Crusader (29 page)

"Just ask your question. You're a man in the street."

"No, I'm not. I'm Tom Lombardo. I'm not a man in the street. I run the drugstore here in the mall. I have for ten years. Don't interrupt me again." He looked back into the lens and asked, "Mr. Lyons, what are you going to do about Century Towers? That's my home. That's the home to a lot of elderly people. You said you were going to develop three buildings in the community. We've had one building put up in ten years. Where are the rest?"

The cameraman swung back to Mr. Lyons. He answered, "Sir, it's a market economy. The plan for Century Towers remains in place. When demand goes up, the next building will go up."

The cameraman swung back to us, so Sam took a step forward. He said, "I'm Samir Samad."

Knowlton prompted him. "Say your nationality."

"My what?"

"Your nationality."

"Okay. I'm an American."

Knowlton threw up his hands. "Fine."

Sam looked into the lens. "What are you going to do to save the West End Mall from bankruptcy?"

The cameraman did his swivel back. Mr. Lyons answered, "I will continue to support its recapitalization, and try to do some innovative things to widen its customer base, like bringing back that beautiful fountain."

The cameraman swiveled back once more, and I knew it was my turn. I decided to skip the first step and talk to Philip Knowlton directly. "Do I have to say who I am?"

He said, "No. You're a young person. That's obvious. You're here to ask a young-person question. Right?"

"Right." I looked into the lens and asked something dumb. "What are you going to do for young people?"

The cameraman went back to Mr. Lyons. His answer to me was this: "I will try to give them the kind of childhood that I had, the childhood that they are being denied. Denied by crime, drugs, poor schools, and irresponsible parenting. You know, young man, I grew up right near here, and it was a great place to grow up. Can you say that now?"

I had hoped my part was over, but Mr. Lyons's question caused the camera to swing back to me. I told him, "No, sir." But then I said to Angela, "I want to point out that I'm a girl. Is that okay?"

Angela joked, "You go, girl."

Mr. Lyons looked at me and smiled. "Sorry, miss." He asked Angela, "Should I redo it?"

Knowlton answered. "We'll edit it out. I like this topic, Ray. Give her a little more about what Florida was like before all the problems."

Mr. Lyons nodded. He looked into the lens. "I used to go fishing right on this spot when I was your age. This was a Seminole Indian fish camp. I had this old leaky johnboat that I used to go out in. If I didn't catch a fish in ten minutes, I'd have to turn back empty-handed because the boat was filling up so fast with water. I hated that boat. I kept telling the other fishermen, 'One of these trips, I'm going to let it sink back into the swamp.' And one day, that's exactly what I did."

I was expecting to hear Mrs. Knight laugh. Instead I heard Sam speak up again unexpectedly. He spoke quickly and directly to the candidate. "Mr. Lyons, why did you apply to rezone the mall from commercial to recreational?"

The cameraman swung back. "That's an easy one. I didn't. I did no such thing."

"Then why is your son, Richard, soliciting investors for a golf course and spa on this property?"

"My son, Richard, isn't here to defend himself—"

"What might he say if he were here?"

"—and I don't want to speak for him."

Knowlton seemed shocked by the exchange. He finally managed to say, "You were to ask one question. Mr. Lyons has given you all your answers. Now, thank you. You can go."

Mr. Lombardo left right away. Joe the bodyguard stepped between Sam and Mr. Lyons, just in case he was planning on asking another question, so Sam left, too. Mr. Knowlton told the bodyguard, "Thanks, Joe. Go ahead and pull the car up to the entrance. After the fountain dedication, we have to haul out of here."

The door opened and Suzie entered. I wondered who was watching the Santa line. She smiled shyly and waved at Mr.
Lyons as she slid along the wall toward her desk. She whispered to Mr. Knowlton, "So how did it go?"

"It went very well. How is it going outside?"

"Great. The place is packed. The kids are happy. The moms are happy."

Mr. Knowlton looked at his watch. "Okay. Let me check it out now." He turned back to Mr. Lyons. "Just relax here for a few minutes, Ray. I want to make sure Santa is well on his way to the North Pole before we start. I'll be back in a few."

