Free Lark by Richard; Forrest Page A

Grossman slowed his pace as they passed the booth and shook his head. “Look at that, will you?” He snapped a finger. “He didn’t even rewrite the stuff, took it right off the teletype. We call that rip and read, no background, no style.”
    Lark wondered if the young newsman knew who Adlai Stevenson was.
    Bear Tooth was standing by the studio’s door and gave Grossman a light punch to the shoulder. “Eat ’em up, Johnny.”
    â€œFucking A,” Maurice Grossman said.
    Lark watched Maurice Grossman take three steps across the glass-enclosed booth and saw Johnny Gross take a seat at the swivel chair in front of the microphone and engineer’s board. He had heard of such instant metamorphosis that sometimes occurred in actors, but had never actually witnessed the transformation. Johnny/Maurice’s complete demeanor changed the instant he sat before the microphone. His eyes glistened and he leaned forward with a vibrancy that transcended the man they had spoken with a few minutes earlier. A group of young girls had gathered before the mall window, and a blonde with long hair, short-shorts, and a brief halter gave Johnny the finger.
    Johnny Gross laughed and returned a full arm gesture. The mike was now alive. “Good morning, boys and girls, this is Johnny Gross and the show is Gross Out.” Johnny Gross threw a lever and the sound of a flushing toilet rose up and then down and under until it faded out. “Today is Bolero day, kiddies, and that is the most sexy piece of music ever written. Thirty-two minutes from now you are going to have eight minutes of Ravel’s Bolero , and you all know what Johnny wants you kids to do during that music. Remember, I will be with you in spirit. So, all you housewives grab the delivery boy or your vibrator and get ready to do you-know-what. Now we have a quick spin of the hot new release from the Cryptic Cadence.” Another lever was pushed and Johnny Gross leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his neck. “All right, loot, what can I lay on you?” Gross said to Lark.
    Lark glanced at Horse, who shrugged. “I’d like yesterday’s mail.”
    â€œBurned.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou heard me, or do you have wax in your ears?”
    Lark glared. “Listen, punk, I’m not one of your teeny-boppers.”
    Johnny Gross’s eyes flickered and Maurice Grossman peeked out for a moment. “Sorry. Maurice was upset and he threw them all in the incinerator. Maurice is a wimp.”
    â€œWe now speak in the third person?”
    Johnny Gross shrugged and gave another arm gesture at the young girls standing outside the window. “Whatever.”
    â€œListen, Gross,” Lark said, “you hear anything more from our friend, you contact me. Right?” He tossed a business card at the DJ.
    Johnny Gross shrugged again and leaned forward over the mike. “Remember, you raunchy people, it will soon be Bolero time and that’s you-know-what time.”
    Lark and Horse left the booth. “Where’d you get that suit, Horse?”
    â€œWife made it from a picture in Esquire . She’s handy that way.”
    â€œI can see that she is.” He entered the station manager’s office without knocking.
    A tanned, athletic man with broad shoulders and a wide smile looked up from a magazine. “Can I help you?”
    â€œI’m Lieutenant Lark and this is officer Najankian. I’d like some information about Maurice Grossman.”
    â€œGrossman?”
    â€œJohnny Gross.”
    The room was filled with golfing trophies and Lark imagined that this aging jock sold most of the station’s time on local courses.
    â€œIs Johnny in any trouble? I know he’s dirty, but we’re still within the new guidelines. There’s no reason for the police to get involved.”
    â€œNothing like that. He provided some information to us on a certain case and we need