Music throbs dramatically as the camera pans a deserted newsroom. Shafts of sunlight play over blank computer screens, silent telephones, empty notebooks and motionless pens. Suddenly, the silence is broken by the opening of the door.
“After you,” says a voice. A slim girl enters, followed by the villainous Zolani Modise. He walks in as if he owns the place… which, technically, he does. “Every last cent. No item too small. You can get the liquidators in to move this furniture. Use anyone from the office but I want this place cleared out by Monday. Where is he now?”
“Uh, he was just behind us,” says Noxee, the secretary slash general assistant. At that moment, Prince, Modise’s son, enters, talking on his cellphone. He is complaining to someone about a suit (of clothes – not the legal kind). Modise continues with the plans for the destruction of the newsroom, while Noxee follows him, scribbling busily.
“You can give all of these old computers to some…worthy cause…make sure the press hears about this,” he adds quickly. Prince is still on the phone.
“Then why would I wear a jacket like that?” He pauses. Sunlight floods in as Modise rips down a piece of fabric that was covering a large window. “Well, start again from scratch. Make me look good, jo,” he ends, speaking to a cellphone that’s held an arm length away. He looks around with obvious interest. “So this is the paper that kicked your ass.”
“Was the paper,” his father spits. “By Monday this will all just be a bad memory. The Meysel’s Brothers will take out the fittings…and the lights…if it’s not bolted down, get rid of it.” He then ascends the flight of stairs, followed by Noxee. Down below, Prince wipes thick dust off a computer screen that, oddly enough, still has a “The Bulletin” screensaver running. I don’t mean that it’s odd that the screensaver should read “The Bulletin”, that’s perfectly logical; but what the heck is that computer still doing on?
Anyway, Modise and Noxee on the stairs: “Ntate, what are your plans for the building once we’re done?” she asks.
“I’m going to gut it,” he answers promptly. “Strip it apart to every last bit. Turn it into loft apartments.”
Prince continues wandering through the abandoned newsroom. Modise makes his way to the balcony and looks down at his son with a vaguely exasperated expression.
“So can I trust you,” he calls down, the look on his face suggesting that this is highly doubtful; “or do you want me to send someone to supervise you?” He turns to Noxee, and says with no faint trace of sarcasm; “It’s a comfort to know you have a son you can rely on.” His cellphone is ringing, he hauls it out of his pocket. “Speak,” he announces, and turns away.
“Prince,” Noxee half-whispers. He looks up at her. Opening his arms wide, he says, almost awe-struck; “It’s all still here.” He puts his hands on his hips (funnily enough, the next shot has his arms at his sides) and looks around. “It’s all still here.”
Credits. The theme tune has been somewhat funkified; they’ve added a beat and increased the tempo. Incidentally, I am appalled to discover that I have been confusing “Kim” with “Mandy.” So it’s Kim that’s back. And Mandy was he photographer. Ah. Hey, season 2 was a long time ago!
The episode is entitled “Number One With A Bullet”.
Prince is sitting with his feet up on the editor’s desk, leafing through and tossing out old editions of The Bulletin. Noxee is wandering through the office, cleaning up. She gingerly picks up a coffee cup, holding it in such a way so as to ensure minimum bodily contact with the offending article. She drops it into a bin, the sound it makes suggesting she has already met with, and discarded in a similar fashion, several of its fellows.
“It’s like they just…closed up and walked out.” She looks over at Prince, who ignores her. “Like a ghost ship,” she adds.
“Well, my father might have been running for president now, had it not been for this paper,” Prince sniffs.
“Well, he’s getting his revenge now,” Noxee points out. But the boy Prince is in his own world.
“It must have been something, hey,” he muses to the wall. Rubbish bin on hip, Noxee demands, ”Do you wanna give me a hand with this?” Nice try. Prince rambles on: “This must have been the editor’s office.” Eye-roll from Noxee. Prince sticks his head through the office doorway, decides to indulge in a spot of play-acting. (I knew he had a repressed childhood…) He holds a hand up. “Hold the front page, stop the presses!” he yells, clearly enjoying himself. “Prince,” snaps Noxee, “don’t go there.” She gives him an I-can’t-believe-I-have-to-deal-with-this look. Prince continues his Deep and Poignant Ponderings on the Fate of the Bulletin. Noxee tries to talk him out of it, but, “No, see, we could really do something here. Look at this place.” He pauses, savouring the atmosphere. “The smell…” Noxee looks doubtful, while tinkly music suggests that He has Been Bitten by the Newspaper Bug.
“Can you see it?”
“No,” she answers, in the tone of one addressing a small child.
“Well, you will,” he assures her cheerfully. “Come on!”
“Where?”
