That's the Chicago Way - 12. Chapter 12 - The Fat Lady Almost Sings

THAT’S THE CHICAGO WAY

Jack Scribe

Germany was the cause of Hitler as much as Chicago is responsible for the Chicago Tribune.

Alexander Woollcott

Chapter 12, THE FAT LADY ALMOST SINGS

There had been a damp coolness in the air Monday morning when Kris commuted to school, so he decided a bowl of vegetable chili for lunch at DePaul’s student center was in order. First of the season. ‘And more to come when the it arrives.’ It was a Chicagoan’s codeword for the first winter’s storm.

The noontime feeding frenzy was at its peak and he shared a table with a girl who was munching while reading from an encyclopedic-sized psychology text. ‘Two can play that game.’ He took a quick nibble to check the temperature and turned on his cell phone. Kris smiled when he noticed a text message from Rob Cooke. He scooped a larger bite of chili and read the text.

much happening. o’reilly dead and other stuff going down.

very busy. watch tonite and read kess. call tomorrow. r

'WTF?'

It was a Whiskey Tango Foxtrot moment. ‘O’Reilly’s dead? Crap…I can just imagine that Rob’s going at warp-speed on this story.’

He looked up and noticed his tablemate leaving. Kris mumbled ‘So long’ and set his laptop on the table space she’d vacated. ‘I’ll move it if someone needs a seat,’ he thought, as he scanned the dining area. As soon as his ISP connected, he went to his ‘favorites’ and clicked on the ABC7 link.

Under the Exclusive Breaking News banner, the Sean O’Reilly Found Dead headline in large and bold font jumped out. Underneath the headline was a large headshot of O’Reilly and two smaller pictures. One was O’Reilly with the mayor; the other was a pose of O’Reilly with Marv Revson. ‘Exactly what I’d do. Ties in all the relationships of these local sordid lives.’ He read the brief story and decided not to play the video. It was apparent to him this was a tease and there’d be more information that night. Kris recalled Rob’s ‘watch tonite’ alert in his text message.

He decided to check what the Trib had on the story and was impressed that the mighty newspaper credited ABC7 with the story. Same with the Sun-Times. He was about to look at NBC5 when he felt the presence of someone standing at the table. He looked up and saw Dennis Edstrom, the incredible disappearing assistant professor.

“Professor…how was your Sunday?” Kris decided to play it cool but let Dennis know he didn’t appreciate having their date impersonally canceled by a telephone message. ‘I must say though…he is friggin’ hot.’

“Exactly what I wanted to talk about,” Dennis replied. “Could I join you for a few moments?”

“Sure…be my guest. I’m not used to being blown off via voicemail.” Kris shook his head and closed his laptop. “Must be an academia thing.”

“Okay, I deserve that. You’re right; I should’ve spoken with you for real.” Dennis sat across from Kris and leaned forward. “Listen…you’re a neat guy and I…enjoyed getting to…well, getting to know you better. It was somewhere between awesome and spectacular. But after you left my place, I had a moment of clarity and realized I’d crossed a personal rubicon: it was a very bad idea for me to be dating a student, even though you’re not in one of my classes. I crossed a line…screwed up. So I decided to take a big step back before things went too far.”

“Rubicon, huh.” Kris paused to consider the explanation. A line from one of Napalm Death’s songs popped into his consciousness. Those who can’t escape the past are condemned to repeat it. The past gives us oversight but we have nothing if it is rehashed. ‘I guess Dennis has totally escaped, and maybe neither of us have anything to rehash.’

“Bottom line…you’re someone I could really fall for in a big way.”

“Me, too…professor.” Kris hadn’t exactly been thinking about Dennis as being marriage material but he wasn’t turned off by the idea. “I would think two enterprising guys could think of a way around that.”