Mr. Knowlton left for the rotunda. As soon as the door closed behind him, Angela made the spaghetti motion at the cameraman. He hoisted up the camera and started to tape.

Mr. Lyons looked at the cameraman curiously, but he didn't object. Angela smiled at him brightly and said, "We need to get a few reaction shots, for the final edit: me laughing at one of your jokes, you looking thoughtful, and so on. Do you mind if we chat a little more, without your manager? You can cut out anything that you don't like."

Mr. Lyons smiled back. "No, I don't mind at all." He pointed to the mallway. "In fact, I've been speaking all by myself, without anyone's help, for most of my life."

Angela laughed. So did Mrs. Knight. Then Angela said, "Just say something funny, Ray, and I'll laugh at it."

Mr. Lyons again looked out at the mallway. He said, "Something funny? Like a joke?"

"Yeah. Anything. Let's get a shot of you and me relaxing and laughing. We'll run it at the end of the interview, over the credits."

Mr. Lyons nodded. "Okay. Let me tell you what Phil said on the way over here. He was telling me about the West End Mall. He said, 'Every time I go there I see nothing but old people. If you want to make money at that mall, open up a Depends undergarment outlet.'"

Angela laughed uproariously. Mrs. Knight did, too. The ex-state trooper walked back in. He looked for Mr. Knowlton. Then he said, "Mr. Lyons, I have the car at the front."

Mr. Lyons pointed at the cameraman. "You're on live TV, Joe. Say something."

Joe turned beet red. He sputtered, "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Mr. Lyons laughed and quickly assured him. "We're just kidding around, Joe. It's not live."

He smiled nervously. Mr. Lyons told Angela, "Joe's only been with me for two days. He doesn't know when I'm kidding yet." Joe shrugged good-naturedly. Mr. Lyons continued. "I didn't even know Phil had hired him. I came out to the car yesterday morning, and I saw this guy standing there. I didn't think anything of it. I put my foot up on the bumper to tie my shoe, and he yelled at me, 'Hey! You can't do that. That's Mr. Lyons's car!'

"I yelled back, 'Hey! I am Mr. Lyons. I can do whatever the hell I like!'"

Everyone laughed at that one. Angela looked out the window just in time to see Knowlton. She whispered, "Here he comes," to the cameraman, who turned off the camera and started to stow it.

Knowlton entered and announced, "I'm giving Santa five more minutes. Then we go."

I asked Mrs. Knight, "Should I go help Bill now?"

She said, "If you want to."

I hurried out toward the rotunda. The crowd had changed from earlier. It was no longer a line. It was more of a blob, gathered around the dead center of the mall, where the fountain would soon spring to life. I spotted about a dozen Crescent Employees wearing
SAVE THE MALL
T-shirts. I also spotted two people with bright yellow shirts that said
SAVE THE TURTLES.

As I got closer to Gene and the Santa seat, I understood why Suzie had been able to slip away. Betty was now at the red velvet rope. Betty even had the red elf hat stuck on top of her shoe-polish black hair. Only two mothers with children remained in line to see Gene. I got into line behind the last lady.

Betty looked nervous. She was even paler than usual.

Gene forgot he was playing Santa and yelled out, "Hey, I'm not kidding, Leo. This seat is really shaking."

Leo said, "It can't be. The finest plumbers in Florida have certified it to be perfectly safe."

"Come on, Leo. This is no joke."

The next-to-last woman stepped forward with a little boy, but instead of smiling or
ho-ho-ho-ing,
Gene told her sternly, "You better back off, ma'am. Something's wrong here."

The woman asked him, "What's wrong? What's that shaking?"

He answered, "I don't know, but get these kids back. It's getting stronger."

The little boy in front of me screamed, "Oh! Gross!" and covered his mouth and nose.

Then the smell hit me, too. It was like rotten eggs. Like a whole truckload of rotten eggs. We all backed away, including Betty and Leo, leaving Gene sitting alone on top of the Santa seat. I called to him, "Gene! Maybe you had better get off—" But I never finished that sentence.

