32.
All was quiet when they pulled up in front of the Newtown State Correctional Facility for Women shortly after one in the afternoon. “Looks like we have an exclusive, so far,” Jeff said, taking a seat at a control panel towards the rear of the van. The cameraman/driver hit a button that raised the dish on the roof of the van so they would be in constant contact with the studio back in the City.
Candy smiled sweetly at Stan. “Thanks, Detective, I owe you one,” she said.
The older cameramen scrambled out to set up his camera so they would have a good shot of the prison behind Candy when she gave her spiel. The other cameraman took a handheld and strolled around the perimeter for some supplemental footage.
Candy got out of the van and took her place in front of the camera. Stan marveled at how, despite the fairly stiff breeze, her hair kept its perfect shape. Jeff invited Stan to sit beside him at the control panel so that he could watch Candy’s report without being seen by anyone in the prison.
The cameraman clipped a small wireless microphone to the lapel of the blue News 7 blazer she had slipped on over her blouse after doing up a couple of the buttons she had undone during their ride.
Candy was nodding wisely at Jeff’s instructions that were coming through the small earpiece she wore. “Gotcha, Jeff. Don’t worry, I’m a pro,” she assured him. The cameraman gave her the thumbs up and she took a deep breath and began.
“Tonight, we bring you a Channel 7 exclusive, very possibly the most shocking story we have ever covered. Behind me is the Newtown State Correctional Facility for Women. Certainly, no one would ever confuse this place with a luxury resort-the women in there are criminals, who deserve to be punished.”
Stan wasn’t sure that applied to Barb, but it certainly did to Buckner, Morton, Chao and most of the inmates.
Candy went on. “But no matter their crimes, they don’t deserve what we have learned they are subjected to, according to a very reliable source who has worked in this prison, backed up by clandestine video our source has provided exclusively to Channel 7, New York’s Best News Team. This video documents, beyond any doubt, that last evening, a brutal and perverted orgy, to rival anything that happened in the most decadent days of Rome, was staged right inside those walls behind me.”
Stan had to admit that she was good. With no script, she was nailing her presentation, which she had obviously planned during their drive up. Stan wondered idly what she looked like naked and what it would be like to nail her.
“During the course of this evening, as our video will show, female inmates were made to fight each other with whips, like gladiators of old, for the entertainment of guests, who, our source assures us, are some of our wealthiest and most influential citizens. While watching these contests, these very important men were provided sexual services by other inmates, a demand the women were not in a position to refuse.”
“Most shockingly of all, the losing team in the gladiator fights was subjected to a real Roman crucifixion. They were scourged with vicious whips, then nailed to wooden crosses. One of the women so abused, our source tells us, was former NYPD Detective Barbara Moore, whom many of you may remember was crucified once before during the case known as The Bronx Crux Murders.”
“We are going to show you some scenes filmed by our informant. I must caution our viewers that these are shocking and disturbing scenes, containing nudity, violence and sex.”
“OK, Candy, that’s a wrap,” Jeff said into the microphone. Candy relaxed and took several deep breaths. “The studio will splice in some selected scenes,” he explained to Stan. “They’ll have to blur the boobs and genitals for broadcast, of course. Hopefully, the lawyers will let it go on our web site uncensored. This is basic First Amendment stuff-the people’s right to know and all that.” He winked at Stan.
“I hope the site doesn’t crash,” Stan said.
“You and me both, brother,” Jeff replied.
Stan watched as Candy, accompanied by the cameraman with the handheld, strode purposefully to the guard booth just outside the gate. A female C.O. whom Stan vaguely recognized poked her head out. “Candy Stevens, Channel 7, New York’s Best News Team. We need to speak with the Warden.”
“I’m sorry,” the guard replied. “All press interviews need to be cleared through the Department of Corrections Headquarters.”
“We have reliable information that inmates in this prison are being abused.”
The guard laughed. “These bitches are trouble. Sometimes they have to be sent to the Disciplinary Unit, but I wouldn’t call it abuse. More like well-deserved punishment.”
“What happens in the Disciplinary Unit?”
The guard seemed to be about to speak, then realized she had already said too much and had best shut up. “I’m sorry, as I told you, any press has to be approved by the DoC.”
“We are told that there was a real Roman orgy here last night. What can you tell me about it?”
“Nothing. I told you, I can’t talk to reporters.” She scowled menacingly.
“Some inmates were crucified, we’ve been told” Candy said. “Can you tell me what happened to them? Are they OK now?”
“Sorry,” the guard replied, shaking her head. “You’ll have to take that up with the DoC. Now, I have to ask you to leave. If you don’t, I’ll call the State Police to have you removed. This is State property and this is your final warning.”
Candy and the cameraman made their way back to the van. Jeff gave each of them a high five as they got inside. “Great work, guys! Pulitzers all around!” he shouted.
Candy sat back on the second row bench and Stan got up to sit next to her. Miraculously, though he hadn’t seen her apply any perfume while out there doing her story, she seemed as fragrant as ever.
“So where to now, Jeff?” she asked.
“We gotta lay low until the story airs this evening. We don’t want to tip off the competition. Our capital reporters will be knocking on the door of the DoC, the Governor’s Office, the Attorney General and the Legislature within 10 seconds of the story hitting. But for now, we should get lunch and find somewhere to get a bit of rest until the shit hits the fan.”
Stan thought that sounded good, since the last non-donut food he’d had was yesterday’s dinner, much of which he’d regurgitated, and he hadn’t slept a wink in over 36 hours. He was worried about Barb, but he didn’t see what he could do other than hope that the story’s airing would lead to her rescue.
“I stayed at a motel out on highway 20, a few miles away. It’s not the Pierre, but it’s decent,” he volunteered. “There’s a diner just down the road that I ate at a couple of times and lived to tell the tale.”
Stan directed them to the diner and then to a liquor store. He stayed in the van while the crew went inside, not wanting to be seen. He was exhausted and didn’t need any additional stimulation anyway.
When they reached the motel, Jeff went in to pay for rooms for each of them. “This is on the station,” he assured Stan.
Stan lay on the bed, too wired to sleep, despite his exhaustion. He heard a knock at the door and went to answer it. It was Candy, her shirt buttons undone again. She held a bottle of what looked like a very nice single malt Scotch in her left hand. “I really do owe you big time for giving me this scoop, Detective Goldman. Would you join me in a drink?” Stan stepped out of the way and let her in. There was something about that perfume that was hard to resist.