New Material
Three, two, one. Lee’s hand gestures towards me. Signaling me to enter this week’s episode introduction. “Hello, ladies and gentlemen,” I start. “Hello, you sick fucks,” Lee adds, and I can’t help but laugh. His additions always get me. I never know what he is going to say next.
“If you’ve never tuned in, this is the Manhattan Murders Podcast. Another beautiful day to talk about the murders in the city that never sleeps.” I continue with the usual theme of my introduction.
“Yeah, we’ve all heard it before, Alan.”
“Well, you never know, Lee. We may have some new listeners with us this week.”
“Oh, some new sick fucks out there tuning in?” His voice turns up at the question.
“You never know, my friend.” I shrug my shoulders for our viewing audience and turn my head in Lee’s direction.
“On that note, what can you tell us about today’s episode?” He takes a drink from the clear glass sitting in front of him. This time it’s full of the bourbon he brought with him. The ice cubes hit the sides of the glass as he tilts it up to his lips .
“Today, we’re talking about a story that’s a bit more recent than our last few episodes.” I lift my black coffee mug to my lips, and his eyes widen at my answer as if to act surprised. It’s all for show, of course, more or less for the viewing audience.
“Really? How recent are we talkin’?”
“We’re talking about the early nineties, my friend.”
“Shit, times were so different then.”
“Hell yeah, they were. Full of landlines, none of this social media bullshit of taking pictures of what drink you got from Starbucks or what fucking sandwich you’re eating.” We both laugh into the microphone.
“Times were fucking simpler then. All we needed were our fucking Game Boys and our bikes.” Lee takes another drink of his bourbon.
“Well, Alan. Can you tell us what sick fuck was working his way through Manhattan in the nineties?”
“That, my friend, was none other than—”
“Holy shit!” Lee shouts. I look up from my mic. He stares at his phone, clicking off the record option soon after.
“What’s up?” I set my coffee mug next to my mic.
“Did you fucking see what happened?” His eyes are still scanning over his phone screen.
“No, asshole. I’ve been recording with you. Not looking at my phone…”
“Pick up your fucking phone, dipshit.” His eyes look down at my phone, signaling for me to pick it up. My first instinct is to check TikTok. These days, that’s where they show the news that people aren’t afraid to hide. I stop at the first live video.
“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!” A loud woman yells. Her heavy accent comes in through the speakers. Her phone zooms to an alley between two brick buildings barricaded by caution tape. Her voice echoes on the other side of the studio, coming in from Lee’s phone speakers.
“A fucking body?!” Her friend’s voice chimes in after hers. His intonation is just as thick. “What do you mean a fucking body?! Well, who the fuck is it?!” Her phone now zooms out and pans over to two officers. They’re trying their best to calm the two bystanders down, but are failing miserably.
“We can’t tell you that.” The male officer answers. His calm tone has a hint of irritation. The crease between his dark brows deepens. You can tell he had been at the scene for what may have been hours.
“Well, why the fuck not?!” The woman asks. Her voice cracks, and her eyes start to glisten. I almost feel sorry for her. Almost. I continue to scan around her as much as the camera in the phone allows.
“I can’t tell you until everyone is notified, ma’am,” he persists in trying to keep his voice calm, but you can hear the annoyance in his voice.
A scream echoes in the distance, and the phone pans over to a woman with long black hair and pale skin.
Her body is facing what looks like a dark green dumpster.
The phone camera shakes as it zooms in on the poor thing standing behind the caution tape.
She holds her tear-covered face in her small hands.
“Turn off the phone, please. Show some respect.” The other officer commands. The live video ends abruptly.
“What the fuck?!” Lee says from across the studio, still looking down at his screen .
“You think that’s the family? Or someone that managed to get through the caution tape?” I stroke my chin in question.
“That’s seriously what you have to fucking say?” He looks up. “A fucking body was found, who knows the fuck where.”
“Before we freak out about this, remember this is New York City. Unfortunately, bodies are found all the time. Did anybody mention where?” Simultaneously, we both look down at our phones, searching for more answers. Another live video comes up on Lee’s phone when he reopens TikTok.
This time it’s a new set of bystanders. There are no voices except for the background noise of cars and the people standing around, also waiting for answers.
He stares intently. “Fuck…” His eyes widen.
“Fuck, this can’t be happening.” He slams the phone down on the desk and puts his face in his hands.
“What? What the hell is going on?” My voice gets louder the more worried I become. I stand up from my leather chair. The wheels, sliding on the plastic cover. “Where is it!?” In my mind, and judging by his reaction, I already have an idea, and I hope to God it isn’t there.
