Chapter Twelve
1:45 p.m. EST
In his cramped Channel 10 News Director’s office, Doug Hoffman inserted the SD card Russ Parker had handed him into the side of a large television monitor. The monitor dominated eight other smaller monitors that flickered with a glut of video offerings from local, cable and national sources. The cluttered office had cinder block walls painted beige, a green polyester sofa and Hoffman’s gray metal desk. Setting on top of the desk a computer-phone’s monitor pulsed in screen saver red-white-and-blue stars. Two orange upholstered chairs faced the desk.
Standing with clicker in hand in right hand, after some glitches, the video Parker promised began to unfold. As they watched, Parker said, “Lotsa TV’s ya got here, Mr. Hoffman.”
“Lots of news—information age, son.” Hoffman, not seeing much action so far on Parker’s video, sucked his front teeth. “This better get better—fast.”
“It will, just watch.” Parker studied Hoffman scrutinizing the video playing on the TV.
Hoffman did not resemble the photo Parker had been shown of him, and he didn’t look at all like the thin phone voice he had projected. Parker had imagined a tall, skinny pencil of a person. This guy was young, around twenty-five. Built like a shoe box with holes cut out for head, arms and legs, he thought. And those black bebop bifocal granny glasses are a bit much.
Hoffman bit his puffy lower lip and stuck his left hand in a front pockets of his brown corduroy trousers. “No sound, huh?”
“No, sir. Was inside, shot it through”
“A camper window, you said that.” Hoffman shook his head, rubbed the side of his porous nose with his TV remote as he watched the dim video of a fat cop standing beside the driver’s side of a four-door white car on a deserted beach road. Another cop, a skinny one, stepped into the frame. In one quick movement, the fat cop jerked the driver’s door open and pulled an African-American female out of the car.
Hoffman’s mind clicked off her features—tall, stacked, miniskirt, spike heels, nice ass.
The fat cop slammed the female against her car.
“What is this?” Hoffman said, casting Parker a beady look.
“Bad, huh?”
“Bad?” Hoffman continued to watch the video.
The fat cop demonstrated that he wanted the female to extend her arms.
She tried to comply but staggered forward.
“Looks like a drunk hooker.” Hoffman tucked his arms over his chest.
“Did ya ever.” Parker chuckled.
“Ha.” Hoffman grunted.
The fat cop drew a line in the sand and pointed to it. The female began walking the line, staggered, kicked her shoes off. The skinny cop pushed her against her car. The fat cop began to grope her body. The skinny cop joined in.
“Wait a minute Hoffman pointed his remote, pressed replay then forward, watched again, said. “Come on, people, what is this?”
The video tilted sideways for a moment then righted.
“What happened?” Hoffman bit a fingernail.
“I ran into the coffee table, shootin’ through the window.” Parker said.
Hoffman smirked. “Sure you did.”
The video blurred, cleared for a moment then blurred again.
Hoffman tilted his head. “Don’t tell me—you don’t know where the focus is, either.”
Parker chuckled. “Ah, Mr. Hoffman, you’re joshing me.”
Hoffman shook his head. “Where’d you get this?”
“Like I said, last nightwas out on Key Largo, I have a camper on my pickup, go out there a lot, crab at night. I heard these noises around three a.m., saw this patrol car and the white car there, cop’s red and blues flashing, so I thought, what the heck, started shootin’ video.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Hoffman watched.
The fat cop spun the female around and cuffed her hands behind her back.
Hoffman yawned. “Okay, so the chief’s boys play a little rough. They got a hooker, probably on drugs, drunk, whatever.”
“But catch this.”
Hoffman watched.
The fat cop opened the rear door of the female’s car, forced her inside and climbed in on top of her.
“What the fuck? Wait a minute” Hoffman’s mouth hung open. “What the fuck are those clowns doing?”
He put his hands on his hips and leaned closer to the television set.
The video zoomed in.
Hoffman said, “Jesus Christ, he’she’she’s”
The video glitched, and scrambled lines appeared on the screen.
