Page 3 of Bullet Unleashed

A few of the folks recognize me and smile and nod my way as we move through the crowd, searching for sights to include in the additional footage known throughout the industry as B-roll, which is used to enhance storytelling and is typically overlaid with voiceovers. Most of the folks in the area where nice and mannered, allowing Jess and me to go about our work, with only a few catcalls. One of the perks of traveling with a cameraman was they often had well defined physiques from having to handle and carry equipment such as the heavy cameras and bags. A man with muscles sometimes would stop people from losing their inhibitions where a woman was concerned, but every-so-often there would be a few that would try their luck.

“Channel nine, yeah!” Came the squeal to my left. Under a large sign of a spit-roasted pig was Beast Mode Barbecue, a vendor of exotic smoked meats and more, with a largely round man with pale skin and blonde hair waving to us.

I look at Jess, and shrug and he responds with a wink and a nod. We head in the direction of the round, blonde man hoping to at least get a few good sound bites.

“I know you,” came the deep, southern drawl.

“Yes, I’m Hope Moore, Channel Nine news,” I say and extend my hand.

“Service Beecher,” he says and grasps my hand a little harder than I like. He shakes it vigorously while smiling throughout. There’s something charming about him, even if he ignores the protocol about crushing a woman’s hand.

“Service,” I grimace. “It’s an interesting name.”

“Oh, yes,” he answers, still shaking and crushing my hand. Jess must’ve read the look on my face, because he places his hand on top of ours. “Oh, sorry about that,” Service continues. “I see a pretty lady, and I fall all to pieces.”

I smile at Jess and shake my hand a bit, hoping to restore the circulation.

“Is this your booth?” Jesse asks.

“Yeah, it’s mine,” Service answers. “Beast Mode Barbecue. We activate your taste buds.”

“Well, Service,” I chime. “Do you mind if we ask you a few questions about your experience here in Pig Fest?”

“Not at all, pretty lady. Any woman with curves as dangerous as yours can ask me whatever they want.”

“Right,” I say with a practiced half-smile on my face. Every woman has that smile. The one you flash when you want to be polite, even though the creepy vibes coming from the guy are off the meter. “Mister Beecher,” I say, hoping he’d pick up on the fact I no longer called him by his first name. Familiarity breeds contempt, and I definitely didn’t want him feeling anything on me, especially my familiarity. “You stand right here to my right.”

“Whatever you want, darlin’.” Service came from around the counter separating him from his customers, and moved to the mark I directed him to.

Switching on the handheld microphone, and resisting the image flashing in my mind of using it to hit him over his head, I make eye-contact with Jess.

“That’s good,” Jess says. “I got you and the sign.”

“Okay, then. In three-two-one. This is Hope Moore with Channel Nine news on location of ‘Pig Fest in Sance.’ Standing with me today is Mr. Service Beecher, owner of Beast Mode Barbecue. Mister Beecher, thank you for speaking with us today.”

“Anytime, darlin’.”

“So, Mister Beecher, what does the pig fest mean to— “

Pain shoots through my left side, and up my back and through my right shoulder as I slam into the ground. Though it was mostly gravel, the ground was unforgiving as I met it. I’d heard running footsteps, and would normally pause to ascertain the direction, but my mind dismissed it as white noise. No different than the other sounds from the fest.

I never saw him coming.

Jess had set the camera on his shoulder, foregoing the stationary tripod, and missed him as well. I heard a groan coming from beside me, but by the time I was able to shift my face to make sense of what happened, the young man was back on his feet and sprinting away.

And here I was remarking about how dead the pig fest had been. It’s funny how one person is able to change the course of an entire day. This guy disrupts my atmosphere, pushes roughly into me and then runs off without so much as an apology. All I catch as he sprints away is the umber hair flying around his head as the wind whips through it, a blue and white jacket, and blue jeans. Jess and Service help me back to my feet, and I immediately notice the scuffed knee. I’m sure the rest of my body will tell me if I’m injured anywhere else when I get home and take a shower. I’m not as young as I used to be, and being on the wrong side of twenty-five means my body doesn’t heal as quick as it used to.

#

“I’M FINE, MAMA,” Isay into the speaker of my phone, as I limp into foyer and use my back foot to shut the door behind me. “It was an accident.”

“I hear you, dear. I’m just worried.”

There it is. Her daily “I worry” statement. She remains undefeated.

Mama’s self-proclaimed job is to worry about me. She always does, no matter what I say. At least, it’s what she tells me every time I go on an assignment she deems dangerous. Which is practically every day and every assignment. No matter what I have going on in the day, my location or my assignment, Mama is going to call me later to get a recap so she can find some way to worry.

“The guy ran into me,” I answer and rub my knee, “then ran off. It’s not like he tried to rob me, and Jesse was right there to help me out.”

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