After that I kept the station on for another half hour, watching a tedious rerun of some sex comedy and about twenty commercials, until the Mexico map finally reappeared. “Enterprise zones. The perfect route for small businessmen hoping to make it to the top. But sometimes those businesses are taking federal seed money and using it to grow cocaine. Go inside Chicago with Murray Ryerson and find out how Mexican immigrants are using such innocuous–seeming businesses as a uniform factory as a cover for drug deals. Tuesday night at—”

I switched off the set before the tag line ended. Joan of Arc or no, on my own against the giants or not, I couldn’t lie here on Lotty’s living room rug while Global used Murray to destroy Frenada’s reputation. I started a reflexive finger on the phone buttons, about to call Murray and shriek at him, when I realized it would be one of those conversations that begin with “what the hell do you think you’re doing” and end with both parties slamming the phone down.

I frowned for a moment, then went into Lotty’s little home office. She’s never felt the need to add automation to her home, but she has a typewriter. I’d used just such a primitive instrument until a couple of years ago. I scrounged in her drawers for a large envelope, typed LACEY DOWELL, TRIANON HOTEL. SCRIPT CHANGES. BY MESSENGER in caps across it on the diagonal. In the left corner I typed Global’s Chicago address. It would be better, of course, if I had a laser printer and could manufacture something resembling their corporate logo, but this would have to do.

Dear Ms. Dowell, I wrote.

Do you know that on Tuesday night, Global television is going to run a story denouncing Lucian Frenada as a drug smuggler? Do you know why they want to do this? Do you approve? Finally, do you know where Mr. Frenada is? I am a private investigator who has been caught up willy–nilly in his affairs, and I am virtually certain that evidence against him has been manufactured. If you know any reason why the studio would do such a thing, I will wait downstairs to talk to you, or, if you prefer, you may call me.

I included my home and office numbers, put the note in the envelope, and sealed the whole thing with packing tape. I wrote a note for Lotty, telling her I was going home and would call her tonight, and rode the elevator down to the lobby, where I got the doorman to summon a cab.

Chapter 25: Reaching Out To—A Friend?

25 Reaching Out To—A Friend?