Hoffman threw his hands up. “What happened now?”
“Ran out of battery, changed it, it’ll come back.”
“Sure, sure, right, probably jerking off.” Hoffman continued to watch the video.
The picture cleared as the fat cop backed out of the car and pulled his pants up. The lady began to emerge but the skinny cop shoved her back.
Hoffman’s jaw dropped. “I can’t fucking believe this”
The skinny cop climbed into the car with the lady. The camera zoomed out. The fat cop lit a cigarette and walked to the squad car that displayed Miami-Dade Police markings. After talking on the two-way radio, he retrieved a bottle from the under the front seat, took a gulp and, bottle in hand, returned to the stopped driver’s car.
Hoffman pointed his remote to the TV screen. “This is fucking unbelievable.” He stepped back. “Un-fucking-believable.”
“Sure is. That’s why I called ya.”
“Awesome video.” He stroked a small pimple on his chin and continued to watch.
The skinny cop emerged from the car, pulled the female out, forced her to her knees and shoved his penis in her mouth.
Hoffman cupped his face with his right hand. “Oh, my Jesus GodIlook at that. He’sshe’sI can’t fucking believe this.” His eyes growing the size of cue balls, he continued to watch.
After a minute the fat cop snapped his revolver from its holster and jammed the barrel to the woman’s head. She stood. He screamed something in her ear, uncuffed her and pushed her into the the car behind the steering wheel. His revolver’s barrel still pressed to her head, a second passed; then her head exploded in a showering mist.
Hoffman froze. A morning news item jolted him. “Jesus Christ, he just blew her brains outthat’s the drug storythe body they found in a car”
His mouth hanging open, he paused the video, stared at the screen for a few seconds, then pressed play. Both cops began scattering small white packets in the back and front seat of the victim’s car, shared the bottle of liquor, returned to the squad carand the TV screen went blank.
Hoffman stood silent for several moments, pressed reverse on his remote, then turned to Parker. “Has anybody else seen this video?”
“No, sir. Just me and you.”
Hoffman said, “You see this morning’s news?”
“No, sir”
“That’s the body the Monroe Country sheriff’s deputy found this morning, out on Key Largo, same car everything, called it a drug-related incident.”
“I didn’t know, I just”
“Un-fucking-believable.” Hoffman took the tiny SD card from the TV and held it tightly in his hand. “What do you want for it?”
“I don’t want nothing. I’m just doing it as a citizen.”
Hoffman made a sour face. “Fuck youa citizen. Who you trying to flim-flam? I’m buying it exclusively, hundred bucks.”
“Mr. Hoffman—”
“Two hundred—here’s a voucher.” Hoffman scribbled his initials on a pink form. “Take this to the front desk, they’ll get you a check.” He handed Parker another form. “Also, sign this. It’s a release—put your name, phone number, all that stuff down.”
He threw a page toward Parker. It landed on the floor. Parker picked it up and began to read.
Watching him labor with the verbiage, Hoffman became impatient. “It just says I got exclusivity, nobody else will get the video, pictures, nothing, unless I approve.” Hoffman tapped the SD card with his left index finger. “This is the only copy of this, right?”
“Yessir, only one, but I”
“But what?”
“I’d just as soon not be identified—I mean on TV and all, my name”
“What’s a matter, you on the lam?”
“No, well, child supportandMiami cops see this, they’ll be on my ass like white on rice.”
“Not a problem, just sign, I’ll take care of it.”
“How you do that?” Parker said.
“You just became a confidential source,” Hoffman said.
“That’s what I prefer, yes sir, confidential.”
“Okay, I have to run this past our general managerget your money at the front desk.” He stopped at the door. “Parker, we got a deal now, no reneging, no interviews, no newspapers, no nothing unless I give the okay. If you do, I’ll put your name all over the air. This is mine. Understand?”
“Yessir, I understand.” Parker stepped to the door.
Hoffman turned and ran down the hall. “Talk to you later, Pal. That way out.”