“Hear me out. I originally thought we could do this – for Christ’s sake, this is a big city. But that would mean always looking over my shoulder. Point is; I can’t risk my job. DePaul has very clear guidelines about the do’s and don’ts of relationships with students – what we did ranks at the top of ‘termination with cause.’ So…”

“I guess I get it.” Kris realized they’d both let their dicks think for them and hadn’t considered that Dennis might get his Johnson cut off by the school. “So no more hospitality at your crib?”

“That’s what I’m saying…however tempting.” Dennis smiled and turned his palms up with a shrug. “Truce?”

“I admit to being lured in by your wicked charm…plus a few other assets.” Kris returned the smile. “And then, wham. I was pissed off at the way you broke our date…it’s the male ego thing. But I’m a big boy and I’ll lick my wounds. You do have a lot to lose, and that’s that. I just saw you as a guy who flipped my switch and…is it okay if we have coffee once in a while?”

“Coffee…and maybe dinner sometime…as friends.” Dennis reached over and offered his hand.

Kris grabbed Dennis’s hand and held it for a moment before shaking. “Friends, for sure.” Their evening in heat flashed through his mind for a moment. ‘Memories of this stud will be a big part of my hit parade for a while.’

“I’d ask you to join me for dinner this week, but I’m tied up with class prep. Perhaps the following week?”

“As long as I don’t have a big test or assignment due the next day…sure,” Kris replied. “I’d like that.”

Dennis stood and winked. “Let’s talk next Monday. In the meantime, I’ve got to prep for my next class. Kris, I’m glad we worked this out.” He did a small wrist wave and walked away.

