"Tyranny of the Downbeat" Chapter 36

CHAPTER 36

It is when the hidden decisions are made explicit that the arguments begin.
-- Garrett Hardin, "The Tragedy of the Commons"

The final showdown was at hand. The "on-line" was finished.
It was time to prepare the video press releases. The documentary
would air the next Monday. The press releases would start
running the week before. But first, bowing to his undying sense
of fair play and justice--and in a final attempt to convince
Borba and those he represented to take responsibility for their
actions--Elliot offered to screen the documentary in advance for
them. The rest of the production team, including Delgado and
Valle, Reisner, Pope, and Palmer, would see it the next day.
It is just another warm night in what seems like an
endless string. It is almost steamy. It is so still you can
hear the Ralston Symphony tuning up for one of its outdoor
performances in the band shell.
In the murky room, wisps of smoke float past the flickering
television monitor. Faces are silhouetted against the blue light
of the reality they are witnessing. The eyes of Borba, Delancy,
and Santiago are leaden dead. Occasionally, they turn to look at
each other, then to their "guides" and back to the monitor.
Elliot, flanked by The Mole and Laura sitting, Western, Devereaux, and Walsh standing nearby.
As the closing music begins, I bring up the lights. Borba
speaks first, menacing but cornered.
--Borba "It's all bullshit, Lincoln. You'll never get it
to air."
--Elliot "Try and stop me."
--Borba "Do you have any idea how much money the people I
represent pump into broadcast television?" Feeling the corner
against his back.
--Western "Not enough."
--Santiago "Enough that the network decision-makers will
listen. They always do."
--Borba "Money talks."
--Walsh "And bullshit walks."
--Santiago "Even if you do show it, it won't make any
difference. We've been in politics and media long enough to know
that people just won't care."
--Elliot "Didn't you once say that the American public gets
90% of its news and information from the television? They'll
believe it. And they'll care."
--Delancy "Then we'll see you in court."
--Laura "That's exactly where we want to be."
--Santiago "Why'd you do it? It's not your area of
expertise. It's not what you know. It's really none of your
business. What did you expect to gain?"
--Devereaux "Hope for the future."
--Borba "Sixties horseshit!" He was panicking, manic.
--Elliot "None of you probably read the industry trades,
or even the grocery store tabloids. But if you did, and if
you'd taken the time to learn more about me, you'd know that I
can't have children. And I can't have them because I'm sterile.
When I was growing up, I drank water from a well fed by
groundwater. Water that was contaminated by people like you and
the agrichemical conspiracy you represent!"
--Western "And whose tracks you covered with money."
--Delancy "Conspiracy and cover-up? Pretty serious
charges. I hope you can prove them? Slander and libel can be
very costly."
--Elliot "I think I just did." He gestures to the
television, now blank.
--Santiago "What do you plan to do with it?"
--Elliot "We've arranged separate screenings for local,
state, and federal officials, and the media. Then it'll begin
airing on the networks in its present form. We'll cut a three
minute version so it can run as a short subject in the theaters."
--Western "We'll also make copies available for schools and
public service organizations. We may even give copies to the
larger video rental chains so they can loan it out."
--Laura "Parts of it will be introduced as evidence in
court."
--Santiago "You won't reconsider? Maybe give us an
opportunity for atonement?"
--Elliot "Not possible. I haven't any compromise left in
me."
--Borba "I see. Then we'll be going." They stood.
--Devereaux "Be sure to tell Mr. DiGiulio what you've
seen."
Borba is pulled up short, as if someone had just yanked his
strings. "Sure thing, Devereaux." As he passes the monitor,
he stops, then turns to look at the group, then back to the TV.
As he lashes out, knocking it off the table, Elliot watches it,
floating in slow motion, until it shatters against the floor.

