In other words, if they aren’t mob, they’re mob-adjacent.
He’s also “friends” with my father, for whatever the hellthat’sworth.
This morning when Charlie gives me a too-wide smile that screams schmoozing, I cut him off at the knees as soon as he closes the office door behind me and I don’t bother sitting down.
“I have a migraine, I feel like shit, so cut to the chase before Ipuke all over your carpet.”
At least that draws him up short and obviously makes him rethink his approach. He walks over to his desk and sits before laying the ask on me. “I need a favor, please. I want you to do an interview on your show tonight.”
Alarm bells louder than the ones already screaming in my pained brain add to the mental cacophony I’m currently enduring. “You know damn well that’snot how this works.” Not that this is the first time he’s tried to get me to do something like this.
“Look, he’s a staffer on the Hill, and his son was involved in some really stupid stuff last night. All I need you to do is a human-interest piece. The other morning shows are going to give it a few minutes each. I just need you to interview him, let him talk about his son, no big deal, huh? Slideit in C-block. A measly five minutes. You can spare that, right? I went to high school with the guy, and he’s tore up about this. Think about the deep background he can provide us with. He’s promised he’ll give you and your staff anything he can dig up on anyone, all you have to do is ask.”
“What’s his name?”
Charlie mistakenly thinks that’s a yes from me and smiles. “Grant Bowden. Really niceguy, he’s retiring next year, and I think you’ll like—”
“His son Clint is one of the assholes who put those two guys in the hospital last night, isn’t he?”
Charlie’s smile falters. “They were drunk, Kevin. They were drunk, and stupid, and they didn’t mean it. I’ve met Clint. He’s a good kid. It was just a stupid mistake.”
I’m already turning to go. “Tell that to Dayonte Ramone’s family. Theydon’t even know if he’s going to live. That’s not a mistake—that’s fucking attempted murder. No, I’mnotgoing to put that guy on to whine that his white son didn’t mean to hurt a gay black man. In fact, I’m going to be profiling the victims tonight and interviewing their families and co-workers.”
My hand reaches the doorknob before he speaks again. “You don’t want to do that, Kevin.”
I’m seriouslyclose to puking right now, but I won’t back down. I turn and squint at him through my glasses. “We can take this upstairs to Henry Clayton, if you want, Charlie. Right now. Let’s fucking do it.”
If anyone hates Charlie more than me, it’s our network’s president, Henry Clayton. Unfortunately, when Henry took over the network chair three years ago, he inherited Charlie. It’s more expensive to getrid of Charlie early and trigger his golden parachute than it is to let him serve out the last year of his contract.
Unlike me, Charlie had a damned good attorney negotiate his contract.
Meanwhile, the rest of us try to ignore the man and stay out of his way. He doesn’t have any real power over the A-list talent like me and Lauren, but he likes to think he does. We generally let him think that,because then he’s usually less of a pain in our asses.
Today, I’m having absolutely zero of his shit.
When he doesn’t respond to my threat to head up to Henry’s office, I nod. “I didn’t fucking think so.”
I slam his office door behind me and barely make it to his receptionist’s desk, where I grab her trash can and puke.
Fortunately for me, it has a plastic liner in it.