‘Very cool. He was totally adult and I was being a self-centered shit…for no good reason. Memo to self: don’t be such a wuss.’ Kris opened his laptop and went back to the NBC5 site. There was only a headline on O’Reilly’s death with a small story – and recognizing ABC7 as the source in a very small font at the bottom. He checked CBS2. Same thing. ‘Rob and his crew are having a busy day, and it’s only going to get busier.’ Kris counted the hours before he could call. ‘Ten o’clock tomorrow morning.’

 ~~~~~

It was the expected double-whammy afternoon for Rob with a few speed bumps thrown in. The Mayor issued condolences through his press spokesman and nothing more. Video crews had captured the crime scene in Lincolnwood, footage of Sean O’Reilly’s condo and an action shot of Evan Jankovic being escorted into the FBI’s Chicago office building…solo. Apparently Marv Revson hadn’t been in his office and the FBI issued a BOLO – be on the lookout. As expected, the FBI had announced a 3:00 p.m. news conference and another ABC7 crew was over at the Federal Building setting up. The Feds were usually very punctual and Rob would know what he could use very soon.

The ‘second city’ always made good copy. But with the Chicago connection permeated in the White House – a colorful cast of characters – New York was extremely interested in the story. ‘Well, maybe two or three minutes worth.’ Rob typed a script for the teleprompter. The story concerning O’Reilly’s death and Revson’s disappearance had been slotted in as the third lead of World News – positioned right before the first commercial. Rob was satisfied with the placement because it meant a nice tease in the opening. He was tightening his story for two minutes, forty-three seconds – the remainder of the time was for the usual greeting and sign-off with Diane Sawyer.

Busy, busy.

He planned on using a two-minute report for the local 4:00 p.m. Eyewitness News; he’d be the reporter because he and Wendy Cité didn’t anchor that show. Then for his 5:00 p.m. newscast with Wendy, Rob planned on an expanded three-minute report as the lead. During the World News network broadcast, at 5:37 p.m. to be exact, he’d be live with Diane. Finally for their 6:00 p.m. newscast, he’d repeat the three minutes with any updates.

His cell phone vibrated. 3:16.

“Kess, whazzup?”

“The conference just ended. It was a twofer – the local FBI guy and our CPD commander friend…Schmidt. Quick, to the point, and not a lot of information.”

“What’d they say about Revson?”

“Poof…disappeared. Last seen at the Renaissance Hotel in Northbrook with his wife for a weekend staycation. She’s at home and that’s about it. Nothing much about the kid, Evan Jankovic. At this point, he’s being detained but they didn’t expand on it. Also, the CPD is in charge of the homicide investigation. Commander Schmidt said the murder suspects have been identified but nothing more. All in all, rather disappointing.”

“Okay, hang loose. I’ll make a few calls, see what I can snare and get back to you in ten minutes or so. We’ve both got deadlines and I’m dangerously in the shit creek zone.”

“Later.”

Rob immediately called Oleg and was connected after one ring.

“We must be plugged into the psychic network…I was just about to give you a buzz.”

“The FBI and police are being very coy about the murder and Revson’s disappearance. Ergo, the press conference was like a limp dick and I don’t have squat. Any help would be appreciated.”

“I heard,” Oleg replied. “Limp dicks aside, here’s what I can give you without pissing off my contacts. First, Jankovic is only being looked at as an accessory for money laundering and tax evasion…but that probably won’t stick because of flimsy evidence. I’m emailing you a partial list of several banks Revson used – and approximate amounts of money he has squirreled away. We’re talking millions. You can say that several incriminating documents were found at an off-site storage location…but don’t say anything about the studio apartment. Word is, Evan Jankovic’s being released on recognizance. The Feds can’t find his prints in that studio…and my guy didn’t mention Jankovic’s name or anything about the phone extension in his apartment.”

“Got it…Evan’s a small fish who’s being tossed back.”

“Right. Judgment call…and I support it.”

“But I am getting jazzed about the money trail.” Rob would use this information for a corruption angle. “Is this Revson and O’Reilly’s stash?”

“No, strictly Marv’s. What you dug up with Jerry Franklin’s help was O’Reilly’s ‘eff-you’ money. Like it’ll do him any good…unless he uses some of the cash for admission at the pearly gates.”

“I don’t think the guy in charge up there would give Sean a break,” Rob replied with a chuckle.

“Yeah…whoever the ‘guy’ or 'gal' is.” Oleg shared the laugh and continued. “Okay, here’s another little tidbit that you can use. The two suspects who did O’Reilly in haven’t been caught yet and the trail is getting cold. However, they are employees of Revson…absolutely no doubt about it…and you can take that to the bank. I just can’t let you use names at this point for obvious reasons.”

“This is huge.” Rob wished he could I.D. the suspects but was sure this exclusive, however vague, would be appreciated by New York and his bosses. “I’ll look for the email as soon as we’re finished.”

“If there’s anything more I can share, you got it. But don’t count on anything more today…I can only squeeze this rock so far.”

“I’ve got enough to build a good story – locally and for the network. We’re penned in for a slot around seven minutes into World News.”

“Excellent…I’ll be sure to be watching. By the way, I’m definitely coming out to Chicago for Jerry’s party this weekend. I’ve got business in New York next week and will stop off on the way.”

“It’ll be good to see you again.”

“Rob, I gotta run. Best luck on the story.”

“With your help, it’ll be a rocker. Mucho gracias…I’ll talk with you soon. Bye.”

He pocketed his cell and went to his producer’s office.

“Manny, I’ve got two exclusive items that I’d like to keep close to my vest, so to speak, until World News.”

“What’s up?” Manny asked, with an eyebrow askew.

“If we run the story with my new stuff at four o’clock, and again at five, our friendly competition will have time to alert New York and have something for their network shows. What I propose is doing a headline story with teasers at four and five. I roll out the exclusives on World News…and lead off the six o’clock broadcast with the whole story. I will absolutely fill a solid three minutes for World News.”

“What have you got?”

Rob ran down the basics of what he’d write and report for the earlier local newscasts, and what would be added for World News…and his own six o’clock lead. He also suggested that a camera crew go outside on State Street and tape ten minutes of a street scene with the Chicago Theater marquee in the background.

“I could do the report from the green screen…and use the video and audio from the street. The shot will give the story local color…but being live outside would be a bitch. Setting up an actual remote during rush hour pedestrian foot traffic....”

“...And risking a bunch of bozos standing behind you waving and giving the camera a finger,” Manny replied.

“Exactly.”

Manny paused for a moment and wrinkled his furrowed brow while thumping his fingertips on the desk. “I don’t know…sounds a little bit too flashy for me. And New York will expect us to use Studio B.”

“You’re right…I was getting carried away,” Rob replied. Studio B was inside the station’s broadcast center containing a signature set very similar to the network’s New York news studio.

“And we’ll use the lakefront background. Right now, I’m calling New York and give them a ‘heads-up’ on the exclusive info. Unless you hear differently, plan on the three minutes. However, you need to pull together the script and video voiceovers in the next twenty minutes? Can do?”

“Jeez, what a ball buster,” Rob replied with a grin. “But for you, I’ll do it.”

He opened his email and found Oleg’s AOI name as last in. He quickly scanned the attachments and printed them. Rob was careful to delete any reference to Oleg and typed a quick forwarding message.

Here’s the poop…lots of detail. On deadline. Can’t talk now. Check out

Sawyer – World News. I’m on @ 5:37. Any questions…call after 6:30.

One lead to follow: Jankovic is out on bail. Murder suspects work for

Revson. Track down – maybe he can identify. Home – 1360 LDS #522

Cell – 312-555-9090 Rob

He forwarded the email to John Kess and got to work.