He asked for a glass of water. He knew where it was, but
asked anyway. He stood, balanced himself on the back of the
chair, then walked over to the wet bar. He felt like he was
trudging through mud. He drank one, then another glass. He let
the cool water run over his trembling hand. He looked at himself
in the smoked mirror above the sink. His eyes appeared to be
bleeding they were so bloodshot. Rock bottom again. Down to the
dregs. Put your ass on the line for people and what do they do?
Kick you in the nuts. Then wipe their feet on your ass as they
step over you on their way out.
He remembered the priests. They were sorry they said, as
they looked with saddened faces. There was nothing they could
do, they told him. It is out of our hands, they confessed. It
is God's way, they murmured. Then God damn His ways and the rest
of you, I say. When I needed you, none of you were there. And
now, this man, the one I thought I could count on, has proved
he's no different than the rest of you. Is this what compassion
and humanity holds? Then I'll have none of it! It's up to me.
Like it's always been. Out there on my own.
He saw the heavy figure in the mirror's reflection. I must
confess. I have transgressed. He swung around and realized he
was not in church. This was not a confessional. That was not
the holy father. It was The Padrone, limping parallel to the
wall with the window overlooking the winery.
"What will we do now, Padrone?"
"I will continue with business as usual." The singular
stung John Anthony's cheek.
"Did you hear any of what I just told you? Once this thing
goes to air, we're all ruined." He desperately clung to the
collective.
"I believe you are the one who wasn't listening, my son."
He stops pacing behind his desk and holds out his two large
hands. "Whose hands are bloodied? Whose fingerprints will they
find? Certainly not mine. I do not recall giving any orders. I
do not recall setting any of these events in motion. It would
appear that all this was the result of a few over-zealous
lieutenants. Soldiers taking the initiative to protect their
general. Staffers intent on sheltering their superior. I
ordered nothing."
"They may see it differently, especially after they hear
what I have to say."
"I doubt they will believe you. I don't even believe you.
How do I know what you did, or did not do, once you left this
office. I only know what you said and did while you sat here."
He slowly leans down and opens a drawer in his desk. He lifts
out an audiocassette and points it at Borba. "I have hours of
these. Transcribed and in the computer system."
"And no doubt edited."
"I am prepared to turn all of them over to the authorities.
I intend to survive this tempest, as I have the others. You,
however, will not."
"The courts will have something to say about that."
"Yes, the courts. And all the officials who protect us from
anarchy. You seem to forget whose side they are really on."
Thrown to the wolves by the master manipulator. Just
another player in his dirty little game of control.
The Padrone crashes into the side of his desk, ducking as
the glass of water sweeps past his face and through the window.
A slash of water stretches from where Tony had stood, cutting
across the carpet to the window, where The Padrone watches the
large door swing slowly shut.

Elliot expected someone to call that night. So he wasn't
surprised when Borba did. He wanted to talk. He sounded out of
control. Elliot hesitated, but agreed to meet him at the Ice
Plant at ten.
Borba looked bad. DiGiulio must have cut him a new asshole.
"There's nothing I can do, nothing I can say or offer, that will
change your mind?"
"It's so easy for you people to turn your back on what
you've done. To find a way out. Not this time. You won't get
another chance to do it again if I have anything to say about
it."
He looked away from Elliot, then down at his feet. When
the gun came out, Elliot was not surprised. "Then I'll have to
ask you for everything. The masters, the edited master, and all
the copies."
"Won't make any difference. You know this business much too
well. I've already vaulted a number of copies and given several
release copies to stations and the papers. I had a feeling one
of you would try something. You've done it often enough in the
past."
"I knew that. But I hoped you might be careless."
"Then don't you be."
Borba looked exhausted, broken. He was no longer in control
and he knew it. It was a new sensation; not being on top of
everything. The man who once had so many options now had none.
The cool of the Ice Man had been shattered.
"Don't go down alone. Take them all with you. Everyone who
put you where you are now."
Borba rubbed his eyes and shivered. It was all unraveling.
"It just doesn't matter anymore. None of it."
"Then think about it. You can make it through this and do
some good at the same time."
"Do you have any water around here?" He looked wide-eyed in
desperation. "I really need a glass of water."
"Sure, over here." Elliot started to move, but stopped as the gun came out. "Easy now. This is getting really stupid. Don't make it worse than it already it."
Borba looked down at the gun and cocked it. "I think it's time we finished this."
"Don't be insane. You've still got a chance to survive this! Don't blow it!"
"That's what the priests said. They lied to me, too. You've all lied to me. All of you!" He leveled the gun at Elliot.
Elliot, pinned against the low shelf holding the monitor, spoke very carefully. "There has been a camera on you the entire time. Everything you have said has been recorded."
"I knew that. The electronic last confession."
"Then put the gun down and we'll both walk out of here."
"Can't do that."
"Why not?" The smallest panic in his voice.
"It's gone too far."
Borba straightened up abruptly, shakily, his legs unsteady. Elliot jumped, startled, raising his hands to block the bullets he expected. Borba turned to the monitor and fired. In slow motion, the television exploded. Borba slowly and deliberately, again in slow motion, turned back to Elliot. He lifted the gun and pulled back the hammer. Elliot stood frozen in fear of the inevitable. Borba smiled, put the gun in his mouth, and fired. Elliot saw it all in super slo-mo. Pictures at eleven.