Hand of Fate (Triple Threat, #2)
Lis Wiehl
Chapter 1
KNWS Radio
Tuesday, February 7
Jim Fate bounced on the toes of his black Salvatore Ferragamo loafers. He liked to work on his feet. Listeners could hear it in your voice if you were sitting down, could detect the lack of energy. He leaned forward, his lips nearly touching the silver mesh of the mike.
"Can massive federal spending and a huge new layer of government bureaucracy really make the United States a better, safer place? Or is it a matter of simply enforcing the food safety laws the states already have on the books? For more than a century, our food safety system has been built on the policy that food companies--not government--have the primary responsibility for the safety and integrity of the foods they produce."
"So what are you suggesting, Jim?" Victoria Hanawa, his cohost, asked. "Are you saying we just let more Americans die when they buy food a company couldn't bother to keep clean?"
She sat on a high stool on the other side of the U-shaped table, her back to the glass wall that separated the radio studio from the screener's booth. To Jim's right was the control room, sometimes called the news tank, where the board operator worked his bank of equipment and where one or more local reporters joined him at the top and the bottom of the hour.
"What I'm saying, Hanawa, is that activists are seizing the latest salmonella scare to further their own goals of increasing the power of the federal government. They don't really care about these . People. They only care about their own agenda, which is to create a nanny state full of burdensome, unworkable, and costly regulation. And of course the federal government, being the federal government, believes that the only solution to any problem is adding another layer--or ten--of federal government."
While he spoke, Jim eyed the two screens in front of him. One displayed the show schedule. It was also hooked up to the Internet so he could look up points on the fly. The other screen showed the listeners holding for their chance to talk. On it, Chris had listed the name, town, and point of view of each caller. Three people were still on the list, meaning they would hold over the upcoming break. Now a fourth caller and a fifth joined the queue.
"What about the Tenth Amendment? There are state laws already in place to address these issues! We don't need to add a whole new layer of government bureaucracy that could end up doubling or even tripling food prices! I mean, that would be stuck on stupid."
"But the food industry in this country is putting profits before safety," Victoria protested.
"With all due respect, Hanawa, if we let the federal government handle it, they will insist that everyone who buys anything at a grocery store sign a release form and be issued their very own government-approved barf bag. Just another example of disenfranchisement."
Victoria's mouth started to form an answer, but it was time for the top-of-the-hour break. Chris pointed at the clock and then made a motion with his hands like he was snapping a stick.
Jim said, "And you've been listening to The Hand of Fate. We're going to take a quick break for a news, traffic, and weather update. But before we go, I want to read you the e-mail from the Nut of the Day: `Jim, you are a fat, ugly liar who resembles the hind end of a poodle. Signed, Mickey Mouse.'"
He laughed, shielding himself from the sting. In this business, you knew that words could hurt you. Even if you were only forty-one and in good shape, with the kind of traditional broody Irish looks that made most women look twice.
"Fat? Maybe. Ugly? Well, I can't help that. I can't even help the hind-end-of-a-poodle business, although I think that's going a bit far. But a liar? No, my friend, that's one thing I am not. While I'll give this a pass today, you'll need to get a little more creative than that if you want to win the NOD award. And America's Truth Detector will be right back in a moment to hear from you." He pushed back the mike on its black telescoping arm.
As the first notes of the newscast jingle sounded in his ears, Jim pulled the padded black headphones down around his neck. He and Victoria now had six minutes to themselves before the third and final hour of the broadcast.
"I'm going to get some tea," she said, without meeting his eyes. Jim nodded. In the last week, there had been a strained civility between them when they were off mike. On air, though, they still had chemistry. Even if now it was the kind of chemistry you got from mixing together the wrong chemicals in your junior scientist kit.