toward the phone inside the truck.
    Zeke stopped me. “Don’t bother, Georgia. Bing will only piss you off. Let’s hustle up.”
    Zeke was right. I needed to finish up what I had to do, and quickly, because the other stations had started to arrive at the scene. Zeke popped in a new tape and we got ready to flag down one of the cops handling this shooting. I was trying my darndest to swallow my anger and get focused when I caught sight of a newcomer to the scene, a calming force in the chaos.
    I slowly approached this stunning man. He was an ab- and backplus masterpiece, his mountainous shoulders tapering down to a just-right waist. Obviously he believed in caring for his body. An overall rugged look was softened perfectly by his creamy reddish-brown skin. Mister-man squared his shoulders, spoke firmly, and gave orders as naturally as exhaling. His figure and his confidence cut a magnificent presence among the madness.
    Who was he? I hadn’t seen him on any of the other murder stories I’d covered. Clearly he was
somebody,
or he would be soon. Could he help me with this story? I went straight over and introduced myself. “Georgia Barnett, 8 News. I’d like to talk to you about the investigation.”
    He barely glanced in my direction. Mister-man was cool as the underside of a pillow. He said in a voice aged in a wine cellar, “I’m Detective Doug Eckart. And I’m busy.” Then he ignored me good old fashion. Detective Eckart turned and began talking to a beat cop who was now standing next to him.
    “Excuse me, Detective,” I said louder, more forcefully. “I’d like to do a quick interview with you.”
    “Nope.”
    He didn’t even look at me. “Too busy. I can’t be bothered right now.”
    Well, in the words of Chaka Khan, Please pardon me! Sometimes these detectives are super-helpful because they know we can assist them by asking the public for information. But sometimes old-school detectives don’t like to cooperate with us. They think we’re too glitzy or that we’re nothing but a pain in the behind. But this guy wasn’t old enough to have that kind of Jurassic ’tude! What was his problem? He had a job to do and so did I—and I only wanted to help and that’s all my news report would do.
    “Detective Eckart,” I said firmly but politely, “I’m not asking for an extensive sit-down. I just want you to spot me up on what’s happening in a quick one-on-one. In return, any info I may get I’ll pass along to you. You know how it works.”
    “In a few minutes I’ll do an interview with everybody. I’ll just get it over with then. Okay?”
    Not okay! An interview with everyone? With all the other TV stations, radio, and newspaper reporters, too? Excuse the pun, but a gangbang was what we called it in the business. What made him think I’d settle for something as common as all that? I don’t think so, Detective Eckart. I wanted an exclusive interview, a shot of us walking together to show that I was here first, that I had the best stuff—I wanted to strut that stuff.
    “Excuse me, Detective Eckart?”
    He looked at me, annoyed. “Detective, I hustled to get here and I’ve got a lot of great stuff. I just want to cap it all off with a quick interview with you. Five minutes. My cameraman is right here, you can walk the block with me and tell me about this turf war. Otherwise, we’ll just hang around on your heels.”
    “That’s all you reporters tend to do—hang around on our