The Night Crew Read Free

live.’’
    The patio was chaos, with the cameras and the pig-man, the women with cages, all swirling around: Blue shirt arrived and Anna saw that he was crying, tears running down his cheeks as Creek tracked him with the lens. The dark smear was blood, which streamed from his nose and across his lips and chin.
    ‘‘Give me that pig,’’ he screamed, and he ran at the pigman. ‘‘Gimme that.’’ The animal women blocked him out, not hitting him, just body blocking. Both Creek and Jason tracked the twirling scrum while Anna tried to stay out of their line; she kept the Nagra pointed, picking up the overall noise, which could be laid back into the tape later, if needed.
    The Bee caught Anna’s arm: ‘‘He’s just a flunky, forget him,’’ she shouted, over the screams and grunting of the struggle. ‘‘But we’re gonna do the mice now. Get the mice, in the garbage cans.’’
    The women with the blue garbage can were waiting their turn with the lights, and Anna spoke into the mike again: ‘‘Jason, get out of there. Go over to that blue garbage can, it’s full of mice, they’re gonna turn them loose.’’ Jason took a step back, lifted his head, spotted the garbage can. ‘‘Creek, stay with the kid,’’ Anna said. ‘‘Stay with the kid.’’
    As Jason came up, the women with the garbage can, who’d been waiting, popped the lid and tipped it, and two hundred or three hundred mice, some black, some white, some tan, scurried down the sides and ran out onto the patio, looked around and headed for the nearest piece of cover.
    Jason hung close and then the kid in the blue shirt went that way, screaming, ‘‘Gimme those,’’ and, sobbing, tried to corral the mice. They were everywhere, running over his feet, over his hands, avoiding him, making the break. He finally gave up and slumped on the ground, his head in his hands, the mice all around.
    Jeez: this is almost too good,
    Anna thought. As Creek tracked him, the Bee came back with her nagging voice: ‘‘Do you want an on-camera statement?’’
    And Anna thought, Who’s running this thing? But she had to smile at the other woman’s effective management: ‘‘Yeah, but we’d better hurry,’’ Anna said. ‘‘The cops’ll be coming.’’
    Anna said into the mike, ‘‘Jason, get on the Bee, she’ll make a statement.’’ She pushed the mike up, raised her voice, shouted, ‘‘Rat, where are you?’’
    The man with the pig turned toward her: ‘‘I’m the Rat,’’ he said. His teeth were bared, his face spotted with what looked like mud, but could be pig shit.
    ‘‘We’re gonna need you over here: we need a comment,’’ Anna said.
    ‘‘No problem,’’ he said. He handed the struggling pig to a woman. ‘‘What exactly do you want?’’ The Rat had a deep, smooth voice, a singer’s baritone. His eyes were pale blue behind the black mask.
    ‘‘Just tell us why you did it,’’ Anna said, nodding at Jason’s camera.
    He leaned forward and stage-whispered, ‘‘For the publicity.’’
    Anna grinned back and said, ‘‘Tell that to the camera.’’
    Jason yelled, ‘‘Hey, Rat: You wanna do this, or what?’’
    As the Rat and the Bee talked to Jason’s camera, Anna pulled the mike down in front of her face and said, ‘‘Creek, let’s talk to the kid. Let me in there first.’’
    Creek hung back a couple of steps, so the camera wouldn’t be right in the kid’s face. Anna squatted next to him, and patted him on the shoulder. ‘‘Are you okay?’’
    The kid looked up, dazed, a pale teenage child with brown eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses. ‘‘What?’’
    ‘‘Are you okay?’’ Anna asked again.
    ‘‘They’re gonna fire me,’’ he said. He looked back at the building. ‘‘I was supposed to watch them. They were my responsibility, the animals. I was supposed to keep everybody out, but they came in so fast . . .’’
    ‘‘How’d you get the bloody nose?’’ Anna asked.
    ‘‘I tried to