MANHATTAN – 14 OCTOBER
Ricky Morgan pulled his baseball cap even lower over his eyes as he waited for the light to turn green. He blipped the throttle impatiently and sucked in the beautiful sound of the Ferrari’s V12 engine as it roared an eager response. He switched his radio to HOT 97 ROCK. Opposite him, a giant digital screen was advertising Macy’s to the traffic. A directional receiver on the screen detected that the radios in most of the vehicles stopped at the junction were tuned to rock and pop stations. The receiver’s software did the rest and the screen quickly switched to an advert for Budweiser. The traffic light changed and in a haze of burning rubber, Ricky Morgan was up to one hundred m.p.h. in less than five seconds. What a rush. Not that he was in a hurry. They’d wait.
The sun was beating down on the fast-moving New Jersey Turnpike route to the Meadowlands complex and A$AP Rocky was pumping through the Ferrari’s sixteen speakers. Ricky was on his way to the MetLife Stadium to shoot another TV commercial and life was good. He thought back to all the times he’d travelled out there on the bus from the Port Authority Station to watch his heroes at the old Giants Stadium. Never thought he’d be making the journey like this, to pick up easy money for smiling into a camera and talking about burgers. And it was great to be able to look after his mom’s medical bills. Jeez . . . hope she’ll be okay.
‘Okay, folks, and . . . action.’
Ricky Morgan, in his blue and white Giants uniform, helmet under his arm, was sitting near the front of the east end stand. The camera was pointing downwards so that the playing field was in the background. Ricky turned slowly, looked into the camera and smiled.
‘BurgerFantastic, for a fantastic life,’ he said. He took a huge bite of the BurgerFantastic in his right hand, munched hard and winked into the camera.
‘And . . . that’s a wrap,’ said the director.
‘Nice one, Ricky,’ said Anna Milani of Dynamic Comm-unications, who was standing behind the camera. ‘Just a few more photos while we’re here and that’s us finished.’
‘Sure, no prob.’ He glanced down at the burger in his hand. ‘Hey, these burgers are really good,’ he said. ‘I’m gettin’ to like them.’
The new TV commercial aired on eight New York satellite broadcast and cable stations, starting the third weekend of November. Sales at BurgerFantastic increased the following week by a further twenty-eight per cent and maintained an increase of twenty-one per cent. The Sunday after the first TV adverts were shown, the Giants were at home to Denver, in front of a full house. Over forty thousand people in the MetLife Stadium swamped the fifteen BurgerFantastic outlets around the complex for the ‘Buy one, get one free’ offer.
*
Christopher White grinned sheepishly as Jane Cash probed him about his love life. She was a natural comedian and the audience loved her questions. No wonder the Jane Cash Show on NBC got the highest ratings in New York. Jane caught the producer’s signal. Two minutes to go. She turned up her charm by leaning towards Christopher White, New York’s top basketball player, and a huge catch for her show. Sure to boost the ratings even higher, and one in the eye for Jimmy Fallon. Better make sure he gets in the plug we agreed on.
‘So, tell me, Christopher, apart from all the hot women, what’s your secret to staying really healthy and on top of your game?’
‘Well, you know, Jane, it’s really all down to a balanced diet and plenty of exercise.’
‘But you can’t always feel on top form?’
‘No, sure, and to be honest, I did have a bit of stomach trouble for a while.’
‘Trouble? Looks nice and flat to me.’
The audience laughed.
‘No, I was getting cramps and headaches. And not feeling right on top of things. I wasn’t making as many baskets either.’
‘Oh, that doesn’t sound like you . . .’
‘Yeah, then my doctor put me on these new tablets called SuperVerve. They really helped me, so now I take them anytime I’m not feeling one hundred per cent.’
‘SuperVerve?’ said Jane.
‘Yep, SuperVerve. As the saying goes, “Puts the verve back into your life”.’ The audience laughed again as he added, ‘Puts the verve back into my game too.’
‘Well, Christopher White, you sure are a super guy. And New York loves you.’ The producer was counting down from ten. ‘Christopher, thanks for being my guest. We’ll see you tomorrow night, folks.’ The floor manager whipped the audience up into thunderous applause and cheering, and the credits rolled.
Watching from the wings, Anna Milani could hardly contain her excitement. That was a real winner. Yamoura will be delighted.