Lee reaches his arms out and hands me his phone with its screen facing up.
I can only imagine what he sees. The camera pans to the alley that is filled with officers and the remaining caution tape.
“This is just what we saw earlier,” I say, interrupting the few moments of intense silence between me and Lee. My stare at the screen is intense.
“Keep fucking watching.” His voice is muffled, his hand balled up into a fist covering his mouth. Whoever is controlling the camera pans over to the building to the left. A voice from behind the phone camera chimes in and breaks me out of my concentration .
“Hey, isn’t that the place where we had drinks the other night?!” Her shrill voice echoes in my studio. She moves the camera and focuses on the brick building.
I know that building. It’s that little boutique I saw in passing when Lee and I drove to the Neon Rose last week. It’s simple and cute, somewhere my wife wouldn’t be caught dead going.
Then it hits me.
The Neon Rose.
The camera moves to the right, showing the sign I remember being lit up. The letters are now a dull red set of bulbs swinging just slightly in the wind.
“No, no, no, no.” The whispers to myself get louder. My heart begins to race, and I hand Lee his phone and fall back in my chair. It almost slides from under my feet. Anywhere but there. Fuck, Thalia. Should I message her? Should I call her? Fuck. What should I do? What should we do?
“I need to call her…right? Right, I’ll call her…” He looks over to me, as if answering my inner question. His knee bounces in anticipation. He stares at his phone. “I’m going to call her.” He looks at me for reassurance.
“Well, fucking do it!” My voice rises, filled with anxiety.
I watch him scroll through his list of contacts. His phone beeps once he selects her name. He puts his phone on speaker so that I can hear. The time goes in slow motion as it rings and even longer as it rings a second time.
“Hello.” Her sleepy voice comes over the speaker, and I instantly relax.
Suddenly, I can let go of my tense shoulders and breathe. A vision of waking up next to her comes to my mind. Picturing her red hair spread out over my pillow. Her sleepy body moves alongside mine when I put my arm around her waist, pulling her up against me.
“Fuck, Sweetheart. I am so happy to hear your voice,” Lee talks into the speaker. His chair squeaks as he leans back.
Lee and I take the rest of the day off from recording. We sit in the living room on the sectional and scroll through our phones. He sits on the end towards the wall, and I choose the opposite end near the space that opens to my spacious kitchen.
“What do you think about scrapping that episode?” I ask after a long pause, still looking down at my phone.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Alan?” His fingers scroll on what I assume is some social media page.
“What I mean is,” I pause, sitting up. “What if we get rid of that whole episode and talk about what we saw today?” My eyes look at him over the rim of my glasses.
“Too fucking soon, man.” He shakes his head.
“Why? The news is already talking about it. By this point, the family has been notified. Everyone in New York already knows the name of the victim.” Just another one of those poor bastards who spend their time at bars.
I’m assuming it’s one of those men who wait around until close to get numbers from unsuspecting women. Too bad this guy had a family at home.
With a few minutes of research, Lee and I learned of his condition when we found him.
His fingers were cut off, and his eyes were gouged out.
Not only were they removed, but they were also missing .
We’ve got another sick fuck on our hands walking around Manhattan.
Who better to talk about it than the people who talk about New York killers weekly ?
“We would get a ton of views and listeners. Hell, I bet we would get a bunch of new followers.” I continue my argument. My voice stays the same tone and volume.
“The bastard just died last night, and you want to do this week’s episode on it?” It isn’t a no…
“Maybe not this week. We’ll take a timeout, do more research.
We’ll give our viewers some time to get a breather from Friday night’s tragedy.
It gives them a while, and it’ll give us a week to focus.
People will have their heads locked into their phones, and by then, their attention will be focused on other shit anyway.
They’ll forget about the whole thing. When we bring it up, it’ll be like news to them.
” Lee looks up from his phone screen . I caught his attention.
“Damn it. You’ve got a point. But what about the family?”
“The victim’s family? People still get shit from the families of victims from thirty years ago. Just another perk of this business.”
“Fine, you asshole. I guess we’ll cover it, but if I lose any business because of this, I’m out.”
“You supply most of the bars in the city. I think you can afford to lose a few.” I laugh, looking down at my phone.
“Whatever, you prick. Shut the hell up before I change my mind.” The corners of his mouth turn up into his beard.
“So, it’s settled then.” I stand up and walk towards the kitchen. A bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream is calling my name.