First Deputy: “Have you seen the tape?”
“I read the file on all the tapes. I’m familiar with our particular problem.”
“But you didn’t view the tape. . . .” The Colonel nodded to his lieutenant. “With your permission-” :‘We know the problem,” Delgado said.
“Even so,” said the Colonel, and nodded to his lieutenant again. “With your permission . . .”
The Lieutenant rose, his briefcase in his hand, went to the near corner, where a massive Sony console squatted, knelt beside it, opened his briefcase, and took out a small video cassette player and a short coil of cable. He put those down on the carpet, then reached behind the console for connections.
“The difficulty of this matter is,” the Colonel said, “that any revelation at all—routine investigative reports, court records, gossip, newspapers … anything like that at all . . .”
“A special squad is handling this,” Delgado said.
“Yes,” the Colonel said. “-I wish I could say I found that reassuring.”
Delgado sat in his filmy shade (near his left foot, the climbing sun had laid a lemon-yellow shelf of light along the floor), looked at the Colonel, but said nothing further.
“May I ask what those ‘special squad’ people have been told?” the Colonel said.
“That it’s a confidential case. To keep their mouths shut.” Cherusco said. “-That’s what they’ve been told.”
“Heaven knows that’s the truth,” the Colonel said.
“-And minimal record-keeping, I hope. Not necessarily any resolution of the case at all . . . ?”
“Could be,” Cherusco said.
The Lieutenant finished his connections behind the Sony, stood, and said, “Ready, sir.”
“I hope you didn’t screw up that set,” the First Deputy said. “There’s a perfectly good VCR right in the console, in the top.”
“Let her roll, Bob,” the Colonel said.
The Lieutenant bent, took a cassette from the open briefcase, snapped it into the recorder, pushed the start button, then stood and took an easy stance at parade rest beside the TV, carefully clear of sight lines.
“This is a copy of Godiva tape four hundred and twenty-three,” he said.
“There was no sound taken for this tape.” The Southern Lieutenant had done many briefings-had done a course at Fort Sill on how to conduct them-and possessed a light, pleasantly penetrating tenor voice, full of pending information, though, in this case, he had nothing more to say.
“We have copies of all this shit,” Cherusco said.
The Sony’s screen had meanwhile expressed a sheet of fine-grained white, then faded to the same, but with letters printed in thick black across it.
SECRET-VERIFIED EYES ONLY
Log. 4771-Video File 676UI-881 New York City Police Department Auth.
Max. Tr.
GODIVA—OCt. 4, 1987 (Frankenthaler) (It.)
These titles held for a number of seconds.
“That’s cute,” Cherusco said. “You guys must have forgot to label this one Department of Defense.”
“We have all these tapes ID’d under DOD regulation logs,” the Lieutenant said.
“Sure you do,” Cherusco said. “-You guys wouldn’t be plannin’ to leave us holdin’ the nasty bag, would you?”
“We have no such intention,” the Colonel said as the titles flickered and faded, revealing-in slightly fuzzy black and white-a small, slender blond woman, short-haired and very pretty. Seen, by the slight softness of her narrow upper arms, her slim thighs, to be at least in her early thirties, she sat at the edge of a very wide bed in her bra and panties, watching with a sort of abstracted attention a monumental and moving geometry at the bed’s center.
There, in profile to the immobile camera’s lens, muscled, naked, and balding, a white man with an intent harsh-featured face and pale furry buttocks, was kneeling in attendance to the large, near flaccid penis of a lean, beautiful young black man, also nude, and distinguished by neat and lovely breasts.
This activity, rendered impressive rather
“I read the file on all the tapes. I’m familiar with our particular problem.”
“But you didn’t view the tape. . . .” The Colonel nodded to his lieutenant. “With your permission-” :‘We know the problem,” Delgado said.
“Even so,” said the Colonel, and nodded to his lieutenant again. “With your permission . . .”
The Lieutenant rose, his briefcase in his hand, went to the near corner, where a massive Sony console squatted, knelt beside it, opened his briefcase, and took out a small video cassette player and a short coil of cable. He put those down on the carpet, then reached behind the console for connections.
“The difficulty of this matter is,” the Colonel said, “that any revelation at all—routine investigative reports, court records, gossip, newspapers … anything like that at all . . .”
“A special squad is handling this,” Delgado said.
“Yes,” the Colonel said. “-I wish I could say I found that reassuring.”
Delgado sat in his filmy shade (near his left foot, the climbing sun had laid a lemon-yellow shelf of light along the floor), looked at the Colonel, but said nothing further.
“May I ask what those ‘special squad’ people have been told?” the Colonel said.
“That it’s a confidential case. To keep their mouths shut.” Cherusco said. “-That’s what they’ve been told.”
“Heaven knows that’s the truth,” the Colonel said.
“-And minimal record-keeping, I hope. Not necessarily any resolution of the case at all . . . ?”
“Could be,” Cherusco said.
The Lieutenant finished his connections behind the Sony, stood, and said, “Ready, sir.”
“I hope you didn’t screw up that set,” the First Deputy said. “There’s a perfectly good VCR right in the console, in the top.”
“Let her roll, Bob,” the Colonel said.
The Lieutenant bent, took a cassette from the open briefcase, snapped it into the recorder, pushed the start button, then stood and took an easy stance at parade rest beside the TV, carefully clear of sight lines.
“This is a copy of Godiva tape four hundred and twenty-three,” he said.
“There was no sound taken for this tape.” The Southern Lieutenant had done many briefings-had done a course at Fort Sill on how to conduct them-and possessed a light, pleasantly penetrating tenor voice, full of pending information, though, in this case, he had nothing more to say.
“We have copies of all this shit,” Cherusco said.
The Sony’s screen had meanwhile expressed a sheet of fine-grained white, then faded to the same, but with letters printed in thick black across it.
SECRET-VERIFIED EYES ONLY
Log. 4771-Video File 676UI-881 New York City Police Department Auth.
Max. Tr.
GODIVA—OCt. 4, 1987 (Frankenthaler) (It.)
These titles held for a number of seconds.
“That’s cute,” Cherusco said. “You guys must have forgot to label this one Department of Defense.”
“We have all these tapes ID’d under DOD regulation logs,” the Lieutenant said.
“Sure you do,” Cherusco said. “-You guys wouldn’t be plannin’ to leave us holdin’ the nasty bag, would you?”
“We have no such intention,” the Colonel said as the titles flickered and faded, revealing-in slightly fuzzy black and white-a small, slender blond woman, short-haired and very pretty. Seen, by the slight softness of her narrow upper arms, her slim thighs, to be at least in her early thirties, she sat at the edge of a very wide bed in her bra and panties, watching with a sort of abstracted attention a monumental and moving geometry at the bed’s center.
There, in profile to the immobile camera’s lens, muscled, naked, and balding, a white man with an intent harsh-featured face and pale furry buttocks, was kneeling in attendance to the large, near flaccid penis of a lean, beautiful young black man, also nude, and distinguished by neat and lovely breasts.
This activity, rendered impressive rather
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