*
SAITON, NEAR TOKYO – 5 NOVEMBER
Lumo Kinotoa was pouring a second cup of tea. The table was strewn with files, sheets of paper and printouts, scattered around the chessboard centrepiece.
‘Lumo, the detective’s girlfriend was telling me all about how dangerous his job can be. She mentioned that he has begun to suspect he is being followed for some reason,’ said Tsan Yohoto.
‘Do you think we should call off the surveillance? Or should we keep him under observation, Tsan?’
‘I think we should continue to keep an eye on him, Lumo. But please tactfully warn our friends to be a little more careful.’
‘I’ll send a message after the meeting.’
Yohoto nodded. ‘Now, back to business.’
‘I believe the basketball player was very good on that TV show,’ said Kinotoa.
‘Yes, first class,’ Tsan Yohoto responded. ‘They were hoping for The Late Late Show, but apparently they wouldn’t agree to the product endorsement. Dynamic are going to try them again later.’ The conversation paused as Lumo Kinotoa took a sip of tea. He put his cup down delicately.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘I have a concern about the next phase of the marketing of the SuperVerve tablets. We are making such marvellous progress on all fronts, but the weight loss claim for SuperVerve has always struck me as the riskiest with the Food and Drug Administration. I suggest that we leave well alone.’
There was a silence, which lasted for a good dozen ticks from the grandfather clock. Never before had there been a suggestion that they alter the plan. To do so would be to admit that their initial plan had a flaw, and that was hard to envisage.
Tsan Yohoto broke the silence. ‘My great friend, Lumo. I appreciate your advice. But when you feel the momentum starting to help you throw your opponent over your back, you do not hesitate and allow him time to recover. We must not lose our advantage. We must push ahead on all fronts.’
*
ATLANTA CITY – 17 DECEMBER
Richard Allen, Senior Vice President of Dupitol Pharma, the multinational pharmaceutical giant, was pure Texan, fair-haired with a tanned six-foot-three frame. The monthly sales meeting with his twenty-five regional sales directors was not going well.
‘For chrissakes, Tom, what’s going on?’ he asked, exasperated. ‘It’s a booming market,’ he said to his sales director from New York. ‘How can we be down over five per cent overall?’
‘Well, Richard, I think it’s all down to the losses in our cephalosporin sales.’
‘What’s going on?’
‘Yamoura have cut the cost of their cephalosporin in half,’ said a nervous Tom Jackson. ‘So, under the economic prescribing policy, all the hospitals have to use their stuff. And they’re flooding the city with this SuperVerve product, which is cephalosporin antibiotic, pure and simple.’
‘So, what’s the big deal?’
‘They’re claiming it cures every illness known to mankind. And they’re throwing an absolute fortune at marketing the stuff. I’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘What illnesses exactly?’
‘Stomach cramps, bowel inflammation, chest infection – fair enough. Headaches – doubtful. More energy – very doubtful. Weight loss – I don’t believe it.’
Richard Allen was incredulous. ‘Weight loss! Haven’t the FDA been asking questions yet?’
‘Not that I can see. Yamoura seem to have US doctors in their pockets.’
‘Humph,’ grunted Allen. ‘We should report them.’
‘Are you joking, Rich? We’re launching our own new female sexual dysfunction illness and cure next spring. Last thing we want is the Yamoura guys in the FDA blocking us.’
His boss hesitated. ‘Yeah, you’re right.’
‘So, what’s been the impact on our cephalosporin sales?’
‘Pretty much one hundred per cent.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Exactly that. We’ve hardly sold a gram of cephalosporin in New York for six months.’
‘What the hell are they doing? They can’t possibly be making money out of this.’ Richard Allen paused, exasperation etched on his face. ‘I know a couple of guys in sales at Yamoura. I’ll see if I can find out what the hell is going on.’
*
NYPD HEADQUARTERS, MANHATTAN – 17 DECEMBER
‘Paul Carter’s office? Yeah, down that corridor, last door on the left.’
‘Thanks.’ John Wyse smiled at the secretary.
The last door on the left had a piece of card taped to it: P. Carter – Profiling. Wyse knocked.
‘Come in.’
Wyse put his head inside the door.
‘Hey John, how’s it goin?’ Paul Carter was stretched back in his chair, both feet on the desk, reading a book as big as a bible. He flashed Wyse a broad smile and jumped up to shake his hand.
