Макс Коллинз - You Can’t Stop Me

“You bet your... paycheck.”

She managed a feeble smile. “You think I could go back to being a PA now? Stardom suddenly doesn’t look so good.”

“No going back, Carmen. We’re both stuck.”

“Are your ears ringing? Mine are.”

“You were close to that gunshot. It’ll ease up.”

That was when Carlos Moreno came up and cornered them, microphone in hand. Apparently Gibbons’s perimeter was as secure as a sand castle at high tide.

Moreno thrust the microphone at Carmen.

Harrow was about to slap the goddamn thing aside when she pulled away from him, stood upright.

Moreno said, “Carmen Garcia, we’re on live on UBC. How do you feel?”

And the former hostage was instantly “on.”

“Well, Carlos, I can tell you this — it’s good to be alive. I owe everything to J.C. Harrow, who has to be the bravest man on the planet.”

“What about the alleged killer who held you captive?”

“Carlos, I feel bad for Mr. Shelton. He was a very troubled soul. He lost his family, much as J.C. did...”

Harrow had heard enough. He moved toward the sidewalk, where various official vehicles were pulling in.

Sheriff Gibbons came up to him. “You did good, J.C.”

“You didn’t,” Harrow said.

The sheriff’s expression might have been the aftermath of a slap. “What the hell...”

“Your goddamned deputy tried to gun him down just when I’d talked him into coming in peacefully.”

Gibbons took a step back. “We didn’t know — we couldn’t hear...”

“Hell you couldn’t,” Harrow said. “You were right next door and heard everything. And the second your guy Wilson had a shot, you told him go for it — risking my life, and Carmen’s, needlessly... and robbing us of a suspect who might clear up countless murder cases.”

“Goddamnit, Harrow, he had a gun on the Garcia woman! You would have done the—”

“Same thing? Don’t think so. He was surrendering , you dick. Your man, and your go order, put the two of us in the line of fire. Then I had to do your dirty work for you.”

“Well, J.C., I’m sorry you feel that way, but I feel we did the right thing. You’ll cool off, and you’ll think about it, and—”

Harrow had heard enough of that bullshit, too. He walked away from the increasingly noisy scene, needing some silence. Heading toward the crime lab semi, he felt someone fall in next to him.

Laurene Chase.

She gave him a sunny smile. “Rough day at the office?”

He shrugged. “Same-o, same-o.”

“Carmen’s alive,” she said. “ That’s a good day at the office, no matter what else went down.”

He nodded, not knowing if he really agreed. He was thrilled Carmen was alive, but he had been so close to bringing in the suspect the same way...

Up ahead, Pall and Anderson were pacing like expectant fathers. Jenny Blake stood off to herself a little, arms folded. They all fell in line behind their boss and his number two, following like puppies.

Harrow’s cell vibrated. Checking the caller ID, he saw: DENNIS BYRNES.

Holding out the phone to Laurene, he said, “ You talk to him.”

She took the phone, and he went up the metal stairs and into the crime lab to be alone.

He closed the door and sat down in a chair. The man who had killed his family was dead, killed by Harrow himself. But Ellen and David were gone forever, and any sense of closure was not revealing itself.

Why did he feel so goddamn empty?

And why did this long journey still feel unresolved?

Once Harrow was tucked away in the semi, Laurene Chase and Billy Choi stationed themselves at the stairs, blocking the way, as the other three team members — Pall, Anderson, and Blake — went off to check on Carmen.

The cell Harrow had handed off was throbbing away in Laurene’s grasp. Finally she took the call.

Dennis Byrnes’s voice exploded in her ear: “Harrow, that was bloody awesome ! You are the man !”

“Mr. Byrnes, this is Laurene Chase. J.C. isn’t taking any calls right now. He’s winding down. You’re obviously aware of what he’s been through.”

“I am, Ms. Chase, and let me share my enthusiasm and delight with you. You tell J.C. that the UBC switchboard is lit up like Christmas, and the website’s crashed, so many viewers trying to get through. This is the moon landing and the final episode of M*A*S*H and the Super Bowl with Lee Harvey Oswald and Jack Ruby tossed in for good measure.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“It’s a fantastic thing. This goes beyond our network — every other broadcast network and all the twenty-four-hour news channels are breaking into their regularly scheduled programming, and why? To advertise UBC and Crime Seen! You tell J.C. that I don’t know how he managed this, but—”

“He didn’t ‘manage’ anything, sir. He did what he promised you he would — he tracked down the murderer of his family and let you broadcast it.”

“Ms. Chase, you tell Harrow I want him back in LA tomorrow. We have to get to work and figure out what we’re going to do for November sweeps to take advantage of this wave of publicity.”

“You do realize, sir, a man is dead, and one of our reporters almost got killed.”

“But she didn’t get killed,” Byrnes said. “The star of my show saved her. Christ, Chase, don’t you know a happy ending when you see one?”

Laurene clicked off the call, and turned off the phone. Suddenly the lowlifes she’d dealt with back in Waco didn’t seem so bad.

Glancing in Choi’s direction, she said, “Seems the show’s a hit.”

The young man shrugged. “You know what they say — give the people what they want. All we need to do to stay popular? Shoot somebody every week. We could take turns.”

Laurene didn’t smile at that. “That’s a little dark, Billy.”

“You think? We did something good here, boss lady — we shut down one of the worst serial killers in history. Yet I still feel like I could use a shower.”

“I know,” she said, and shivered. “I know.”

Chris Anderson got to Carmen, with Michael Pall right behind and Jenny Blake trailing. But they all had to wait while Moreno finished his interview with the rescued star.

Hathaway and Arroyo were shooting from different angles, bright lights atop each camera catching their subject in a cross fire, both Hughes and Ingram grabbing sound, with Carmen’s teammates media savvy enough by now not to interrupt.

Distant sirens howled and grew closer, and the darkness was alive with headlights heading their way — and not just emergency vehicles, Pall knew. The media, no matter how far they’d have to travel, would get there so fast you’d think they beamed down from a starship. And there would be gawkers too, from hither and yon. The three hundred souls of Lebanon, Kansas, would be waking to find their hamlet grown by ten times or more, and they’d be in the geographical center of not just the United States, but an international media storm.

“Thank you for your time, Carmen,” Moreno was saying, giving his co-worker his most earnest look. “I know you must be as exhausted as you are relieved that this ordeal has ended.”

Carmen managed a wan smile for the reporter (and the camera), which didn’t fade till Hathaway said, “And... we’re clear.”

Moreno gave her a lopsided grin and shook her hand. “Great job, Carmen. Very brave to come straight out of that mess and be so professional.”

“Thank you, Carlos,” Carmen said, but Pall could tell the weight of it all was starting to settle on the woman. On camera, she’d seemed quietly strong, and her delivery had been halting only when it aided the story she was telling.