Hard News

You’ve got a long way to go.”
    “But doesn’t this prove that she’s a bad witness?”
    “A piece in the puzzle. That’s all it is. Keep digging.”
    “I thought—”
    “That we’d go with it?”
    “I guess.”
    A brittle nail leveled at Rune’s face like a bright red dagger. “This is the big time. You keep forgetting that. We don’t run a story until it’s
completely
buttoned up.” She walked stridently through the newsroom on her clattering heels while employees moved quickly but unobtrusively as far out of her way as they could.

    chapter 18    
     
    DOWNSTAIRS, IN THE LOBBY, RUNE SURVEYED THE JOB AND didn’t like what she saw.
    A directory of residents, containing over a hundred names.
    “Help you?” The doorman’s accent seemed to be Russian. But then Rune decided she didn’t know what a Russian accent sounded like; the man—wearing an old gray uniform shiny on the butt—might have been Czech or Romanian or Yugoslavian or even Greek or Argentine. Whatever his ethnic origin, he was big and snide and unfriendly.
    “I was just looking at the directory.”
    “Who you wanna see?”
    “Nobody really. I was just—”
    He smiled slyly as if he’d just caught on that three-card monte games were rigged. “I know. They done that before.”
    “I’m a student.”
    “Yeah, student.” He worked a spot on the inside of his mouth with his tongue.
    “How long you worked here?” she asked.
    “Six months. I just came over here. This country. Lived with my cousin for a while.”
    “Who worked here before you?”
    He shrugged. “I dunno. How would I know? You make good money doing it? You know what I’m saying?”
    “What do you mean? I’m a student.”
    “I’ve heard it all. You think I haven’t heard it?”
    “I’m an art student. Architecture. I—?”
    “Yeah.” The smile was staying put. The tongue foraged. “What you make?”
    “Make?” Rune asked.
    “How much you sell them for?”
    “What?”
    “The names.” He nodded. “You sell them to companies send everybody that junk mail. No junk mail in my country. Here! It’s everywhere.”
    “What I’m doing is I’d like to talk to some people who live here. About the design of their apartments.”
    A nod joined the smile.
    There was nothing worse than being accused of something you hadn’t done—even if you were doing something you shouldn’t’ve been doing.
    She rummaged for a minute in the dark recesses of her bag until she came up with a stiff bill. A twenty. Hot out of the ATM. She handed it to him.
    Zip. It vanished into his pocket.
    “How much you make?”
    Another twenty joined its friend.
    “Ah.” He walked off, pressing his hand to the pocket that held the crisp, non-reimbursable bills and Rune turned back to her task.
    The smart thing would have been to find out which rows of apartments looked out over the courtyard where Lance Hopper had been shot but she didn’t know how soon the Slavic-Ruskie South American capitalist would be back to suck up another bribe. So she started at the top left of the directory. From Myron Zuckerman in 1B she speed wrote straight down to Mr., or Ms., L. Peters in 8K.
    Twenty minutes later, the doorman returned, just as she finished.
    “Still studying?” he asked snidely.
    “I just finished.”
    “So tell me, yeah, which company you with? One of the big ones? Am I right?”
    “It’s a big one,” Rune said.
    “Is in Jersey, right?”
    “How’d you guess?”
    “I’ve been around. I seen a lot. You can’t fool me.”
    “I wouldn’t even try.”
    SCORCHING PAIN ROAMED AROUND IN HER BACK. THE IN side of her ear was sweating. Her voice had gone from low soprano to throaty alto and she’d have to clear her windpipe with a stinging snap every few minutes. Rune had been sitting in her cubicle at the studio, speaking into a phone, for nearly eight hours straight.
    Hello I’m a producer for
Current Events
the news program Mr. Zuckerman Norris Williams Roth Gelinker we’re doing a segment about the Lance Hopper killing you probably remember the man killed in the courtyard of your building several years ago I’m hoping you can help me what I’m looking for is
…
    It was late, after eight o’clock. Past bedtime for Courtney. The little girl sat at Rune’s feet, tearing scheduling sheets into the shape of Easter bunnies.
    … How long have you lived in apartment 3B, 3C, 3D, 3E, 3F …?
    “Rune, bunny.”
    Whispering, hand over mouthpiece: “Beautiful,