‘Come in, man, come in. You’re welcome. Take a seat,’ said Carter, indicating a couple of chairs. ‘There’s someone due for a meet but I should have a few minutes. Congrats again on your medal. And for saving our building!’
‘Thanks, Paul,’ said Wyse. City Hall had presented him with a Meritorious Police Duty medal for his role in preventing the truck bombing. Wyse had insisted that it be done without publicity. He sat down and took in the surroundings. The walls were lined with shelves carrying at least a couple of hundred neatly arranged books. Other than Carter’s PC and the telephone beside it, there was little else in the office.
‘This has to be the neatest office in the whole Puzzle Palace,’ said Wyse.
Carter laughed. ‘Just can’t work with a whole load of clutter.’
‘Hmm. Wonder what that would tell me if I was putting together a profile of you?’ joked Wyse.
‘Ha! Probably quite a bit. But I’m sure you didn’t come up here to profile me. How are you doin’ these days? I was kinda surprised to hear you decided to stay on, after our last conversation.’
‘Yeah, so was I, to be honest.’ Wyse shrugged. ‘Dunno how Connolly talked me round,’ he said, jabbing his thumb at the window, in the direction of the Fifth Precinct.
‘I’d say he played the old “sense of duty” card? You know, duty to your colleagues, duty to the public, you’re one of my best detectives – all that.’
Wyse smiled. ‘You know, that’s exactly what he went on about. How did you know?’
Carter shrugged. ‘Smart cookie, Connolly. He’s been around the block often enough to know how to size a guy up and work out his levers. Connolly coulda written a few of these books,’ he said, circling a hand around the office, ‘what with his life experience. So how goes it?’
‘Lookin’ up, I guess,’ replied Wyse. ‘Main event is this incredible woman that I’ve been dating. She’s something special. But she’s playin’ things very slow. Keepin’ a little distance.’
Carter smiled. ‘Sounds like a smart girl to me, John. Nothing like a little mystery to keep you guessing.’
Wyse returned the smile. ‘You’re probably right, but it’s a bit unusual in my book. You know, I’ve been seeing her for over six months and we haven’t slept together. It’s torture. Sez it’s something to do with her upbringing and she’ll let me know when the time is right.’
‘Hmm. That’s unusual all right. I’d say just hang in there, man, but mind yourself. Might be an old boyfriend pulling heartstrings or something. Play it her way. Take your time.’
‘Yeah, you’re right, I guess. You know, I still think about that stuff you said about leadership genes and all that. Guess I’ll give all that a little time too and make a move when the time seems right.’
‘Sounds like a plan to me,’ said Carter. He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and took out a bottle. ‘Water?’
‘Yeah, thanks.’
Carter took two glasses off a shelf by the window and filled them. ‘So how can I help you, John?’ he said.
‘Well,’ replied Wyse, shifting a little in his seat, ‘it’s a bit awkward. This person has friends who wouldn’t like me getting in the way. But I didn’t know who else to come to for advice.’
‘Try me.’
‘Okay.’ Wyse hesitated, took another sip of water and pressed on. ‘Look, this is all unofficial and no names, but I’m worried that one of the detectives has a real big drink problem. But he won’t listen to me.’
‘Okay. So, you tried talking to him and he got angry?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Then he told you that he didn’t have a drink problem, because all of his friends drink the same?’
‘Right in one,’ said Wyse, picturing some of the guys at the station.
‘Bet they do too. Heavy drinkers hang out with heavy drinkers. Provides cover when the trouble starts.’
Carter sat forward on his seat. ‘I’m afraid it’s pretty simple, John,’ he continued. ‘I can’t help you.’ As if to emphasise the point, he firmly closed the cover of the book on his desk.
Wyse was taken aback. ‘What, what do you mean, you can’t help me?’
‘I can’t help you. You can’t help him. And he can’t help himself. So, we’d all be wasting our time.’
There was a tap on the door and a detective walked in.
‘Oh, sorry.’
‘No, no problem,’ said Carter, standing. Just then, the telephone on the desk rang. Carter lifted it. ‘Shit, sorry guys.’
The new arrival was hanging about at the open door, so Wyse stood to leave. Carter covered the mouthpiece with one hand and grimaced at him.
