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| My name is Rather, and I'm a Dick... |
| 01.12.05 (10:41 am) [edit] |
|
Iowahawk smacks it out of the park with this one! Farewell, My Producer It was a quiet cold Monday at Black Rock. Too quiet, I thought, slowly polishing the lens on my trusty Sony VC6809. New York is not the kind of town that likes to keep secrets, and my tingling senses told me that somewhere in Gotham somebody was spilling some beans. And in my line of work, you get to know deep down in your gut those beans have a habit of being silent - but deadly. My name is Rather. And I'm a dick. I had just finished the final teleprompter read-through on the Alberto Gonzales caper (Dan Rather #31: The Sadist Wore a Sombrero) when a familiar figure sauntered into the studio. "Look what the cat drug in," I smiled. "What brings you down to the salt mines, Captain Moonves?" Moonves and I were once tighter than two cousins in a Kentucky hayloft. I helped show him the ropes at Black Rock back when he was a green rookie straight out of the programming academy, but lately I sensed tension between us after the release of the Nielsen Report (Dan Rather #29: The Case of the Missing Viewers). "Can the wisecracks, newsreader," he sneered. "You've got a little date with Commissioner Thornburgh downtown." "Gee, maybe I should buy a corsage. Sorry, Lester. I'm washing my hair." "No dice, Dan-O. They've got the goods on you this time, and you better check that smart mouth of yours at the door." "Aw, nuts Les. You know I'm busy following lead in the big Quagmire Caper. Tell Thornburgh to schedule it through my secretary, Mary Mapes." "Dan," he paused, taking a breath. "Mary's... gone." No - no - not Mary... ************************* *** Thornburgh peeled off his tortoise shell glasses and gave me a blank stare. "We've been through this several times now, Rather," he sighed. "The evidence was fake. Forgeries. Made up from whole cloth. There is no Lucy Ramirez. The entire TxANG case is closed." "So," I pondered, "you're thinking we need to set up a stakeout in Crawford?" "Rather," he bellowed, "The Guard letters were on Starbucks stationery, and originally discovered in the trunk of Mary's '99 Hundai. Military officers do not address each other as 'Dude' and 'Bro.' Mary FedExed them to Terry McAuliffe six times for spell checking." "No speaky Esperanto, Commissioner! What's your angle?" "You ran the story seven days before contacting document experts, and when you did, they were recruited from a methadone clinic. You spent $47,000 of network money on a schizophrenic man who said he could build a steam-powered word processor and a time machine." I planted my hands on the desk, and leaned over into Thornburgh's face. "I see where this is all going, Commissioner. You're in on it too! You're just going to sit there and take it when there is a criminal in high office who stole over 20 XBox systems from Texas National Guard!" "That's enough, Rather," he growled. "Turn in your microphone. You're suspended." "Too late Thornburgh. I'm suspending myself, at full pay." I slammed the door behind me. It looked like this investigation would be strictly freelance. ************************* *** I needed answers and I needed them fast. A little bird told me I smelled a rat, and when my bird smells rats, there's sure to be a red herring around. Herring... I thought. Like in lutefisk. Playing a hunch, I booked the next Northwest Unlimited for Minnesota. It was raining cats and dogs when the train salamandered into Minneapolis Union Station. I ducked through the Pullman doors, hoping this was not another wild goose chase. "Dan! Over here!" It was my old pal Nick Coleman, whom I had telegraphed during a stopover in Toledo. A hardbitten Twin Cities newshound, Nick knew every sleazy nook and cranny in the sewer of the Minnesota blogging underworld. "What've you got for me Nicky?" "Seems you've made a few enemies in Swedetown, Danny boy. I thought we might pay a call on two charming fellows that go by the moniker of the Powerline Crew. They've been trying to get my goat for a long time." "Sounds interesting," I said. "But let's get something to eat. I'm hungry as a horse-eating bear." Absolutely top-shelf. See the rest here. |
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