At ten, Dan left Marilyn with the news and instructions to play music until he got back, and answered the urgent summons he'd gotten from the station manager's office an hour earlier. He rapped on the door and leaned in, being sure when he did to keep his face serious. "You wanted to see me, Bernie?"
"Damned right. Sit down." Bernie Hatcher, fortyish, pasty-faced, with thinning hair and a thickening middle, fussed with a spoon and a bottle of Pepto Bismol, then dropped the spoon and drank the medicine straight from the bottle. He wiped his mouth and turned his phone around. "Do you see this?"
Dan looked at the flashing extension lights. "Yes?"
"Do you have any idea what kind of chaos that little announcement of yours has caused? Darlene says she's logged over two hundred calls so far. And . . ." Bernie paused. "Who's manning the booth?"
"Marilyn. She's doing the news now, and if she needs to, she'll put music on for me when she's done. What's the matter?"
"What's the matter? You hear that, God? He wants to know what's the matter. This schmuck can't figure it out on his own." Bernie liked to talk to God. Dan hoped God would answer some time real soon—he figured if he did, the station would have one less Bernie and he'd have one less headache. "This!" Bernie yelled. "This is the matter!" He picked up the phone and slammed it on the desk.
Dan stared at Bernie and smiled cheerfully. He wanted to kill the little tyrant—one of his best friends was unemployed with a sick wife and an infant child because this man had a fetish for time clocks. But killing him wouldn't solve Dan's problems, and getting WKTU back on track would. If the station started doing well, maybe Dan could force Bernie to give Steve Gromman his job back.
"Bernie," he said. "Telephone calls are a good thing. We want phone calls. We like them. Phone calls mean we got people's attention, made them listen, forced them to do more than sit on their cans passively sucking in soundwaves. It doesn't matter if we made them mad. We made them care. That matters. The Great Devil Makeover is going to make a lot of people care. And in the process, it's going to put us in the black and on top of the ratings."
Bernie leaned back and glared. "I'm listening."
"The Unchaining is the biggest thing in this state, in this country. Hell, maybe even the entire world. People are fascinated and obsessed and burning with curiosity about the Hellraised. Hell's little devils cause a lot of trouble, but when it comes right down to it, we really don't know much about them. That's going to change, though. Now we've got a devil who's willing to talk and who has a reason to want to change—and think about what heroes we'll be if we can change him. If we can turn Puck into a good guy, Bernie, you will be a god, man."
Bernie didn't look convinced.
Dan kept going. "The people of this town will be kissing your ass and begging to buy spots on this station. In the beginning of course a few people are going to be upset, but even the ones who are upset are going to listen and they're gonna talk. The only bad publicity is no publicity."
"Uh-huh. But what about the sponsors? You can bet your ass that, even as we speak, religious wackos all over this city are calling every business that advertises with us to demand a boycott."
"You may be right. But we'll still keep the sponsors; in fact, we'll be turning new ones away for lack of air time."
"How do you figure that?"
"First, if those folks called, they must have been listening. And they're going to listen even more in the days to come. I plan to get the sponsors involved in the whole makeover process. Get them out there in front of people saying, 'Yes, we support WKTU. Yes, we want to make a difference, and we're doing something to make our state a better place to live. We may be doing it one devil at a time, but by God we're doing it.'"
Dan wished he had an American flag blowing in the breeze behind him right then. Maybe someone to play "The Star-Spangled Banner" softly in the background. He said, "This is the American thing to do, Bernie. The patriotic thing. We see a problem. We take a stand. And then we go to work, filling those sandbags, feeding those hungry children . . . and bringing those Hellraised devils and demons and fallen angels into the fold. We make a difference."
He could see the glitter of unshed tears shining in Bernie's eyes, or maybe it was the glitter of newborn greed.
He said, "Plus, by getting the sponsors involved, we move the cost for the entire project onto their shoulders."
"Great. It doesn't cost us anything, it gets us listeners, it gets us sponsors." Bernie nodded. "But what if he screws up? What if he can't be rehabilitated?"
"No, Bernie. Wrong question. We aren't selling a sure thing here. I know that. Our listeners are going to know that. He probably can't be turned around. But we are selling hope, and hope has been pretty hard to come by. The question isn't 'What if he can't be rehabilitated?' It's 'What if he can?'"
The station manager leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk. "So what if he can be changed? We're talking one lousy devil."
"No. We're talking the entire state of North Carolina suddenly out from under this cloud. We're talking a problem that can be fixed, not a curse from God. We're talking the end of the exodus, people moving back, the return of life as we knew it. Think about it, Bernie. Hell of a thing to accomplish, isn't it?"
"Okay, Dan, I'll tell you what. We'll go forward on this, but only provisionally. If it looks like things aren't going well, we can always back out and claim Puck is beyond help."
"Even if it's not true?"
"We do it on that basis, or none at all."
Dan clenched his fist. Ted Argent, the old station manager, would have seen the possibilities in an idea like this. Bernie was only interested in a sure thing, and a quick cover for his ass if necessary.
But that was all right. He could work within those boundaries. In talking to Bernie, in trying to sell him on the project, Dan had totally sold himself. Now he wanted to do this. He wanted to make the project work not just to get ratings, but because he realized every word of what he'd said to Bernie had been true. A radio promotion, a stupid gag to get people to listen to the station, might actually be enough to make a difference in the state he'd chosen to call home. And if Bernie couldn't see the real payoff at the end of the project, it didn't matter. Dan could see it, and Dan was the one who was going to make it come true.
He put out his hand. "All right, Bernie. We'll do it your way."
The station manager nodded and gave Dan's hand a weak, damp clench. "Good. Keep me informed."