Finding Miranda

CHAPTER 7: THE DEEJAY

Several hours later, inside Studio B of Live Oak's all-talk radio station, Shepard, wearing headphones, sat at the mixing board with a telephone on his right and a digital sound effects console on his left. A microphone in an anti-vibration mount hung before his face, protected by a pop filter that looked like an embroidery hoop inside a scrap of pantyhose.

The mixing board had "pots," or sound level controls, for dozens of inputs-everything from the telephone to the computer playing music and commercials to the live mic that would carry Shepard's basso profundo over the airwaves.

The program lineup appeared on a computer screen mounted level with and in front of Shepard's right shoulder, when Shep was seated. A second control room boasted equipment from which he could broadcast standing, if he chose to do so.

Dave dozed on the floor near Shepard's rolling chair. Outside the soundproof control room, Pietro was answering phones and taking information from callers. Pietro could watch Shep through the control room's picture window-which was angled to prevent unwanted sound bouncing back into the mic. Shep, in his ever-present sunglasses, never turned his face toward the window.

Shep listened on his headphones, both hands poised on the mixing board, as the final seconds of a pre-recorded commercial ticked by. In his headphones, over the muted sound of the commercial, an appealing digital female voice intoned, "four...three...two."

Shepard pushed up the pot for his mic and pulled down the pot for the commercial, smoothly taking back the helm of his sheep-counting ship.

"Well, there's a full moon tonight, sheep counters, and you know what that means. That's right, the crazies are out. Give me a call at 877-555-S-H-E-P and tell me what the loons in your neck of the woods are up to tonight. This is Shepard Krausse, and you're listening to Sheep Counters with Shep and Dave on eighty-three point nine, WLOK-FM in Live Oak."

While his voice rolled on, smooth as dark chocolate, he could hear Pietro's voice in his headphones, advising Shep of a waiting caller.

Shep raised the telephone pot on his mixing board as he spoke into the mic. "Good evening, fellow sheep counter. You're on the air. Do you have a full moon story for us?"

"Boy howdy! I shore do," a man replied.

"Am I correct that we're talking with Earl from Uhumpka?" said Shep.

" 'At's me."

"And what's your story, Earl?"

"Well, me and my cousin Walter was coon huntin' out in the Little Cypress during a full moon about two years ago, and we definitely saw a Chupacabra. I kid you not, we was no more'n fifty yards from it. It 'uz moving east to west through the swamp, an' our coon dogs like ta went nutso...."

And on he went, occasionally prompted with a question from Shep, who encouraged and reinforced the caller at every opportunity. The Chupacabra-sometimes called the Sasquatch of South America-was standard fare for superstitious, sleep-deprived, liquor-swilling sheep counters.

The night progressed through callers' stories of UFO sightings and alien abductions, ghosts of murder victims, black helicopters, spy satellites, government monitoring of telephone communications, and more. Full moon. No caller too wacky, no story too improbable for Sheep Counters.

Shep was everyone's buddy, approving and affectionate and ready to back 'em up when they faced detractors. From time to time, callers asked for Dave's opinion. Shep relayed each question, Dave whuffed a response, and Shep translated Dave's answer for the members of the audience who might not speak canine.