Easy Prey

walked back to the line.
    “What’s going on?” Rose Marie asked.
    “We’re talking,” Lucas said. “I gotta go get some movie people.”
    He felt like he was plodding through knee-deep mud. He spotted Ginger House from Channel Three, with her cameraman, pointed at her, and gestured. She tapped herself on the chest, and Lucas nodded and shouted, “Bring your cameraman.”
    She trotted across the police line with the cameraman in tow, and other reporters began screaming in the background. Lucas said, “You will now owe me more than you can ever possibly repay.”
    “What?” She was a nice-looking redhead with freckles on her narrow nose.
    “We’re gonna walk up there, and the guy’s gonna give us a statement, and then maybe something good’ll happen.”
    “Is it dangerous?” she asked. She sounded reluctant.
    “No, I don’t think--”
    “You know what’s dangerous, Ginger?” the cameraman asked. “What’s dangerous is, if you turn this down, I swear to God I’ll go back to the truck, get out my gun, and shoot you in the forehead. Every goddamn person in the world is gonna see us do this. We do this, we’re gonna be movie stars.”
    “Or I’ll be dead,” she said.
    “Hell, you’re a second-string reporter in Minneapolis. That’s the same thing as being dead anyway,” the cameraman said.
    She thought about it for a second, then said, “Okay.” As they walked up to the gas station, she said to Lucas, “I don’t have to blow you or anything for doing this?”
    “Well, yeah, that is part of the deal,” Lucas said.
    “Maybe I’ll just describe what I would have done, and you can handle it yourself,” she said, trying for a sweet smile; but she was shaking. “What do I say to him?”
    “Fall back on your clichés,” Lucas said.
    LUCAS PUSHED THE door open, said, “This is Ginger House, from Channel Three.” The cameraman focused on Scott. Ginger said, “I’ll have to come in there to do the introduction. I don’t have a gun or anything.”
    “Better not be a trick,” Scott said. “We got a TV, and it’s tuned to Channel Three.” He nodded at a small four-inch television sitting on a shelf inside the booth.
    “I’m too nervous for any tricks,” Ginger said, and her voice carried conviction. She stepped through the door, and then turned to face the camera, with Scott looming behind her through the bulletproof glass. The cameraman refocused on her; he whispered, “You’re live.”
    Ginger said, “This is Ginger House. We’re standing in an Amoco station off I-35W in Minneapolis, where Mr. Martin Scott is holding two hostages. Mr. Scott is suspected by Minneapolis police of involvement in the murders done in revenge for the Alie’e Maison killing last week. Mr. Scott has agreed to be interviewed exclusively for the Channel Three Good Morning show. How are you, Mr. Scott?” Smiling, she pivoted toward Scott, who smiled and said, “Well, Ginger, I’m pretty busy this morning, as you can see. . . .”
    “Aw, Jesus,” Lucas muttered to himself. He turned and looked back toward the growing crowd. He could hear the howling of the other TV people from where he was standing. “Jesus H. Christ.”
    They talked for ten minutes; and Scott wasn’t bad, Lucas thought. He explained the killings cogently, and justified them. Plain had exploited her death by selling pictures of her naked the same night she was murdered; her parents had gotten her involved in dope and deviant sexuality in the first place; Spooner, of course, had actually killed Alie’e.
    At the end of the interview, Ginger asked, “Could we just ask a question or two of the hostages?”
    “Sure, go ahead.”
    The woman was named Melody. “We’ve been treated very well, better than I expected. Mr. Scott has been a gentleman,” she said, with a slight unidentifiable accent. Then she did a little finger wave at the camera. The other hostage, a dark-haired young man named Ralph, said, “I just want to get out of here. I’ve got classes this morning—we’ve got a quiz.”
     
 
AS GINGER AND the cameraman walked back across the gas pad to the police lines, the howling of the press seemed to swell again. Lucas leaned in the door. “So now you’ve had your airtime. Now if you kill anyone, they’ll figure everything else was bullshit, and you were a phony all the time.”
    “I’m thinking,” Scott said.
    And the woman, Melody, said to Lucas, “Please, please get me out of here.” And to Scott: