On The Line

The Newsroom / Men's Club

The normal frenzy of the newsroom is heightened as the On the Line crew prepare for the evening’s program. Other news stations run twenty-four seven and have broken everything that can be broken in a story. The police have confirmed that the victim was indeed Sam Matthews, known as a star in the city for his investment portfolio but also expertise and insights as a market whiz analyst. CNN, CNBC, Bloomberg, SKY News and all of the dailies have run stories about the murder.

Tom French offers viewers something more. What makes On the Line successful is that they dig deeper. Their stories are not only about what has happened but they find out why.

But there is another dimension to this story that has peaked viewing. The killer seems to be targeting London’s most eligible bachelors. And viewers can’t help but think that Tom must be on that list.

Jackie dashes across the newsroom. She sees Stephanie who has emerged from make-up dazed like a porcelain doll.

‘Tom’s doing the show live, from Mayfair. You’ll have to cover the desk today.’

‘He’s doing it live! Why wasn’t I informed?’

‘I just told you,’ says Jackie.

‘You?! Where’s Tom. I must have a word with him. I’m not going on live tonight. We have plans.’

‘Well, we must cancel our plans,’ says Jackie. ‘Innit.’

‘He can’t just ‘go live’ whenever he wants to.’

‘There was another murder last night,’ says Jackie.

‘I know there was another murder last night. I’m not thick, you know.’

‘Do I?’

‘Do you what?’ says Stephanie.

‘Nothing.’

‘I can’t change my plans.’

‘You’ll have to. There was a bleeding murder last night. This show covers things like this. That’s what we do. Plans have to be changed.’

‘Murder. If you ask me, Tom is obsessed with these murders.’

‘Murder is good for ratings.’

‘Murder and ratings. Don’t you have anything better to do than to inform me that I have to change my plans now and work half the night?’

‘I’m swamped,’ says Jackie.

‘Then we dismiss you.’

Jackie curtsies, smiles sweetly and gives Stephanie the finger.

Tim, Fredrick and Nigel peel off their training clothes after a sweaty squash match. They are all equally athletic with flat bellies and mid-thirties muscle. But Nigel has won. 

They head into the steam room.

‘Next time, mate,’ says Tim. 

But he knows that Nigel will probably win next time as well. Tim has only beaten him three times since they started playing together a year before.

‘What do you reckon we should do?’ Asks Tim.

‘Yeah. Things are getting pretty sticky,’ says Fredrick.

‘I reckon we ought to steam up, take a shower and then head out for a pint,’ says Nigel.

You can almost hear the squeak of their butts against the wet tiles as both Tim and Fredrick fidget in the dim mist.

‘Something’s gone terribly wrong, mate,’ says Tim.

‘Nothing’s gone wrong,’ says Nigel. ‘I’ve got everything under control.’ He leans back resting his elbows on the platform behind him. Sweat and steam run down his cheeks.

‘If you’ve got everything under control how come people keep dying?’ Asks Fredrick.

‘This isn’t the right time or place, Freddy,’ says Nigel. ‘Lighten up.’

They sit quietly for a moment or two. The steam valves hiss and the room gets hotter. Nigel passes a hand in front of his eyes.

‘I’m heading to the pub.’ He stands up and takes a few steps towards the door.

Fredrick skids over next to Tim with a squeak and is about to say something but an old man pushes open the door just as it closes behind Nigel.

‘Let’s grab a pint, he?’ Says Tim.

‘Yeah. I think I need one.’

They squeeze by the old man’s knobbly knees trying to avoid stepping on his crusty yellow toe nails.

Nigel lathers himself vigourously. 

‘Shit,’ says Fredrick, ‘I forgot my soap.’

‘Here mate,’ says Nigel tossing his bottle of shower gel with the snap of his wrist. It zips through the air like a squash ball and Fredrick snatches it.

‘Cricket’s your game, eh, mate?’ Says Nigel.

‘He likes anything with balls,’ says Tim.