Both Gene and the Santa seat started to levitate, like a magician in a magic chair. He leaned forward slightly, to look underneath it, and that was when the pipes exploded. The concussion from the explosion hurtled Gene forward like a swift kick in the pants. He landed on his face at the foot of the tripod. Then Gene and the camera equipment slid across the tiles for another five yards. The ornamental Santa seat flew straight up into the air, riding atop a thick brown geyser of putrid
water. The seat balanced momentarily on the vertical stream, then it crashed back down. It half covered the hole, causing the water to squirt higher and wider, like when you put your finger over the end of a running hose.

Gene managed to stagger to his feet. His beard was half ripped from his face; his red pants were soaked with swampy water. Leo scrambled to save his camera equipment. People everywhere started screaming in panic. The smell quickly filled up the rotunda, and parents and children rushed desperately toward the exit. Chaos reigned. Some mothers hoisted up little kids and threw them over their shoulders, running with them like screaming sacks of potatoes. I spotted Ray Lyons running down the center of the mallway. His blue suit jacket was pulled up over his face, forcing him to run blind.

Suddenly I became aware of Philip Knowlton. He was scurrying around the rotunda, oblivious to the smell, screaming orders at everyone. He yelled at Suzie, "Get that Santa out a back door!" Then, "Angela, get your cameraman on Ray. I want shots of Ray helping kids to safety!"

Bill appeared from the truck. He screamed at me, "Grab an end!"

We picked up the soundboard and carried it toward the truck. The putrid water was still squirting high in the air; the kids were still screaming. I saw Suzie pushing Gene toward the Chili Dog, yelling, "Go in the back! Go in the back! You'll be okay."

Bill and I carried the soundboard swiftly and carefully up the three steps and into the truck. We laid it on a couch. Bill pointed to a small restroom in the back of the truck. "Grab me some paper towels." I did, and then stood there while he dabbed at the board, examining it for damage. I looked out through the wide glass windows. Uncle Frank was now standing next to the squirting stream of swamp water. Suzie ran over from the Chili Dog to the same spot.

Even from inside the truck, I could hear her bellowing hysterically at Uncle Frank, "Do something! Do something!" He reared back and kicked hard at the Santa seat, dislodging it and immediately reducing the ten-foot-high spray to a low, steady flow.

Then Leo reappeared holding a large wrench. He paused a moment to knowingly shake his head back and forth at Suzie. Then he bent over and thrust the wrench into the water.

I abandoned Bill and bounded down the truck stairs. By the time I crossed the rotunda, Leo had the stream turned off completely. Uncle Frank said, "Good going, Leo."

Suzie hesitated, then added, "Yeah, Leo."

He looked up at them. "Well, it's the best I can do. You should call that Ace Plumbing guy to really fix it up."

Just beyond the front entrance, about fifty kids and their parents had packed themselves into a circle. As I walked closer I could see the cameraman moving among them, filming everything. Ray Lyons stood in the center of the circle, listening to the people and looking really concerned. When the cameraman finished, he gave a thumbs-up sign toward the black limo. Philip Knowlton leaned his head out and called, "Okay, Ray! Ray, let's go."

Mr. Lyons shook hands with a few people in the crowd and then pushed through them and got into the car.

Five minutes later news trucks from two networks pulled into the parking lot, but Mr. Lyons and his limo were gone. An on-air news personality jumped out of each van and began interviewing people. I wanted to watch the reporters at work, so I mingled with the parents and kids. They were actually giving credit to Ray Lyons for "fast thinking." Had I missed something?

But then I spotted Griffin. He was leaning against the outside wall, to the left of the entrance. I walked over toward him and he asked me, "What in the world happened in there?"

"I'm not sure. I think it was a plumbing explosion."

The cameraman walked past us. Griffin said, "You see that guy? He was following Ray Lyons all around. By the time this thing makes the news, Lyons will be the hero. He will have snatched all these children from the jaws of certain death."

"Oh, brother."

"Did Lyons do anything in there at all?"

"I don't think so. He didn't make his speech. He didn't turn on the fountain."

"I don't suppose he really saved any kids' lives."

"No."

Griffin laughed ruefully. "He'll do anything to make the news, won't he? Saving small children. Prosecuting hate crimes. Whatever it takes."

I thought about his words for a moment. Then I asked, "Prosecuting hate crimes? What do you mean? