Time and Chance (39 page)

Berry said he would be back for the annual summer picnic and, dismissing
Joe, told him to, if the newspapers called about the change, “Simply say it’s
due to new ownership.”

When Joe left, Berry pressed Snakebite's private number.

Snakebite answered, “Walker.”

Berry said, “Snakebite, Berry, we need to talk.”

“Bout what asshole?”

“I'll be over.”

Snakebite said, “Lucky me,” and hung up.

* * *

Snakebite sat at Felix The Cat's bar. He sipped rum and Coke, smoked a
Marlboro 100, and watched Angelo talk to a couple Kittens. Out of the corner of
his eye, through his sunglasses, he saw Berry coming down The Haute Cuisine stairway.

“Lucky me,” he mumbled.

After a cool greeting, Snakebite joined Berry at a booth in the back
corner. Snakebite crushed his cigarette out in an ashtray, “Why are you here,
asshole?”

Berry paused, then said, “I'm selling TV12.”

“This is not news.”

“How'd you know?”

“How'd I know.”

Berry took an envelope from his inside coat pocket and handed it to
Snakebite.

Snakebite looked inside and did a quick count. Five thousand dollar
bills. “What's this, my tip?” He threw the envelope in Berry's face. “Keep the
change.”

Berry pushed the envelope back and wiped his lips. “Snakebite, there's a
problem.”

“I got no problems.”

“The new owners of TV12, S&W, they're serious newspaper people.”

“What's that mean?”

“News purists, newspaper background, I don't think we're gonna be able
to keep Peggy on the weather. They want a meteorologist … Peggy off the air,
her show, everything … out.”

“Yous got a problem, prick.”

“Snakebite, I don't have an option.”

“Better have my cash then, all of it.”

“Snakebite, I'm asking you for a favor.”

“I don't do favors. Cash talks.”

Berry said, “After I get the new owners settled in, maybe we could start
up another show with her, you know, trade deal….”

“I don't want no more fucking trade deals with nobody.”

“I been talking to my accountant, after everything, the sell, paying off
some contractors … I gonna need a little time.”

“Guess again fat boy.”

“It's not that easy.”

“Cash is easy, you count one, two, three … ask your bean counter.”

Berry said, “I'm short of cash.”

“Thought you was selling out, that TV dump oughta’ be worth a ton.”

“I have some other, ah, obligations.”

“What, that Berry Inn la bomba?”

“That's your opinion.”

“That's not an opinion prick, ‘at's a fact, all over town.”

“We got another problem.” Berry said.

“I keep telling you fat head, I got no problems.”

Berry said, “I think maybe we do. When we let Peggy go, she might, you
know, blab.”

“Blab what?”

“Our little trade arrangement, action gets in the news, everything gets
fouled up.”

“She won't, she's my woman.”

Berry wiped some sweat from his brow with a napkin, then said, “You know
about Peggy and Carr?”

“That Irish prick, when you gonna fire him?”

“Peggy said she needed him to produce her new prime time show….”

“That’s kind a, how them layer pricks say, nolo something, now ain't it,
she being canned, ain’t no more shows.” Snakebite lit a Marlboro, blew smoke in
Berry's face, tapped his Marlboro on the ashtray edge, chewed his lower lip,
then asked, “What about Peggy and Carr?”

“Carr's been boning her since day one, still is.”

Stifling a quick strike between Berry’s eyes, Snakebite ran his fingers
over his chin and said, “No he ain't.”

“Take a look at these.” Berry took a pack of color pictures out of his
side coat pocket and handed them to Snakebite.

Snakebite removed his sunglasses. His eyelids began fluttering as he
looked at nude close-up snapshots of Peggy in various stages of stripping. One
had her, nude, knees tucked to her chin, a thin smile on her face, sitting on a
big desk, The last had her with her legs spread apart.

Snakebite: “Who took ‘ese?”

“I found them in Carr's desk, figure it out.”

His eyes turning red, Snakebite threw the pictures in Berry's face.

Berry smiled, “Does this mean you'll talk to Ms. Peggy.”

CHAPTER 3

Jack’s
Time

Rumors swirling around
TV12 like an Agatha Christie mystery, real time elbowing in like a fell-off-the-wagon
weight watcher, engineer Greta—bib overhauls, blue shirt, red bow tie—came in
my office. She had a couple interesting recordings—one a meeting between Berry
and the people from S&W. The other between Berry and Big Joe. Greta wanted
to know if I wanted to see them.

I said, “You been busy
… just tell me.”

She sat, “FCC final
approval of S&W's purchase is in the can, looks like an August close …
Sally stays on as general manager, but no contract. And get this….” She paused,
broad smile.

“What?”

“Moore has to go.”

I remembered the video
Sago had of Berry's meeting with Bobbi. I said, “Berry failed to persuade
S&W to keep Peggy on, huh?”

Greta smiled.

I lit a Salem. “What's
on the Galbo recording.”

Greta said, “Guess
Sally is going on vacation, Europe, couple weeks, be back in time for the
picnic. He told Joe to bounce Peggy today. He also gave Joe instructions to
rotate weather people until he got back, see what S&W wanted to do for
Peggy's replacement. Guess you'll be getting a call from Galbo.”

After Greta left,
right on time, I got a call from Joe. He said I should have somebody ready to
do the weather tonight and to have Peggy see him as soon as she got in. I
figured I'd leave early, Joe could fend for himself.

Leaving, I told Joy I
had a couple people to see, a meeting that might run long, then I had to see a
guy about a boat. Probably wouldn't be back.

She smiled like she
knew exactly how many stars were in the Milky Way.