~~~~~

The Sunday drive from Chicago to North Platte, Nebraska, were seven hundred of the most boring miles Marv Revson had experienced in many years – compounded by wheeling a used Kia minivan west on I-80. Except for a few urban areas, it was one flat cornfield after another. Even the radio stations were boring; a choice between sports shows, local talk and stations urging listeners to repent and be saved. As far as Marv was concerned, North Platte was just another pimple on this vast heartland and a place to hole up for that night. ‘What a bum fuck town.’ He let his mind wander while working on his grooming disguise in the motel, and considered all that had happened.

After the disturbing news concerning the discovery of Sean’s Caymans accounts on top of weaselly Kess’s and Cooke’s shit-stirring, Marv knew it was time for more than the usual damage control. He went to Plan B. Wally and Moses had agreed to meet Marv Saturday evening after they’d finished stashing Sean’s body in the trunk of the Caddie. It was to be a ‘thank you’ bonus for a job well done from the boss, something that’d occurred on many occasions over the years. What his associates hadn’t known was that loyalty went only so far. In Marv’s world, loyalty had a shelf life with an expiration date. No ‘attaboys’ and envelopes stuffed with cash this time because they’d become a risk to Marv. A few friends of a friend met them instead. The friends, once removed from Marv’s usual contact, had been contracted to make Wally and Moses permanently disappear into the depths of Lake Michigan – courtesy of a few hundred pounds of Quikrete cement – and to facilitate their car being stripped down of all usable parts in a chop shop on the South Side.

However, with three dead bodies in the rearview mirror and the Feds sniffing around, Marv decided it was time to burn bridges. Completely.

While all of these personnel changes and asset modifications transpired, he’d stayed at the Renaissance Hotel, sharing champagne and crème brulee with his boring wife via room service: a final touch to end their forty-eight hour spa vacation before bed…and an end to their marriage of convenience. Marv kissed her lightly and watched as Mrs. Revson took her usual evening pills. She habitually was a deep and late sleeper courtesy of Ambien. Early Sunday morning, Marv quietly packed and placed a note on the hotel room nightstand. He explained he had to leave on emergency business, had left their car in the hotel garage and suggested she drive home whenever she was ready. He ended the note with a postscript – I don’t know how long I’ll be gone…so don’t worry – and was out of the Renaissance by 6:00 a.m. Another friend of a friend picked him up in the Kia – arranged by the friend – and drove Marv home. Marv kept the minivan and another friend picked up that friend.

Lots of friends in this subterranean mob culture if you had cash to pay for services rendered.

