Through the van doors I saw banks of tape recorders and electrical equipment. There was an old bridge table in front. Inside, a guy was rearing back in a folding chair, reading a Fantastic Four comic and sipping from a Styrofoam coffee cup.

When I looked back, the woman was walking towards me. A man in a sports jacket, also with headphones (all the other guys were in shirt sleeves), wearing a string tie like a line of blood down his blue shirt, came with her. I heard her say: “… on in four minutes.”

The man said: “This on-the-spot ought to keep the ghouls out there in Radio Land happy.”

The woman said: “Too bad it isn’t TV. Then we could go inside and show them the mess.” She frowned at the barge. “Have you been in?”

The man shook his head. “And I don’t want to. I’ve got one of the cops lined up to describe it.” He shook his head again. “He gave me a little sample. Mary, this Harkner kid is a real monster!”

“Alleged monster,” the woman said. “You’ve been doing fine up till now. But if the station gets into a lawsuit because you leave out an adjective, Martin will have your left testicle for breakfast, my dear, on a gold toothpick.”

“A real, alleged monster,” the man said. “Okay?”

But she was running her finger down the clipboard. “Let me see.… Oh, here. Lend me your pen a minute—oh, never mind.” She took one out of her pocket, a yellow one, this time, with a blue cap. She made a note and put it back. “You’ve got somebody looking out for all your interviewees so they don’t run off?”

“Yeah—if they haven’t run off anyway. Don’t worry. It’ll go.”

She turned up two pages, took out another pen, made another note. “Teddy’s giving you a thirty-second delay.”

“Why not just five?”

“People get excited at these things.” She let go of the pages, stabbed at her pocket a couple of times before she got it in. One, then the other, the pages flipped back down. “If somebody says something they shouldn’t, it’s likely to be more than the usual ‘shit,’ ‘God,’ or ‘fuck.’ Teddy’s a good tape jockey. I brought him along because he can edit on the run. Just don’t let anybody make any mistakes over ten seconds long.” She took her cigarette out her mouth, looked at it—it still had an inch to go—and put it back. “I’ve directed some strange radio shows before but, really, this has got to be it!”

A man came up. “Here’s your mike, Mr. Sawyers. You want to leave the wind-ball on it, Mary?”

She frowned at the sky. “It’s pretty calm, but I think I felt a breeze a minute ago. Besides, it’ll cut some of the crowd rhubarb. We’ll keep the ball.”

“Okay.”

The man in the red string tie took the mike.

The other man fell behind him, dragging lots of cable and spreading it out in big S’s.