“If we’re going to start a paper, we’ve some things to think about, and people to talk to…let’s not be reckless about his.” Oh, the irony.
“We’re not starting a paper,” she calls desperately. Prince halts.
“Correct,” he concedes, then a grin sweeps his face. “The paper…is starting itself. Let’s go.” Noxee refuses to go anywhere. Completely wrapped up in himself, Prince leaves.
“It’ll be great!” he calls back. Left alone holding the bin, Noxee sighs. “Here we go again.”
The next scene is ushered in with some cool vertical lines sliding across scenes of Joburg. Noxee is alone in the darkened office, looking over some paperwork and eating a sandwich (take note!), when she hears a strange noise.
“Hello?” she calls out nervously, through a mouthful of sandwich. “Is anyone there?” Ominous music plays as she puts her sandwich down, and, in the tradition of all the best horror films, she sets off to investigate. “Prince? This isn’t funny!” The music builds until… a rat runs across the stairs in front of her nose, producing a shriek. She collapses in relief on the stairs, then has a quiet giggle at her foolishness before heading back to her desk. She tells herself to “shake it off, gotta shake it off”, doing a little dance as she walks…only to discover her sandwich has gone AWOL. The Dramatic Moment is broken by the arrival of…”Prince!”
“Have you any idea how many titles there are?” he exclaims, slapping down a pile of newspapers. Then, for a change actually noticing Noxee’s distress he asks, “What?”
“There’s someone here,” she murmurs fearfully. Prince looks around, shrugs casually. “Where?” he enquires pointedly.
“My sandwich…I heard a noise…and I was eating it!” she babbles incoherently.
“You need some fresh air,” decides Prince. “Come on, let’s get outta here.” “But, but…”
“There’s work to be done!”
“But…my sandwich!” she points.
“Oh, I’ll get you another sandwich. Come on, let me give you a ride in the Batmobile.” And…ok??
Scene.
Prince is upstairs at the newsroom, tearing off front pages of newspapers and plastering them to the wall. “I’m up here”, he calls. Modise enters, talking on his cellphone to a Mr Fitzelroy. “Mr Fitzelroy, you don’t understand. I have to complete…Yes, but what are Beauty and Charm without Love?” He hangs up. Prince picks up the last sentence and tosses it at his father. “What are Beauty and Charm, without Love?”
“The Three Graces,” his father answers. “The Yannick triptic. [I'm sorry: I have no idea. Something like that, anyway.] I’ve just realised that the missing third has been sitting under my nose all this time.” (Pay attention, it’s important later) Then, shifting focus to his son, he demands, “Why am I here? Why did you call me here?” Prince wants to know what he sees, on the wall of front pages. Modise sighs. “Get to the point.”
“It’s a gap,” Prince enthuses; “about 6 million readers wide!” He explains that there’s not a single paper aimed straight at entry-level, black working class.
“Is that why you called me here?” Modise asks tightly. “I can do it, Dad. I can do it! If we don’t, someone else will,” he adds; mentioning the one thing he knows will stir his father’s prune pip of a heart: the threat of Missing Out on A Lot Of Money.
“You don’t have to…” he stops. “Look, what is this space worth, straight down?”
“It’s not always just about money!” his father says, blatantly ignoring...oh, I don't know...his entire life?? “Bernard?” he says to his cellphone. “Ja, this Jurgen Fitzelroy. He won’t take the money.” See? It is always about money. “I don’t care! Sit on him ‘til he rolls over…Huh?…Whatever…No, whatever you need to do. Burn his house down if you have to.”
Ok, maybe it’s also a little bit about fire.
Scene.
Poor old Noxee is carrying out a box of junk, when she sees and hears a creaking door. The Double Bass of Strange and Suspicious Circumstances hums heavily. She pulls out a handily placed torch from her box, turns it on, and opens the door. “Hello? Is there someone there?” Noxee turns to see a shadow on the glass panel of the door. “Hey!” she yells. “Wait, stop!” She races out, but Whoever it was has gone, and the only strange people in the office are Modise and Son. However. Please explain. The door is creaking as if someone had gone in, right? But then what was the guy doing on the outside? And it couldn’t have been creaking if he’d just come out, because she would have seen him. And anyway, he wouldn’t have immediately tried to get back in, now would he? Just something that was a bit…odd.
Anyway, Modise and his offspring are currently Having Issues. Daddy M yells at him for Being An Embarrassment, then storms out. Prince turns to Noxee, hands her a wad of paper. “Here.” He tells her to start calling the old newspaper staff; he wants to offer them a job. Noxee tries to get a word in: “But he just…”
“Oh no, see now, I don’t care what he said,” Prince drawls; “we’re starting a newspaper.”
Adverts.