The Night Crew

the store and began walking sideways, working around the group on the floor, and one of the counterwomen stood up and pointed a finger at him and said, ‘‘Get out of here, that’s not allowed, that’s not allowed.’’
    Anna shouted at the woman, ‘‘Look at the guy, he’s bleeding, help him,’’ and the woman looked back down, and then grabbed a napkin holder and dropped onto her knees and pulled out a four-inch loaf of napkins and handed it to another woman who was apparently trying to staunch a wound. Coughlin was looking past the camera and Anna shouted, ‘‘Keep running for Christ’s sake . . .’’
    Three cops hurried in the door. One spotted the camera and waved it away, and Coughlin took it down again. Anna said, ‘‘Okay, come this way, come toward me, toward the side door.’’ As they went, she asked the crowd of coffeedrinkers, ‘‘Did anyone see this? Any witnesses?’’
    Two or three nodded, and she said, ‘‘We’d like to get statements outside, if anyone has time.’’
    ‘‘Will this be in the newspaper tomorrow?’’ somebody asked.
    ‘‘Maybe TV,’’ Anna said.
    A paramedic truck arrived as they did the interviews, and Coughlin moved away again to catch the wounded man being carried out. The shooter with the burned face was cuffed and put in another ambulance, and then there was nothing but a crowd of gawkers and the flashing lights on the cop car.
    ‘‘This way, back to the truck,’’ Anna told Coughlin. ‘‘Hurry.’’
    ‘‘I’m running my ass off,’’ he snarled.
    She shook her head: ‘‘Still not moving fast enough,’’ she said.
    Coughlin caught up with her halfway to the truck, pulled the headset off and said, ‘‘What’s the rush?’’
    ‘‘Cops might give us a hard time, especially if the Starbucks people complain. Might want to look at the tape: we gotta get out of here before they start thinking about it.’’
    He nodded, and hurried along with her. Louis took the camera and Coughlin jumped into the driver’s seat. ‘‘Kind of a rush,’’ he said, starting the truck.
    ‘‘Yeah, but you gotta move,’’ Anna said. ‘‘You were way too slow.’’
    ‘‘Hey, I’m a beginner,’’ he said. He took the truck out into the street, as Louis popped the tape out of the camera. ‘‘I did all right for a beginner.’’
    She shrugged, then smiled. ‘‘Yeah, I guess. For a guy who doesn’t know the rules. But next time, rules number one and two: drive fast, then run.’’
    ‘‘Yes, ma’am.’’ He laughed, a little giddy. Then: ‘‘How come nobody else showed up? No competition?’’
    Anna shrugged: ‘‘ ’Cause this didn’t amount to anything. The victim wasn’t even killed—though getting the shooter was a little different. I hope you shot the gun on the street.’’
    ‘‘Yeah, yeah . . .’’
    ‘‘Anyway, there’s no way this would make the papers, much less TV news, just on what happened. Routine holdup shooting. We might have a couple of good images, so maybe it’ll make it—not because it means anything, but because the images are good.’’
    ‘‘I hope I got some,’’ Coughlin said nervously, looking over his shoulder at Louis. ‘‘I just kept pulling the trigger.’’
    ‘‘You did okay,’’ Louis said from the back of the truck. He had the tape up on a monitor. ‘‘It’s not great, but it’s usable.’’
    Anna watched as Louis rolled through it, then turned to Coughlin. ‘‘A couple of things: You move too fast from one subject to the next. You show the guy on the ground, the shooter, and the gun, but only for a couple of seconds each time. You have to dwell on them for a moment. Remember, we can always cut, but we can’t get more. Same with the wounded guy inside. You gotta stay on him: he’s the interest, and the women working on him. But mostly the wounded guy.’’
    ‘‘I was thinking I should help,’’ Coughlin said.
    ‘‘No,’’ Anna said. ‘‘You can’t think that way if you ride with us. You’re making the movie, not acting in it. You’re an eye.’’
    ‘‘That’s cold,’’ Coughlin said.
    ‘‘That’s the way it is,’’ said Anna.
    A couple of minutes later, Coughlin took the radio out of his pocket, pushed the transmit button and asked, ‘‘ Anything?’’
    He listened, then said to Anna, ‘‘Nothing.’’
    Anna got out her phone and started dialing TV stations. Two kids, motorheads from a valley technical school, were chasing each other