The logistics of Plan B included retrieving his aluminum carrying case in the basement containing $200,000 in used hundreds and twenty-dollar bills, a driver’s license and a passport bearing his new name and a headshot showing a new image. In addition, he packed a credit card issued to his new identity that had been used just enough to keep the account current, other pertinent papers and a charged throwaway phone. By seven, Marv had packed two suitcases of clothes and toiletries, showered, carefully shaved his mustache, sideburns and head…and was gone. ‘So long Chicago and life as I knew it.’ He made sure all traces of his hair were flushed away.

Life as he knew it included a wife who looked upon him as her personal ATM machine, a business that had served its purpose of providing a cash flow, a few cronies with whom he played cards at the country club, and a gabby sister who was married to a tax accountant mensch. ‘He’ll look after her…and make sure my wife Sophie doesn’t blow everything I left her.’

By 8:00 p.m., Marv was having a solo Sunday dinner at the Applebee’s in North Platte and plotting his next move. New documents? Check. Walking-around money? Check. I.D. numbers to his China Construction Bank account? Check. Before bed, he smooth-shaved his head and face once more, and applied a Clarins Delicious Self-Tanning Cream for the first time. He’d researched the product and was pleased that most reviews gave the cream a five-star rating. It gave the user a natural-looking light tan. ‘No fake orange color like that politician in Washington.’ The instructions said to apply it every two days and he decided to check out the results Monday night in New Mexico.

He didn’t reach the next roadside motel on the outskirts of Albuquerque off of I-40 until late afternoon just after four – Mountain Daylight Savings Time. ‘What a comedown from the Renaissance,’ he’d thought while checking in. The lobby was a generic statement of blandness: white enamel walls, vinyl tile flooring, a table with a coffee urn, a rack with local merchant brochures and a mousy teenage girl tending the desk. Marv paid cash and quickly went back to his minivan. The queen-bed ground floor room odorously reinforced his opinion. ‘God only knows what happened on this bedspread.’ The 19-inch Zenith television set was bolted onto the fake wood desktop and above the TV was a faded desert scene print. The hue of the carpet was somewhere between dusty rose and orange rust. ‘It’s odd that this piece-of-shit motel is owned by a French company. So much for French hospitality.’

