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NEW YORK, NY—New York Times Headquarters
Glued to her chair, stone-faced, thinking about a cigarette—a habit she’d kicked ages ago—Brandy Scott was watching CNN on a television, the BBC on a laptop, and the local NBC news-affiliate on an iPad. She was heavily interested in what correspondents had to say. They knew she surmised, next to nothing at this point about the campus shooting, and the justice’s death hadn’t been on their radar. Was she the only person other than the killer that knew about Judge Percy Weston’s death? She knew that she could put her exclusive intelligence on the tips of their tongues with a five-minute phone call. But she’d wait. She wanted to hear from the campus shooting victims, the people who had seen the bloodshed wanted to know: Was the campus shooting and the judges’ murder carried out by the same person or group?
An Israeli girl, interviewed on CNN, describe the loud blast that preceded the gunfire: “There was a caravan. I can’t be sure of the make and model. It slammed into a tree and seconds after the driver got out.” She paused, holding back tears. “It blew up. The shooter started killing people seconds later.”
Brandy used the TV remote to mute CNN and turned up the volume on the BBC. A British student and part-time UBER driver described the killer: black male, dark skin, dreadlocks, handsome, all-American. But the Uber driver didn’t see much else because after the shooter’s car exploded the driver took cover under the dashboard of his Jaguar until the bullets stopped.
Minimizing the Internet browser, Brandy pulled up a notebook app and stared at the blank screen before typing a single word.
Dreadlocks.
She used the app because all of the recorded “notes” simultaneously loaded to related apps on her iPhone and iPad, giving her access to them across her Apple devices. Brandy’s eyes returned to the TV screen as a nicely dressed reporter stood in front of the LIVE camera feed next to an attractive young man, Marco Butler, recounting some of the facts for the correspondent. In the background was Sinia Love with her hand on the elbow of Naim Butler. She looked at the sight painfully. Not because Naim appeared to comfort Marco’s mother, but the sight of the freshman’s arm in a sling worried her.
Marco described hearing a loud bang before an explosion. In an attempt to protect his high school sweetheart he tried taking cover behind Thinking Man before he pushed her to the ground, but not in time to avoid being shot in the shoulder. He did not see the heartless monster because he hit the deck to continue being armor for Amber. When the first round of bullets stopped, the couple ran to Amsterdam Avenue. They flagged a pedestrian who whisked them to Columbia University Medical Center.
“Could someone assume this is the universe’s retribution for the murder you committed earlier this year?” A reporter yelled at Marco.
Holy shit, Brandy thought. Her mood shifted further down to the pain zone. What kind of animal asks an eighteen-year old that?
She watched Naim step fully into the frame. He stood tall and protective next to his son. “Whoa..whoa,” he said, throwing his eyes into the air, apparently in deep thought. Carefully crafting his word, she figured. He added, “My son was shot on his first day of college, that is, and will be the only discussion being held today. Or tomorrow, in fact.” Flames escaped his forehead.
“But,” the reporters said, “if not for your best friend being a prosecutor he’d be in jail, as I said, for murder. Not at his first day of college.” He paused, and then said, “As far as New Yorkers are concerned perhaps this was payback costing several other people their lives.”
“You know.” Naim said, chuckling. “This is laughable—”
“Dad,” Marco interjected, cutting his father off before he dirtied the water. To the reporter, he said, “I was cleared of murder charges by the Manhattan DA’s office, not my father’s best friend who is a U.S. Attorney. It’ll be wise if you acquire knowledge of the judicial process basics before insulting my father. And as of this moment, you’re blacklisted. And by you, I mean the entire network. Columbia encourages students to stand for something. I guess my first act will be a petition blocking your reporters from being on campus inquiring about the shooting. Now I see why the Republican presidential nominee always regards the media as dishonest. And fake news. Good day.”
Brandy smiled. She watched Marco and company scram as the reporter recovered by pivoting into a commercial. She picked up her cell phone and sent Naim a text message to contact her at his convenience.
Awaiting a reply, the network was back from a commercial break with a reporter in front of a white home. The banner on the bottom of the screen read: Home of Chief U.S. Supreme Court Justice Percy Weston. She looked at her computer screen and typed another word:
Showtime!
They had the story, but she had the smoking photos.