* * *

Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday
interred in the day boneyard, Blancpain displayed Friday, June 14, just after
6:15 P.M. I didn’t believe it so I checked my computer, yep, around three days
had been gone AWOL somewhere … where to I don’t know … where do dead days go …
it seemed like it was last Tuesday, around the time I went to see that guy
about a boat.

Anyway, watching our
6:00 O’clock News, I got to thinking about Peggy. It had been what, three days
since she had been heave-hoed by Joe. Actually, I was told, he had to escort
her, kicking and screaming, out of Broadcast House. Somewhere in one of those
dead days, I remember her calling me to tell me Joe took back her Jaguar. I
told her there wasn't much I could do, maybe she could buy it from the dealer.
She laughed, let Berry eat it, she still had her Cadillac. Hated that Jaguar
anyway. She was worried about me. Said Snakebite had found out about us. Some
pictures had showed up, Snakebite saw them, beat her up pretty good, black eye,
threatened to kill her, me too, kicked her out, she was all alone.

 
Then she said, Stella had told her a contract
might have been let on me, be careful.

I then asked, she and
Stella being so close and all, about Stella’s health. She said Snakebite
couldn't get rid of Stella, she was the Gorilla glue that held everything
together, then she wanted me to come out to her place, take a dip.

Considering the
contract on me talk, everything else, I told her I didn’t think that would be a
good idea just now.

Remembering the
bitterness in her response when I told her that, the loud click when she hung
up, Sago walked into my office.

He said, “Guess what?”

“I don't want to see
any more videos.”

He proceeded to tell
me that someone had blabbed to Joe about Greta's bug in Berry's office. Joe had
the camera and microphone removed and Greta was history.

Sago then went on to S-Stuff.
Detective Little, the T.B.I and F.B.I. were now involved and it looked like
something big might be coming down. Still had nothing on Gillian. I told him
that I had told him weeks ago to forget about that.

Looking like he didn't
hear me, he asked if I was going to the TV12 picnic tomorrow. An annual blowout
summer affair, this would be the last one before S&W took over.

He said, “Berry’s
supposed to be back from vacation, should be interesting.”

“Might go, just to see
the show.”

That settled, he
wanted to go to The Green Onion for a drink. I said why not and the phone rang.
It was Peggy. She had to see me. It was a 9-1-1 matter of life or death, please,
begging actually.

I gave in, said okay,
hung up and looked at Sago.

He said, “Was that who
I think it was?”

“I think.”

“Don't do it.”

“I have to.”

Feeling sorry, not
sure if for myself or Peggy, I drove out to Tara.

Peggy's 9-1-1 life or
death summons was her swimming pool. The pump had stopped. In checking, I found
the off/on switch, off. Adjusting the straps to her pink bikini, she couldn't
believe that’s all it was.

In the middle of a
drink at Peggy's bar, Stella showed up. She didn't seem pleased to see me.
Actually surprised. So was I, what if Snakebite caught her at Peggy's house.
She needed to talk to Peggy.

The sun setting, Jack
Daniels and I went out by the pool. I took off my shoes and soaked my feet,
killed time, there's so much of it.

Fifteen minutes later
Peggy came out naked. Sun tanned pretty good except for the customary bikini
outline, she said Stella had gone and I was never to say that I saw her. A
sinister smile on her face, she jumped in the shallow end of the pool. Funny
how they float.

She splashed me, “Come
on in chicken.”

Feeling sorry for her,
I stayed the night.

I awoke to the
familiar swirling pink clouds on Peggy's canopy bed, squinted at Blancpain:
little before 1:00 P.M., Saturday, June 15, and the familiar warm ginger marmalade
perfume was there.

I ran my fingers
through my hair and coughed.

Peggy half awake,
purred, “Kiss, kiss.”

“I gotta go.”

Through a big yawn,
“No you don't … it's Saturday.” She turned and reached to hold him. “Kiss,
kiss.”

I sat up on the side of
the bed.

She curled around me
and said, “You're not going to that ol’ TV12 picnic are you?”

Not surprised she knew
about the picnic, I lied, “No, I gotta do some work with Sago, we're working on
a news series.”

“Your turn to make the
coffee.”

* * *

After poolside coffee,
toast, a dip, some underwater snorkeling, all dressed proper, at Tara’s front
door, she tugged my belt. “I'm expecting you, buster … tonight for dinner.”

“I'll see how it goes,
Sago and I have a mile of editing….”

“Phooey, can't work day
and night at that dump.”

“I'll call you later.”

“Just come out, we can
grill poolside, swim.”

“We'll see.” I walked,
parked under the portico, to Winston.

Getting in, I heard
her call, “See you for dinner, six-ish.”

“See ya.”

* * *

Driving to my apartment,
the free day not so free, feeling a little guilty that I had lied to Peggy
about editing tape, my emotions were mixed. Mixed, because, even though I knew,
having been to annual TV12 station picnics, the upcoming last one—takeover by
S&W pending, booze, live band, dancing, booze, summer heat, booze—had
disaster written all over it. I knew I should skip it, but I needed all the
help I could get with the rent, bar tabs, petrol for Winston, and besides,
could never refuse a good disaster. As solace I conjugated, get there late,
leave early, less time in the intersection.

* * *

At my apartment, I
took a hot shower and selected my attire—white polo shirt, Wranglers, and my
sienna cowboy boots.

Before leaving for the
picnic I called Peggy and told her it looked like the editing was going to take
longer than expected … maybe see her tomorrow … she hung up.

* * *

Arrived the designated
Percy Priest Lake picnic area, many parked cars scattered around. I parked
Winston under a large oak and away from other car doors. Getting out I
considered putting the top up, but in the shade, Winston could breathe better
with the top down so I let it down.