‘Can I give control a picture?’ Kirsten asked.
Wayne said she could, and Bill turned his camera on.
‘Speed,’ said Bill. Kirsten flicked a switch. In the control van ten screens jumped into life and the assembled opinionformers finally got what they wanted.
Chapter Thirty Six
‘Jesus!’ The producers and cops whistled as they caught their first glimpse of the little tableau Wayne had created.
‘Stand by to broadcast,’ Brad Murray shouted, forgetting for a moment in his excitement that, within the control truck, etiquette dictated that he should relay his commands via the producer.
Outside, in the grounds of Bruce’s mansion, a hundred hairsprayed anchors alerted the viewing public to the imminence of developments.
‘I believe we should be getting pictures from inside of the Delamitri abode any moment now. It appears there’s going to be some kind of joint statement from the multimillionaire director and his captor, masskilling Mall Murderer Wayne Hudson.’
In the studios, the anchors hurried to explain the situation yet one more time. ‘The ratings computer is fed by a representative sample of the nation as a whole, whose televisions are connected to a central monitor. This monitor can then give an instant picture of what people are watching. Wayne Hudson will be aware, quite literally second by second, how many people have tuned in.’
‘We know that!’ the viewers of America shouted as one. ‘You told us a million times. Get on with it.’
Inside the besieged house, Kirsten informed Wayne that control had a picture. ‘We can go live to air any time.’
‘OK, let’s do it,’ said Wayne.
‘Let’s do it,’ said the Chief of NBC News and Current Affairs.
‘Yes, let’s do it,’ his opposite numbers at the other networks and major cable stations agreed.
‘Stand ready, you guys, in case we have to pick up the pieces,’ the chief of police said loudly to his senior officers, attempting to remind the media types that there were people around who didn’t work in television.
‘We’re live!’ the producer screamed into Kirsten’s ear.
‘We’re live, Mr Hudson,’ Kirsten said calmly, ‘live across America.’
It hardly seemed real, sitting there as they were in Bruce’s lounge. Wayne grabbed Bruce’s remote control and flipped on the TV. Sure enough, there they all were on the screen, the framing exactly as Wayne had wanted it. He tried another couple of channels. There they were again, and again. Scout screamed in embarrassment, and buried her head in her hands. Wayne turned the sound down on the TV but left the vision on: he wasn’t taking any chances that the bargain would be broken.
‘OK, Bruce,’ said Wayne, trying to look calm and collected, ‘you’re the professional. Why don’t you just explain to people what’s going on?’
Scarcely able to believe it was real, Bruce addressed Bill’s camera.
‘Um… Hullo, everybody. I’m sorry that your morning’s viewing has been disrupted but I guess you all know what’s going on here. I’m Bruce Delamitri, the filmmaker. The two women you see manacled behind me are Farrah, my wife, and our daughter, Velvet. The wounded woman on the floor to my right is Brooke Daniels, the model-’
Brooke, whose condition had stabilized somewhat with Velvet’s help, croaked in protest.
‘-I’m sorry, Brooke Daniels, the actress. Anyway, we are all prisoners of Wayne Hudson and his partner, Scout, whom you see sitting beside me.’
‘Hey,’ said Wayne, with nervous bravado.
‘Hello, America,’ Scout mumbled, her head still buried in her hands.
‘So, introductions over. Let’s come to the point.’ Incredibly, Bruce was beginning to enjoy himself. Here was his chance, the chance he had dodged the night before, the chance to take on the censors and reactionaries. And oh, such a chance. The Oscars podium paled in comparison to his current platform. What an opportunity! To face down two vicious, heavily armed murderers on live TV and bring them to some understanding of their personal responsibility for their actions. Bruce glowed with excitement. This would be a genuine moment in the social history of the United States, and he was to be the mouthpiece. He must be careful, he must concentrate. There must be no ‘legs of fire’ this time.
‘I make films in which actors and stunt artists pretend to kill people,’ he said. ‘Wayne and Scout actually kill people. Not long ago, they decapitated my security guard, and they shot my agent, Karl Brezner, dead in this very room – his corpse lies in my kitchen. They have also seriously wounded Ms Daniels here. They are, of course, the notorious Mall Murderers and have over the last few weeks slaughtered numerous other innocents. Is that a fair summary, Wayne?’
Wayne thought for a moment. ‘Well, Bruce, my sweet momma brought me up a Christian, so I guess I know that none of us is truly innocent, because even tiny babies are born with the original sin upon them, passed down to us all from Adam.’
‘Is that why you shoot people? Because they’re sinners?’ Bruce enquired, a sense of huge intellectual superiority welling up inside him.
‘To tell you the truth, I don’t know why I shoot people. Partly, I guess, because it’s so easy.’
‘Well, innocent or not, I think we can all at least agree that Wayne and Scout have made something of a habit of shooting people they don’t know.’
‘That is the case,’ Wayne admitted. ‘We sure do that.’
‘So what has all this to do with me?’ Bruce continued, sounding more like a schoolmaster every minute. ‘Well, Wayne and Scout have broken into my house and attacked my friends because they claim that I am in part responsible for their actions. They contend that in some way my work “inspired” them to do what they do. Now, I of course utterly refute this puerile concept-’
‘We never said you’d inspired us, Mr Delamitri.’ Scout’s head finally emerged from her hands. ‘Now don’t you go putting words into our mouths.’
‘Forgive me, I thought that was what this whole debate was about,’ Bruce replied.
‘Daddy, don’t be so patronizing,’ Velvet cried out from the lampstand.
Wayne considered Bruce’s answer. ‘No, Bruce, Scout’s right. “Inspired” is the wrong word altogether. I mean, it ain’t like we saw a guy and a girl shooting people in your movie and said, “Hey, I never thought of that. That’s what we should be doing.” ’
‘So my work does not inspire you? Then I’m confused. I cannot imagine what other point you make when you seek to equate me with your crimes.’
Wayne knew when he was being talked down to. ‘It ain’t a direct thing, Bruce,’ he answered sharply. ‘We ain’t morons. We didn’t walk straight out of Ordinary Americans and shoot the popcorn seller-’
Scout had been brought up to be honest. She couldn’t let this go by. ‘Actually, Wayne, we did.’
‘Once,’ Wayne conceded. ‘We did that once, that’s all. I must have seen Ordinary Americans fifty times, and only one time did I walk out and shoot the popcorn seller. What is more, that wasn’t because of no movie, it was because the stupid bastard in question was a popcorn seller who would not sell us any popcorn.’
In the control truck the producer nearly gave birth in horror. ‘For Christ’s sake!’ he screamed into Kirsten’s ear. ‘Can’t you tell that dumb fucker to watch his dirty fucking mouth? It is ten thirty in the fucking morning!’
‘Excuse me, Mr Hudson,’ Kirsten interrupted nervously, ‘could you possibly moderate your language? We’re picking up a massive audience share but adult dialogue is going to cause problems. The children’s channel has already gone back to Sesame Street.’
‘Yes, Wayne,’ Scout scolded, ‘you watch your mouth, now.’
‘Well, I’m sorry, honey, and I ‘pologize to you good people out there, specially if you’re watching with young people. But you know, what I’m describing here was a very aggravating situation.’