He picked up a dinner from KFC down the block and checked out CNN while snacking on the Colonel’s secret recipe. Nothing pertained to Chicago. ‘Under the radar…so far.’ Marv checked the channels. He couldn’t find WGN – the far-reaching Chicago ‘superstation’ – in the channel listings, and decided to wait until morning to call his friend of a friend contact for an update. He decided to watch the HBO movie and go to bed early. ‘California here I come…at least for a few days.’

~~~~~

The first two local newscasts were smooth – at 4:00 p.m. Rob was the reporter in the breaking news lead; at 5:00 p.m. he was the co-anchor with Wendy Cité. As soon as they were off the air, he did a fast makeup repair and went to Studio B, one of the station’s larger facilities.

Moments later, he was standing in front of the lakefront backdrop. In his IFB earpiece he heard the wrap-up of the story before his, and Diane Sawyer as she paused to shift gears. He looked at the monitor to check his position, licked his lips and turned on his solemn smile.

“We next turn to Chicago,” Diane said. “The vibrant Windy City is caught again in another episode of charges that include alleged money laundering by suspects connected to public officials and murder. And that’s just for openers. For exclusive breaking news, here’s Rob Cooke.”

The picture switched from a tight headshot of coifed, blond Diane in front of a soft red floating graphic to Rob Cooke, framed at the waist in a dark blazer and tie, with the circle-7 logo pin in his lapel. To viewers in other areas of the country, he projected an image of being the Chicago correspondent for the network.

“Good evening, Diane. Authorities are still cautious about revealing more information concerning their investigation into Sean O’Reilly’s brutal murder yesterday evening. Mr. O’Reilly, who was the mayor’s second cousin, has been the target of an investigation concerning alleged business irregularities with the city. However, that focus changed when his body was found in the trunk of his personal automobile yesterday morning. Also under investigation is Marvin Revson, the younger brother of disgraced political insider Anthony Revson. ABC has learned that the two primary suspects in the murder of Mr. O’Reilly are associates who are on Marvin Revson’s payroll.”

For the next 68 seconds, the program went to the background story that Rob had pre-recorded. The floor director gave a five-second countdown and Rob came back live.

“We can also report that documents have surfaced that shows Mr. Revson used several foreign banks to transfer funds. While we can’t yet name the source of the documents, a quick audit reveals that his accounts may be worth in excess of seventeen million dollars.”

The next pre-recorded portion was 85 seconds. Rob mentioned offshore bank accounts in Macedonia, Liechtenstein and Singapore but didn’t identify Evan’s role as an administrative assistant.

Live again.

“The big question among many in the Chicago law enforcement community is…where is Marvin Revson? He has not been seen for the past forty-eight hours and authorities – both the FBI and the Chicago Police Department – are very anxious to speak with him. They are also broadening the net to apprehend the two murder suspects. According to a source, confiscated records show the two males have been on the Revson payroll for several years.”

“Rob, it appears the colorful and violent history of Chicago is very much at the forefront this evening. What are the police and FBI doing to find Mr. Revson?”

“They are being very cautious about the investigation. However, between my sources and those of John Kess, the reporter for NewWord, a local alternative newspaper, we will continue to stay on top of this fluid story. This is Rob Cooke in Chicago. Diane?”

Thank you, Rob.”

The LED clock under the camera lens showed 05:40:00.

Rob took a deep breath and smiled when Manny told him it was a great story through his IFB.

“Appreciate it, Manny. Please pass on my thanks to everyone in the control room.” He removed his ear bud, left Studio B and went directly to the office. He was hungry and wound up. ‘But first, the six o’clock news.’

From behind the desk partition he heard Wendy’s voice. “You showboater…that was a helluva story for World News. You do so well in Studio B, you should consider moving there permanently and I’ll stay in the window set.”

He looked over the partition and stuck his tongue out at Wendy. “If I didn’t love you so much, I’d say, ‘fuck you.’ However, since we’re friends…how about going out for a quickie across the street at The Wit…dinner, of course…around seven.”

“Oh, baby…only dinner?” Wendy raised her eyebrow, smiled and licked her lips. “You’re on. Any changes for the six o’clock?”

“I’m going to repeat the expanded O’Reilly slash Revson lead story from the desk…so I need an extra minute. I’ll call Manny and see what and where they want to trim.”

“Probably sports…it’s a slow day for the jocks. You talk with Manny and I’ll call the restaurant.”

Indeed, there wasn’t much happening in sports news and that segment lost the minute in question. The six o’clock newscast was completed without a miscue and the entire crew was ready for the dinner break. Rob told Wendy he needed about thirty minutes to work the phones and they planned on meeting in the restaurant at The Wit hotel at seven.

Rob spread out on his desktop what Oleg had emailed and called John Kess.

“Hey, John. Sorry I couldn’t talk earlier. The network news report put on some pressure.”

