The Radio Murders - The Radio Murders

Harris Richards was a wealthy man.  His large, square frame, silver comb-over and moustache gave him the appearance of a 21-century Santa Claus.  He was anything but the Jolly Old Elf.  Harris came in late and left early, he had eight weeks of vacation during which he would fly fish in Idaho or deep sea fish in the Gulf of Mexico.  Everyone around him worked harder, so he did not have to.  High-level conflict or personnel problems remained in his domain.  But the various managers under him were expected do what they were handsomely paid to do: keep it out of his office. 

Jerome Bennett and Torsha Lofton sat in the chairs opposite Harris Richards, who was seated, smoking a cigarette, in his dark blue leather chair behind a large walnut desk.  There was no chair for Crash
"Harris, I can explain..."

"How long have you worked for me, Kradich?  Two, Three years?"  Richard’s tiny blue eyes remained riveted on the standing employee. .

"Three years."  Kradich lowered his gaze.

"I've been here almost 30 years.  Thirty goddamn years, and I never had anyone beat the fuck out of a reporter in front of my building.  Never have I had anyone dump more shit on this radio station in one fucking morning than you have on this day!"  Richards pounded out his cigarette and glared at Jerome, the program director of KCI-AM.  "What are we supposed to do with this guy, Jerry?  Should I call security and have his sorry ass tossed out on the street?  Right on the very spot where he beat up that poor man?"  His glare rose back to Kradich. 
"What the fuck am I supposed to do with a sorry excuse like you, who can't keep his goddamn temper under control and will probably get us all sued?  Huh, smart boy, what am I supposed to do with YOU?"  Harris Richards had a habit of dragging out his 'goddamn' so that it took the time of three words.

"Do you want me to leave now, Harris?  Do you want me to quit and take my truckload of shit with me?  Just say the word."  Kradich saw the smirk on Harris Richards’ face and knew he wasn't serious about having his number one performer removed from the building.  "Just say the word and I'm gone, but I'll take that truckload of money my show brings in every week, too!"

Richards stood and slammed his hand on the desk.  "You impertinent little punk! You think for one minute that I can't have a trained monkey piss away three hours on the radio, like you do? A goddamn trained monkey!  Toss him a banana and get the same results?  You don't mean shit, and I've about had it with your crap!"  Richards was part genuinely angry and part putting on a show for the other two in the room.