Макс Коллинз - No One Will Hear You

And Harrow did.

When Harrow had gone off script, on live TV, pledging Crime Seen resources to track down his family’s killers, Byrnes could have fired him. Could have sued him, and hung him out to dry.

Instead, Byrnes had backed his play.

Ellen and David Harrow’s murders would have almost certainly gone unavenged without Dennis Byrnes .

“... Okay, Dennis. You’re right. I do owe you.”

Byrnes did not allow anything gloating to come in his smile.

“I owe you and I’ll stay, for one more season ... but my people? They’re free to go.”

The executive shrugged elaborately. “I will exercise my right to try to convince them with pay raises, J.C., but they will not be held to the options in their contracts. I promise you that.”

“Okay.”

Harrow’s phone vibrated — caller ID: CARMEN.

Harrow didn’t leave his seat — there was nothing Carmen Garcia might call about that Byrnes couldn’t hear.

Without preamble, Carmen said, “She won’t let me in.”

“She who?”

“Byrnes’s secretary.”

“Kate,” the secretary said loud enough to carry over the phone. “My name is Kate.” The last part Harrow and Byrnes both heard through the door.

Pushing a button, Byrnes said, “Kate, what is going on out there?”

The answer came by way of the door flying open and Carmen Garcia bursting in, dark hair bouncing off her shoulders, open laptop computer in her arms, the unhappy blonde secretary in her wake.

Carmen was holding up the computer as she strode straight to Harrow. “You need to see this. Now.”

“We’re in the middle of a meeting here,” Byrnes protested irritably.

“This is more important,” Carmen said, fearless in the face of the network president. “You might explain to your secretary that news has a shelf life.”

While Byrnes and Kate looked on in offended surprise, Carmen set the computer on the executive’s desk but facing Harrow, who quickly found himself watching a video stream. Though the image was surprisingly high quality, it seemed to be nothing more than amateur porn.

And the absurdity of that made Harrow wonder if Carmen had lost her mind. News? What made homegrown smut news?

On-screen, a long-haired blonde lay stomach-down on a bed, obviously having rear-entry sex, face turned toward camera, her lover almost entirely off camera, his back to the viewer, but not blocking the blonde much from this angle, as she writhed, her moans of pleasure loud and long, distorted through the computer’s small speakers.

“Carmen,” Harrow demanded, patience frayed, “what the hell is this?”

“Not what you think it is — keep watching.”

The blonde on screen was clearly enjoying the vigorous lovemaking, but the longer Harrow watched, the more he realized that something was slightly off-kilter.

Maybe the woman was drunk or high, but something, something , seemed amiss. When the man finished, the blonde turned over on her back, her eyes open but half-lidded and unfocused. She was very pretty.

Harrow threw Carmen a look, but she pointed to the screen. “Keep watching.”

As the man disappeared completely off camera, the woman tried to get up and slowly slumped back to the bed.

Byrnes and Kate had moved around to where they could see the screen better.

“What’s wrong with her?” Byrnes asked.

“High,” Kate and Carmen said in unison. They exchanged an awkward pause, adversaries suddenly teammates.

Shaking his head, Byrnes asked, “Why get so high you can’t even enjoy...”

“You assume,” Kate said, cutting him off, “it was her choice. Ever hear of roofies, Dennis?”

Even as the pair traded a frowning glance, Carmen shushed them.

On-screen, the woman was on her back on the bed, head lolling slightly. She had given up trying to rise.

A metallic voice came through the speakers. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Voice filter,” Harrow said.

A hand came into view, stroked the woman’s hair, getting it out of her face, improving the view of her blurry-eyed beauty.

“You may call me Don Juan,” the voice said. “This is my audition tape — I intend to become your next star... the new star attraction of Crime Seen”

All eyes went to Carmen for some sort of explanation.

“Watch,” she said, grimacing. An order, but an apologetic one.

A knife flashed through the frame and slashed into the woman’s throat, severing the carotid artery. Blood spurted and a weak gurgling scream reminded Harrow of a rabbit’s cry when a hawk swooped in and carried it off. Then the scream dissipated amid more gurgling and the struggle for air as a victim drowned on her own blood...

Kate recoiled from the computer, and Byrnes had to catch her.

Harrow, though, remained glued to the screen, watching this beautiful young woman grasp feebly at her neck, trying to hold in the spurting blood, turning her fingers runny, smudgy scarlet. She only grew weaker, her attempts more feeble...

Then she was gone.

“Don Juan again. When I love a woman, she has been loved so completely, so well, that she has no more reason to live. Nothing else to look forward to, since I never repeat myself — no woman is worthy of receiving my love twice.”

“Sick,” Kate said, looking like she would be.

“I do apologize for making demands — I know producers do not like to be bossed around by talent.”

Harrow and Byrnes shared an awkward glance.

“You will cast me as your new star on Crime Seen, or I’m afraid, face the consequences. Give me my rightful glory, my proper respect... and air time... and I will keep my fatal seductions down to one a week.”

Harrow frowned.

“But if you do not accede to my demands... let’s call them ‘requests,’ we are all friends here, collaborators... I will have to accelerate the frequency. Now, you may be asking yourself if you have just witnessed a master of special effects... no. This is real. This is realism. By way of proof, you will find the body of my latest lover within twenty-four hours. She will serve as proof that I am sincere.”

Harrow said, “My God — he’s not kidding. It is a goddamn audition tape...”

“I will expect your answer on this Friday’s show, or next week you will meet two of my satisfied lovers. The week after, three lovely women will die on camera... and I have the stamina and will power and seductive skills to expand to daily conquests if need be. So it’s up to you, UBC. And to the star of the show — J.C. Harrow? I have this personal message.”

“Bastard,” Harrow said.

“Don’t be envious. My popularity will soar — it will exceed your own. But jealousy is beneath real artists like ourselves, Mr. Harrow. You know... and I know ... that a true hero is only as strong as his adversary. And now you have a worthy one.”

Carmen’s laptop went blank, and the audio ended.

Feeling like he’d been poleaxed, Harrow said, “Where in the hell did this come from?”

“Cyber tip line,” Carmen said. “Came in as an attached file.”

“Is it real?” Byrnes asked.

Verging on hysteria, Kate said, “It looks real! It looks terribly real!”

Carmen said, “Effects on screen — like the Saw movies, and those Rob Zombie ones — they look real, too.”

“I missed those,” Harrow said dryly. “But like Don Juan himself said — those aren’t special effects. Not in my opinion, anyway.”

Kate leaned into Byrnes, who put an arm around her, a protective father standing there, just shaking his head.