“But it was effective. And I know your competition were shitting little envy bricks.” John chuckled and added, “And I’ve got something that’ll make the Trib and Sun-Times crazy.”

“Hmmm, something I can use on the ten o’clock show tonight? I’d work through dinner if it’s that hot.”

“I’d prefer you waiting until tomorrow morning…but it’s your call since this has developed into a partnership thing.”

“What did you find out and what do you mean by partnership?” Rob liked the ‘partnership’ idea. ‘Legitimizes my newsreader image.’

“Lemme answer the second part, first. The article I’ve just written for tomorrow will have your name with mine, sharing a byline.”

“Wow, I like that,” Rob replied. “I accept that wholeheartedly.”

“Done. Now, the first part is more complicated. When you told me about Jankovic being released, I staked out his apartment building – in the lobby since I knew he’d probably be returning by cab – and ambushed him. Evan almost crapped in his pants when I told him what I knew about the murder suspects.”

“That dude has been changing his drawers quite frequently these past few days.”

“Especially, Rob, when I told him to either cooperate with me or face his name being tied in with O’Reilly’s murder.”

“Oh, God…that must have been a two-load pooper for Evan,” Rob said with a laugh.

“He got the message really quick and invited me up to his infamous apartment. I played dumb about the financial data we have and went right to the bottom line – the names of the two employees who did in O’Reilly. I didn’t even use the usual ‘alleged’ in the question. Jankovic didn’t even hedge after I assured him his name wouldn’t be involved. He flat out said the men are Wally Lipshitz and Moses Eisenberg…muscle for Revson. Or, to use Evan’s words…those fucking goons. He said he was pretty sure they were the same ones who left those threatening notes.”

“Clears up that puzzle.”

“Evan was able to access the Revson office database and came up with addresses, telephone numbers, et cetera. I’ll put everything in an email to you…and an advance copy of my story. In return, could you just tease this story tonight and wait until tomorrow’s morning newscast? I’d like us to scoop everyone in print and broadcasting at the same time.”

“Since you put it that way…along with a byline credit for me…what the hell. Yeah, I’ll handle it as a tease tonight…let Brad Peters, the news director, figure out the rest.” Rob wanted to read the email and story first. ‘I’d prefer to call Brad after we’re off the air tonight. But I should call him now…just in case he differs with my thoughts.’

“Excellent. It’ll be a great Tuesday for both of us. I’ll fire off the email as soon as I proof the story one more time.”

“And I’ll grab a fast dinner. Looking forward to reading the story…partner.”

“Partner…who’da thought? Bye.”

Rob called Brad’s cell phone and was transferred to voicemail. He left a brief message to call back and felt relieved there wasn’t a discussion about a decision on which he might be on the losing side.

‘One final call to make,’ he thought as he found Oleg’s number.

“Hello, again. If we keep talking so regularly, perhaps we should sign up for Verizon’s family plan.”

“Sorry to interrupt…just need one thing. I’m going to give you two names that Kess has identified as the murder suspects. If we’re correct, can you confirm?”

“It’s a hair-splitting world I live in. If I hang up, you figure it out.”

“Wally Lipshitz and Moses Eisenberg.”

The line went dead.

Rob went across the street to The Wit hotel and dinner with Wendy at the casual State and Lake restaurant.They shared a chopped salad and crabcakes, and were back in the office by 7:45 p.m. Rob massaged the lead story. He added, “John Kess will be revealing more details about the O’Reilly murder in tomorrow’s NewWord.”

As soon as the newscast was over, Rob’s cell phone was ringing. He checked the screen and confirmed that Brad Peters had been watching.

“Hey, Boss. You beat me to calling you.”

“You had a helluva day…but what’s with tonight’s cliffhanger? I just got out of the movies and saw your email. Manny was still in the control room and gave me the rundown of your opening story.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk about.” Rob was delighted he’d covered his ass and that Brad had turned off his cell at the theater. Rob ran through the chain of events leading up to his pre-show conversation with John Kess, and finally Kess’s request.

“I admit being completely subjective on the topic of Kess including me in the byline,” Rob added. “That’s too good of an ego-stroke to pass up.”

“Looks good for the station, too. And weighing in everything, I think you made the right decision. Gives us a way to stretch out a great story into tomorrow’s news cycle.”

“That, too. I felt we had an obligation to Kess and the idea of having another exclusive was too good to pass up. I’m going to email Kess’s story to you. He just sent me an advance copy and you can figure out what you want to do.” Rob decided to omit that he’d been sitting on Kess’s story for three hours.

“Excellent. Then I can make a few notes and forward it to Thorny for the early morning show. If I think it warrants a look-see in New York, I’ll have Thorny handle it.”

“One favor. If GMA wants something, could Tamara do the story? If that’s a yes, I’d love to sleep in tomorrow morning.”

“Rob, I’ll insist on it so you can get some beauty sleep. Seriously, Tamara would love a chance to strut her stuff and I think she’ll do a good job…if GMA wants something. See you tomorrow afternoon.”

“Thanks, Boss.”

__________________________

TO BE CONTINUED

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