“Theesus!” Flemm exclaimed, spitting crumbs. He looked as if he were about to cry, and in fact he was. “You got shot at? Really?”
Christina nodded uneasily.
“With a machine gun? Honest to God?” Plaintively he added, “Was it an Uzi?”
“I’m not sure, Ray.”
Christina knew his heart was breaking; Reynaldo had been waiting his entire broadcast career for an experience like that. Once he had drunkenly confided to Christina that his secret dream was to be shot in the thigh—live on national television. Not a life-threatening wound, just enough to make him go down. “I’m tired of getting beat up,” he had told Christina that night. “I want to break some new ground.” In Reynaldo’s secret dream, the TV camera would jiggle at the sound of gunshots, then pan dramatically to focus on his prone and blood-splattered form sprawled on the street. In the dream, Reynaldo would be clutching his microphone, bravely continuing to broadcast while paramedics worked feverishly to save his life.
The last clip, as Reynaldo dreamed it, was a close-up of his famous face: the lantern jaw clenched in agony, a grimace showcasing his luxurious capped teeth. Then the trademark sign-off: “This is Reynaldo Flemm, reporting In Your Face!”—just as the ambulance doors swung shut.
“I can’t believe this,” Reynaldo moaned over his breakfast. “Producers aren’t supposed to get shot, the talent is.”
Christina Marks sipped a three-dollar orange juice. “In the first place, Ray, I wasn’t the one who got shot—”
“Yeah but—”
“In the second place, you would’ve pissed your pants if you’d been there. This is no longer fun and games, Ray. Somebody is trying to murder Stranahan. Probably the same goon who killed his ex-wife.”
Flemm was still pouting. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going out to Stiltsville?”
“You were locked in your room, remember? Measuring your body parts.” Christina patted his arm. “Have some more marmalade.”
Worriedly, Reynaldo asked, “Does this mean you get to do the stand-up? I mean, since you eyewitnessed the shooting and not me.”
“Ray, I have absolutely no interest in doing a stand-up. I don’t want to be on camera.”
“You mean it?” His voice dripped with relief. Pathetic, Christina thought; the man is pathetic.
Clearing his throat, Reynaldo Flemm said, “I’ve got some bad news of my own, Chris.”
Christina dabbed her lips with the corner of the napkin.”Does it involve your trip to New York?”
Flemm nodded yes.
“And, perhaps, Maggie Gonzalez?”
“I’m afraid so,” he said.
“She’s missing again, isn’t she, Ray?”
Flemm said, “We had a dinner set up at the Palm.”
“And she never showed.”
“Right,” he said.
“Was this before or after you wired her the fifteen thousand?” Christina asked.
“Hey, I’m not stupid. I only sent half.”
“Shit.” Christina drummed her fingernails on the table.
Reynaldo Flemm sighed and turned away. Absently he ran a hand through his new golden tendrils. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “You still want to dump this story?”
“No,” Christina said. “No, I don’t.”
Mick Stranahan looked through mug shots all morning, knowing he would never find the killer’s face.
“Look anyway,” said Al Garcia.
Stranahan flipped to another page. “Is it just my imagination, “ he said, “or are these assholes getting uglier every year?”
“I’ve noticed that, too,” Garcia said.
“Speaking of which, I got a friendly visit from Murdock and Salazar at the hospital.” Stranahan told Garcia what had happened.
“I’ll report it to I. A., if you want,” Garcia said. , I.A. was Internal Affairs, where detectives Murdock and Salazar probably had files as thick as the Dade County Yellow Pages.
“Don’t push it,” said Stranahan. “I just wanted you to know what they’re up to.”
“Pricks,” Garcia grunted. “I’ll think of something.”
“I thought you had clout.”
“Clout? All I got is a ten-cent commendation and a gimp arm, same as you. Only mine came from a sawed-off.”
“I’m impressed,” said Mick Stranahan. He closed the mug book and pushed it across the table. “He’s not in here, Al. You got one for circus freaks?”
“That bad, huh?”
Stranahan said, “Bad’s not the word.” It wasn’t.
“Want to try a composite? Let me call one of the artists.”