The Night Crew

with her nagging voice: ‘‘Do you want an on-camera statement?’’
    And Anna thought, Who’s running this thing? But she had to smile at the other woman’s effective management: ‘‘Yeah, but we’d better hurry,’’ Anna said. ‘‘The cops’ll be coming.’’
    Anna said into the mike, ‘‘Jason, get on the Bee, she’ll make a statement.’’ She pushed the mike up, raised her voice, shouted, ‘‘Rat, where are you?’’
    The man with the pig turned toward her: ‘‘I’m the Rat,’’ he said. His teeth were bared, his face spotted with what looked like mud, but could be pig shit.
    ‘‘We’re gonna need you over here: we need a comment,’’ Anna said.
    ‘‘No problem,’’ he said. He handed the struggling pig to a woman. ‘‘What exactly do you want?’’ The Rat had a deep, smooth voice, a singer’s baritone. His eyes were pale blue behind the black mask.
    ‘‘Just tell us why you did it,’’ Anna said, nodding at Jason’s camera.
    He leaned forward and stage-whispered, ‘‘For the publicity.’’
    Anna grinned back and said, ‘‘Tell that to the camera.’’
    Jason yelled, ‘‘Hey, Rat: You wanna do this, or what?’’
    As the Rat and the Bee talked to Jason’s camera, Anna pulled the mike down in front of her face and said, ‘‘Creek, let’s talk to the kid. Let me in there first.’’
    Creek hung back a couple of steps, so the camera wouldn’t be right in the kid’s face. Anna squatted next to him, and patted him on the shoulder. ‘‘Are you okay?’’
    The kid looked up, dazed, a pale teenage child with brown eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses. ‘‘What?’’
    ‘‘Are you okay?’’ Anna asked again.
    ‘‘They’re gonna fire me,’’ he said. He looked back at the building. ‘‘I was supposed to watch them. They were my responsibility, the animals. I was supposed to keep everybody out, but they came in so fast . . .’’
    ‘‘How’d you get the bloody nose?’’ Anna asked.
    ‘‘I tried to hold the door, but they kicked through. Then about four of them held me and I couldn’t get to the phone, and they tipped everything over in the lab, all the animal cages, everything.’’ He touched his face. ‘‘I think the door hit me . . .’’
    ‘‘Look, there’s gonna be two sides to this,’’ Anna said. She looked back at Creek, and said, ‘‘Creek.’’
    Creek stepped away, spotted a mouse looking at him from the top of the loading dock and closed in on it. Behind him, the Bee and the Rat were still talking to Jason’s camera; the pig was still struggling with the woman who’d taken it, but the squealing had stopped, and the scene was almost quiet.
    Anna turned back to the kid and continued, ‘‘The animal rights guys will be heroes to some people. And some people will be heroes to the scientific community.’’
    She patted his thigh. ‘‘Now, go like this. From your nose.’’
    She made an upward rubbing gesture with her hand, on her own face.
    The kid gulped. ‘‘Why?’’
    ‘‘Want to keep your job?’’ Anna grinned at him. She was a small woman, dark-haired, with an oval face and corn-flower-blue eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses: she had an effect on young males. ‘‘Be a hero. Smear a little blood around your face and we’ll put you on camera, telling your side. Believe me, they won’t fire you.’’
    ‘‘I need the job,’’ the kid said tentatively.
    ‘‘Smear a little blood and stand up . . . what’s your name?’’
    The kid was no dummy: He’d been born in front of a TV set. He wiped blood up his cheek and said, ‘‘Charles Mc-Kinley . . . How do I look?’’ His cheek looked like a raw sirloin.
    ‘‘Great. That’s McKinley, M-c-K-i-n-l-e-y, Charles, regular spelling.’’
    ‘‘Yeah.’’ He touched his face again: the blood was brilliant red.
    ‘‘What’s your job up there, Charles?’’ Anna got a few more details about the job, his age, where he lived.
    ‘‘That’s really great,’’ she said. ‘‘Now what . . .’’
    The pig screamed, and Anna turned.
    The woman who’d been holding it had carried it toward Jason’s camera, where Jason was interviewing the Rat. As it screamed, the animal kicked free, and ran.
    The Rat stooped and tried to scoop it up, like a bouncing football; but the pig went through, smacked into his ankle, and the Rat fell squarely on his butt: ‘‘Shit,’’ he shouted. ‘‘Get the pig . . .’’
    Jason was still on him, lights in his