Manhattan Night

1

I sell mayhem,

scandal, murder, and doom.

Oh, Jesus, I do.

I sell the newborn and the dead.

I sell the wretched, magnificent

city of New York back to its people.

I sell newspapers.

Thanks for your time.

Yeah?

Porter. I got

a shooting, plus a fire.

- Mm. Any bodies?

- At least two, projects on Avenue d.

Paul said something about a kid.

I'm on it. I'm on it.

Thanks.

I'm always running to the place

where the bad thing

just happened,

arriving just after

the danger has passed,

watching from a safe distance,

searching for an angle,

that little wrinkle, the kick to the heart

that makes you want to put down the dollar

and pick up the paper.

With three deadlines a week,

I'm always looking

for a good story.

I seen the smoke.

And I'm looking up there.

And that's when Demetrius,

he come jumping

through that window.

And he on fire,

burning like all over.

And he holding Vernon here.

And Demetrius,

he fall, fall, and fall.

I can see he gonna land

on top of the baby.

And then just before

Demetrius land,

he do this little kind of flip.

And he landed on his back.

And he holding the baby up,

like...

And I can see that

he do that on purpose.

What did you do?

I run over and

I pick up Vernon here.

And I see Demetrius.

He just not gonna make it,

because he landed

on his back like that.

Hey, little man.

I'm sorry that happened to you

and your daddy. You okay?

No, no, no, he don't talk yet.

Fall, fall, fall.

Thanks for your time.

Hey, you're the one that helped

them find that little girl?

I write a column

for a daily newspaper.

In other words,

I'm an endangered species.

I used to think my stories

could make a difference.

Now I just hope they are

enough to feed my family.

These days, eight million kids

have iPhones

and post their videos on YouTube

like they're actually reporting

and commenting on something.

Eh. My wife says I sound old.

I'm heading into a long one, so

you'll probably get home before me.

Josephine needs to get paid.

And please remember to scrub

the pots and pans.

You keep leaving them for me.

Yeah, well, they

have to soak overnight.

Oh, yeah?

- Yeah.

- - Really?

Is that what

your mother told you?

Well, look, I got to go, baby.

- Wait, Porter.

- What?

Did you remember your tuxedo?

Yeah, but I don't want to go.

Everyone's going to be

sucking up to Hobbs, uh...

you know, if they're really thinking about

cutting your column, you better go.

I know you are a watcher, Mr.

wren, but it is rude to stare.

I'm sorry. I was just trying to

figure out where I knew you from.

I see you recognize me, though.

From your cheesy picture.

The one that

goes with my column.

Your smug expression

is annoying.

It was, uh, taken last year,

in the waning moments

of my youth.

Right before they retired

the film camera?

- Wow.

- - Sorry.

Does anyone actually read

the newspaper anymore?

Well, I have a few fans

of the print edition.

I'm told they Twitter at me.

I think they Twitter

about how awesome it is,

the feel of the paper,

the smell of the ink.

Hashtag-well-written-column.

Well...

I do like the feel of the paper.

And your column, Mr. wren,

is always very well written,

in an old-time,

classic kind of way.

- Well...

- I do wonder, though.

It must be depressing for you to

be in all those places

right after a terrible thing

has happened.

You must have seen

so many awful things.

I've seen a few things.

People seem to open up to you.

You must have a skill for

asking the right questions.

Usually people want

to tell somebody,

and I'm just there

at the right time.

Come on.

You're being modest.

What brings you to the party?

My boyfriend, Charlie's bank,

does some kind of business

with the company

that I guess just

bought your paper.

You all work for

Hobbs now, I guess.

"All" meaning mankind?

Yes.

You grateful you landed a job

that pays you to stare at people?

Look...

I deal with bullshitters

all day.

But I'm on my own time here,

so, if this is all

going somewhere,

get to it already.

Well, it's complicated.

It takes some time to explain.

Oh.

Could we leave right now

and go back to my apartment?

It's only 15 blocks from here.

Charlie wouldn't be coming.

Is this about your

husband's death?

Porter wren, is it?

- Yes.

- You must come and have a word with Mr. Hobbs.

He's quite eager to meet you.

Excuse me.

This is Porter wren,

the investigative reporter

who found the girl.

Excuse me, Mr. Hobbs?

Uh, Mr. Porter wren, sir,

famed investigative reporter

who now writes the column.

Really?

Yeah?

I really think this

could happen.

I think it's very prudent.

I think you could get this...

- every single...

- mm-hmm.

Wonderful.

The invitation still stands?

Yes.

Come in.

I want to show you this.

Okay, this is what

we're talking about.

This is where we start.

- This is where we start?

- Yes.

- Another drink?

- Why not?

To help you through

the gates of hell.

This is a police report.

It's a bit stingy

with the tonic and ice.

Well, I want you drunk,

so I can tell whether

you are a lout or not.

You know you can get in a lot of

trouble for having these files?

Detectives don't even let other

cops see these things.

I know that.

Okay. So, Simon Crowley

was found in the rubble of a

demolished building.

Surrounding the body were

small pieces of Jade.

Police have no idea

how he got in there,

given the high fence with wire,

nor can they determine the cause

of death because of the...

the bulldozers

and the rats. You can say it.

I've read the report 17 times.

I'm sorry.

"The world-famous filmmaker

appears incapable of smiling."

Clearly.

"Several hours into

the interview,

I came to realize

that Simon Crowley..."

Thank you.

"...is not a nice person,

particularly,

and he doesn't

care if you know it.

In his pursuit of great movies,

woman upon woman,

and cigarettes,

in that order,

niceness is irrelevant."

Mixed review.

- Is that best director?

- Best original screenplay.

Apparently it's what they give you when they

want to give you best director but they can't.

They still can't figure out

how he got in there.

The place was all locked up and

he didn't have a key on him.

What's the story

with the pieces of Jade?

No idea.

Whew.

Could I have my coat, please?

I hope you don't feel like I've

wasted your time.

Here's my number.

When the gate shuts,

my work and the city

remain on the other side of the wall

that surrounds our hidden home.

Lisa and I fell in love with this

house when we were first married.

There's something about it surviving

hundreds of years, like a secret.

It kept me honest.

Anywhere else, this house

should be mundane.

But in Manhattan,

it was a miracle.

My family slept inside,

safe from the dangers

of these dark streets,

secluded too from the world of Caroline

Crowley and her famous dead husband,

who could not enter

this secret place,

unless, of course, I brought

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