‘Sorry, John,’ he whispered. ‘That’s my advice. Walk away.’
John Wyse nodded, waved a thanks and let himself out of the office, feeling deflated.
Walk away, he says. But, how the fuck do you walk away from your partner?
*
19 DECEMBER
The tall blonde, in blue jeans and a sky-blue sweatshirt, kissed the guy in the overcoat as they sat at a picnic table and took out their Subway rolls. They were both laughing. Chatting away non-stop.
And obviously in love, guessed Detective John Wyse, who was sitting on a park bench in a sunny Central Park. Glenda was snoozing underneath the bench, recovering from the exertions of the walk, her telescopic legs spreadeagled in all directions. I guess he’s a lawyer or accountant and she works in a fashion store. They kissed again, then turned back to the table to open bottles of Diet Coke. I wonder if they’ll still be together in a year? In five years? In fifty years? Right now, he envied them.
Central Park at lunchtime was buzzing. Walkers, cyclists, joggers, skateboarders, roller-bladers, rich, poor, happy and unhappy, swirled around the paths and lawns, taking advantage of the crisp winter sunshine. The bark of a hungry sea lion from the zoo could be heard across the lawns. John Wyse’s stillness on the bench contrasted with the frantic activity around him. He found himself feeling unsettled a bit more often these days. Kind of uneasy and thinking more deeply about his life. Is this it? What is it really all about?
He’d just been flicking through The New York Times. That had upset him too. On page three there was an article about the use of thousands of children as sex slaves in the Philippines. The writer said that over twenty thousand children had been thrown in jail, either arrested for their ‘sex crimes’, or because their parents were locked up. The big, frightened eyes of a six-year-old girl bored into Wyse from between the bars of her packed prison cell. Fuck it, how can that happen? The only guy who seemed to be fighting for the children was some priest, who kept getting flung in jail too. Jesus. He admired that priest guy. Now there was someone making a difference with their life. Doing the right thing. That guy could sit back, at the end of his life, and know that he had done his best. Wyse couldn’t see that he would ever have that feeling. He was born. He partied. He was a good detective. He died.
He was doing fine at work, even if it bored him sometimes. He’d just retained his title as top marksman in the station at his bi-annual range tests. That felt good. He didn’t have any money worries. He had lots of friends and had no problem finding girlfriends. He knew that women found his tall, dark looks attractive; not to mention the badge and the gun.
Why had he run a mile from the one relationship in his life that had begun to get really serious? Lisa and he had been in love. They’d lived together in his apartment for nearly three years. She had transformed the place from the quintessential bachelor pad into a real home. They had joked about getting married and having kids. But it had suited him to let time go by. No way was he ready for all that.
Then Lisa had moved out. The single guys at the station were delighted to have him back on the circuit. Cabrini had organised a party to celebrate his ‘return’. He had felt sick the day that Lisa called him to say she had gotten engaged to Lawrence, the teacher she was living with. Big mistake. For now, despite his busy life and his busy surroundings, John Wyse knew that sometimes he felt lonely. And lonely is a cold and painful place.
He watched as the young couple stood up and the girl took the guy’s hand as they walked away. They were laughing. Yeah, me and Lisa. Big mistake.
His thoughts turned to Anna. Beautiful Anna. There was something special about her. Something different. There had seemed to be a really strong connection between them, but then she had been a little cool again on the phone. He wasn’t used to that with women. She had told him not to call for another week. He didn’t know what to make of that. He knew the erratic hours that went with police work weren’t helping their relationship, but she sure didn’t seem to be making it easy. In his heart, he knew that he wanted to get closer to Anna. But that scared him too. Maybe she is out of my league?
Wyse sighed as he stood up. ‘C’mon, Glenda, back home.’
While Glenda went through her yoga-like stretching routine, apparently a vital part of her transition from sleeping to walking, he picked up pieces of litter and stuffed them into the trashcan beside the bench. As he turned for the Columbus Circle Gate, he realised that Carter, the profiler, would have noticed that. ‘Sense of duty,’ Carter would call it. ‘Always trying to do the right thing.’
Just wish I knew what the hell is the right thing for my life, right now. What’s the right thing to do with my career? What’s the right thing to do about Mike’s drinking? And what’s the right thing to do about Anna? Try and push things along – tell her that I love her? Or allow her the space she seems to need?