Макс Коллинз - You Can’t Stop Me

“...but some late-breaking news has changed the circumstances of tonight’s live broadcast.”

Byrnes snapped at the director, “What the hell?”

Phillips, in a headset, his eyes blinking a Morse code SOS, glanced back helplessly at his boss.

Byres leaned so far forward at the top of the aisle, he had all his weight on the toes of his four-hundred-dollar Bruno Magli loafers. He might have been a diver preparing for a double gainer.

“You all know that, for almost six years, I’ve been searching for the person or persons who killed my family.”

In the booth, the director couldn’t help himself, and told his cameraman to push in closer on their host.

“Recently, a member of the Crime Seen! staff found what she thought might be a clue tying another crime to the deaths of my wife and son. This is the first new evidence that’s been turned up in the case in many, many months.”

Byrnes yelled, “Did you know about this? Did any of you know about this?”

The director shook his head, but his attention was on the drama unfolding before them all. Those involved in technical aspects of the broadcast ignored their big boss; others, just standing observing — like show runner, Nicole Strickland, now edging away from the network exec — merely shook their heads and melted into anything handy.

“Next season,” Harrow was saying, “we will be following this clue, and working hard to uncover other evidence, in a concerted, focused effort to track down the killer or killers of my family...”

Byrnes said, “ Great idea, Nicole, bringing in a live audience for this episode.”

“And we’ll be doing it right on this show. You will be with us every step of the way — helping us track down the murderer of my wife and my son.”

Gasps from the studio audience interrupted the star.

Picking up, Harrow said, “UBC has pledged to buy us the equipment we need, and to pay for the finest crime-scene team I can put together to investigate this case — a veritable superstar task force of criminologists and crime fighters.”

Byrnes threw his hands up. “UBC pledged what?”

“We’ll start assembling the team, and investigating, as soon as the show ends tonight... and we will work as long as we have to. Join us in September when we start Crime Seen! , season two, by bringing you up to date on our progress on this case over the weeks ahead.”

His eyes narrowing, Harrow added, “Finally, a special message to one person — the killer of my family. I’m coming for you... and I’m coming soon.”

Then the credits were rolling, which often signaled the control room getting rowdy, but right now it was like church — in more ways than one, because several people were praying.

The screen faded to black as the show went off the air.

Byrnes said to Nicole, “Get him. Now.”

She nodded, cell at the ready, turning away, speaking quietly; then, cupping the phone, she said, “He’ll be in his office. He says... he’s expecting you.”

“No shit.”

Soon the exec was moving down the corridor, which would normally be filled with staffers quickly finishing up and getting the hell out. With the season over, the network had arranged a wrap party at the newest swank LA bistro, El Viñedo, to which they should all be on their way.

But Byrnes found the hall lined with cast and crew.

As his gaze swept over them, their eyes either found something very interesting in the carpeting to focus on or turned toward lead reporter Carlos Moreno.

Byrnes’s frown withered his staff the way sunlight did vampires. “What’s this about?”

But Moreno, six feet tall with short spiky black hair, was impervious to the exec’s gaze. His eyes locked unblinkingly on Byrnes’s. “We’re here to support our boss,” he said.

Byrnes never flinched. “That’s very gratifying, Carlos... since I am your boss.”

“We support J.C.”

A few nervous nods backed up that claim.

“All right, duly noted,” the network president said, keeping his tone even, nonconfrontational. It was a union town, after all. “I’ll see you all at El Viñedo.”

People peeled off the wall and headed down the hall and around the corner — hostages released after a siege — though Moreno stood firm.

Byrnes met the man’s gaze. “You don’t think I should fire J.C.’s ass?”

“Nope.”

“What do you think I should do?”

“Give him what he wants. He’s an accidental genius. He didn’t mean to, but he just handed you and me and all of us the biggest potential ratings winner in history. If he’d come to you first, you—”

“But he didn’t come to me.”

“Dennis! So what? He isn’t your standard TV whore. You were well aware when you hired him that J.C. took this show hoping to find his family’s killer.”

“And here I thought it was the truckload of money we backed up and dumped at his feet.”

The reporter rolled his eyes. “Right, Dennis. Money. That’s what makes J.C. Harrow tick.”

Byrnes frowned, but had no response ready before the reporter gave him a little salute and ambled off down the hall.

The exec strode down the corridor to the dark-wood door with the name J.C. HARROW in banker-like gold lettering. For a split second, Byrnes considered knocking, then decided screw it , and went in.

Behind his desk, J.C. Harrow appeared as relaxed and confident as a man who had just scored his biggest success, and not committed career suicide on national television.

Byrnes didn’t bother to sit down, just strode up to the desk and gave his star a cold, confrontational glare.

“I just want to know one thing,” Byrnes said.

Harrow did not take the bait. He just waited silently, leaning back in his chair, his expression not quite smiling, but certainly self-contained.

“Why did you piss it all away on a whim, J.C.? You could have come to me, we might have put something together, instead you skyjack the airwaves. Weren’t we good to you?”

For a long time, Harrow said nothing, then, “That’s more than one thing, Dennis. If you want an answer to any of those questions, pull up a chair and sit down.”

Byrnes had a moment — a moment where he had to choose between losing it entirely, going off like a geyser, or behaving like a grown-up.

So he pulled up a chair, crossed his legs, folded his hands, and ( goddamnit! ) smiled at his star. “Please, J.C. Enlighten me.”

“UBC has been great,” Harrow said. “The money is generous, and I like the work. But, Dennis — I didn’t piss anything away.”

“Nothing but your career and your starring gig on the number-one-rated show on this network.”

“Explain,” Harrow said, not at all confrontational.

Byrnes shook his head. “Can you really think there’s any reason I’m here other than to fire your ass?”

“You wouldn’t need to be here, if firing me was all you had in mind. Or anyway, you wouldn’t still be here.”

Byrnes had no response to that.

Harrow shrugged, rocking slightly in his chair. “Anyway, why would you fire me?... I may be a relative novice in this business, but I know enough to be sure of one thing — I just guaranteed to double your ratings in the fall.”

Byrnes sat forward, seething but in control. “You go on the air and commit my network to unknown, enormous expenses, you rewrite — off script and on air — the format of our top show, and you wonder why would I fire you? Do you think when word gets out any network would ever trust you in front of a camera again?”

“Maybe not a live camera,” Harrow said, with a puckishness unusual for the ex-cop. “Anyway, Dennis, I don’t think you’ll let the word get out. You know that I wouldn’t take as much blame for this as you would — for allowing it to happen. I’m not where the buck stops.”