Thirty minutes earlier.
Nov. 3rd, 2006 12:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
secret_history“Walter, how long have we known each other?”
“I think this September made it thirty years, give or take.”
“So, it would be safe for you to say that you know me pretty well, right?”
“Yes, I suppose it would. What are you driving at?”
“Bear with me for a moment, Walter. In the thirty years we’ve known each other, have you ever known me to back down in the face of adversity?”
“Not really, no.”
“Or known me to bail out when the going got rough?”
“No, I can’t say that either.”
“So, you wouldn’t describe me as someone essentially spineless.”
“No, I certainly wouldn’t. Hell, you’ve covered most of the worst corners of the globe since we started in this business. James, is this about being posted to the local news?”
“Sort of.”
“Because it’s normal for some of the guys to want to give you a hard time. They admire you, so they’re going to give you a ribbing. Come on, you’ve been a reporter long enough to know how these things work,” Walter Jefferson wedged the receiver of his telephone between his ear and his shoulder, wondering just why he was having to hold the hand of one of his best reporters today of all days.
“No, Walter, it’s not that.”
“Look, James, I’m not going to take you off the streets today just because you feel that local stuff is beneath your extraordinary reporting skills.”
“Walter, I’m telling you it’s not that!”
“Then what? This is one of the biggest stories we’ve had in months, if not years!”
“That’s the problem.”
“What?” Walter switched the phone from one ear to the next, and signalled a one-minute warning to the announcer in the sound booth.
“I want out, Walter. This is beyond me.”
“You can’t be serious, Jimmy.”
“I’m deadly serious, Walter. You should see what’s out here. It’s... it’s inhuman. I don’t know if it should even be put on the air right now. It’s horrific.”
“Jimmy, this isn’t the time for you to have ethical qualms about what we’re putting on the air. Besides, the public has a right to know what’s going on. What the hell is the matter with you? You’ve covered the genocide in Rwanda, for Chrissakes! How can this be worse than that?”
“It just is. Look, Walter, can’t you get someone else to cover this? You can put me on traffic duty after this, I don’t care.”
Walter forced himself to make his voice soothing. “Jimmy, buddy, I’m your producer. Have I ever steered you wrong in the past?”
“No, but...”
“Okay, so trust me on this. We have to cover this story, and you’re the one covering it. I can’t get anyone else out there in time. We’re on in ten seconds. I need you to pull it together, and report on what’s going on.”
“Walter!” James’ voice was pinched from some inner agony.
Hell, Walter thought. This was not the time for his best reporter to be cracking up. What the hell was going on out there? James Gabriel had reported on genocides, mutilated children, and gang rape without turning a hair. Either what was happening out there was disturbing beyond words, or else the investigative reporter had just seen one horror too many and had finally cracked under the strain of over twenty-five years in the field.
“Jimmy, if you want I’ll put you on traffic duty for the rest of your life after this. I’m sure you’ll do brilliantly at it, too. Right now, though, your cue is in twenty-three seconds, as soon as Sam finishes his intro, and then you have to do your job. Can you do that for me? Just hold it together until I can find someone to replace you.”
“Fine. Don’t blame me when this all turns to shit!” There was an audible click, and the line went dead.
Walter blew out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, and forced his shoulders back down to their usual position. In the sound booth, Sam was listening intently to James’ professional assessment of the situation of what was happening on the street. Whatever else was going on, Jimmy was a consummate professional. To hear him talk, you’d never know he’d been freaking out ten seconds before.
“I think this September made it thirty years, give or take.”
“So, it would be safe for you to say that you know me pretty well, right?”
“Yes, I suppose it would. What are you driving at?”
“Bear with me for a moment, Walter. In the thirty years we’ve known each other, have you ever known me to back down in the face of adversity?”
“Not really, no.”
“Or known me to bail out when the going got rough?”
“No, I can’t say that either.”
“So, you wouldn’t describe me as someone essentially spineless.”
“No, I certainly wouldn’t. Hell, you’ve covered most of the worst corners of the globe since we started in this business. James, is this about being posted to the local news?”
“Sort of.”
“Because it’s normal for some of the guys to want to give you a hard time. They admire you, so they’re going to give you a ribbing. Come on, you’ve been a reporter long enough to know how these things work,” Walter Jefferson wedged the receiver of his telephone between his ear and his shoulder, wondering just why he was having to hold the hand of one of his best reporters today of all days.
“No, Walter, it’s not that.”
“Look, James, I’m not going to take you off the streets today just because you feel that local stuff is beneath your extraordinary reporting skills.”
“Walter, I’m telling you it’s not that!”
“Then what? This is one of the biggest stories we’ve had in months, if not years!”
“That’s the problem.”
“What?” Walter switched the phone from one ear to the next, and signalled a one-minute warning to the announcer in the sound booth.
“I want out, Walter. This is beyond me.”
“You can’t be serious, Jimmy.”
“I’m deadly serious, Walter. You should see what’s out here. It’s... it’s inhuman. I don’t know if it should even be put on the air right now. It’s horrific.”
“Jimmy, this isn’t the time for you to have ethical qualms about what we’re putting on the air. Besides, the public has a right to know what’s going on. What the hell is the matter with you? You’ve covered the genocide in Rwanda, for Chrissakes! How can this be worse than that?”
“It just is. Look, Walter, can’t you get someone else to cover this? You can put me on traffic duty after this, I don’t care.”
Walter forced himself to make his voice soothing. “Jimmy, buddy, I’m your producer. Have I ever steered you wrong in the past?”
“No, but...”
“Okay, so trust me on this. We have to cover this story, and you’re the one covering it. I can’t get anyone else out there in time. We’re on in ten seconds. I need you to pull it together, and report on what’s going on.”
“Walter!” James’ voice was pinched from some inner agony.
Hell, Walter thought. This was not the time for his best reporter to be cracking up. What the hell was going on out there? James Gabriel had reported on genocides, mutilated children, and gang rape without turning a hair. Either what was happening out there was disturbing beyond words, or else the investigative reporter had just seen one horror too many and had finally cracked under the strain of over twenty-five years in the field.
“Jimmy, if you want I’ll put you on traffic duty for the rest of your life after this. I’m sure you’ll do brilliantly at it, too. Right now, though, your cue is in twenty-three seconds, as soon as Sam finishes his intro, and then you have to do your job. Can you do that for me? Just hold it together until I can find someone to replace you.”
“Fine. Don’t blame me when this all turns to shit!” There was an audible click, and the line went dead.
Walter blew out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, and forced his shoulders back down to their usual position. In the sound booth, Sam was listening intently to James’ professional assessment of the situation of what was happening on the street. Whatever else was going on, Jimmy was a consummate professional. To hear him talk, you’d never know he’d been freaking out ten seconds before.
