“I don’t know. I’d say yes, with some qualifications. We’re giving her oxygen, and an antidote for the morphine. She’s had the raw material for a lifetime of nightmares packed into a very short period of time — that will give her trouble. She’ll need help.”
“Yes, sure,” Terrell said.
“Why don’t the police clamp down on places like that nursing home?” the doctor said. “It’s staffed by quacks who have no more business treating patients than a two-year-old child. A two-year-old would do less harm, in fact. It wouldn’t be quite so callous and sadistic. Why don’t they close them down?”
“I don’t know,” Terrell said.
“You see plenty of cops at the ball games,” the doctor said. “Cheering the home team and stopping a fist fight every month or so. Why don’t they put them to work where they’ll do some good?”
“That day may be coming,” Terrell said.
“I’ll be surprised.”
“I think you will,” Terrell said. “When can I see her?”
“Not for a couple of hours anyway. You can leave a message if you like.”
“Thanks, I’ll give a phone number to the desk.”
“She’s had a rough time; be nice to her.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Terrell said.
As Terrell entered the reception room the door opposite him opened and a
“Sam boy,” he said, “how goes it?” Ricky was an old-timer, a big, balding man with dark eyes and a quick, warm smile. “Where’s the girl?”
“You mean Connie Blacker?”
“Yeah, how is she? Ready to be immortalized?”
“She’s in no shape for pictures, Ricky. Not for a couple of hours.”
“I’ll have to wait then, and think about my overtime adding up, tick, tick, tick, with every passing second. Karsh said to get a picture — regardless or irregardless.”
“Karsh? What the hell is going on, Ricky?”
“Don’t ask me. Or ask away if you like, but don’t wait for a sensible answer. Karsh just tore the Night Extra into tiny scraps. Everything’s out except the want ads. And the whole damn daytime staff is back putting a new edition together. I thought you were working when I saw you. Everybody’s in. Williams, Tuckerman, all the photographers. Aren’t you glad you’re in this racket? Think of all the little people sleeping their lives away while we get the chance to run around in the dark. Well, I’m going to find the poker game. Take it easy.”
“Sure,” Terrell said. He went outside and one of the patrolmen said, “We’re riding in, Sam. Need a lift?”
“Thanks, I’m going back to the shop.”
“It’s on the way. You in a hurry? Smitty here likes to get a little daily practice with the siren.”
“No, I’m not in a hurry.” Terrell climbed into the squad car and lit a cigarette. This was very accurate, he realized; he was in no hurry to see Karsh. But he had to see him. One more time...
The lights were on in the city room, and the atmosphere was one of hectic tension; a cluster of men were busy at the city desk and copy wheel, and alongside them the picture editor was briefing two photographers who looked as if they had just been yanked from their beds.
Terrell stopped inside the doorway at the end of the room, and let his eyes drift over the various groups putting the edition together. Normally the Night Extra was put to bed by a staff of three. But now everyone was in; Williams handling the city desk, Tuckerman hunched massively beside the police speaker, and all of the top writers and reporters from the daytime shifts.
Karsh stood directly behind Williams, one foot propped up on a chair, talking urgently and imperatively to Ollie Wheeler. Occasionally he punctuated his points by pounding his knee, and every now and then he turned away to take a quick look at the clock above his head. He was perfectly groomed, elegantly turned out in a dark blue suit with a flower in the lapel. His face and eyes were bright with a tense, good-humored excitement, and it was obvious to Terrell that the whole staff was reacting to the challenge of his personality. He was running every phase of the show; even a stranger would have picked him out instantly as the mainspring of all this seemingly disorganized activity.
Terrell dropped his coat over a chair and walked toward Karsh and Wheeler. He could see the city behind them as a dark mass visible through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. A few pinpoints of light gleamed from tall buildings, but most of the city slept quietly in shadowed silence.
He stopped beside Karsh, and Wheeler, who saw him first, said, “Here’s Sam now. Where’ve you been, Sam?”
Karsh turned to him, a quick, easy smile lighting his face. “You’re just in time. I want you on the main story — every detail in chronological order. Don’t waste time on the Parking Authority — just mention it as if the readers knew all. They will when they read Ollie’s piece. He’s doing a special story on that mess.”
“I’ll get started, Mike,” Ollie said.
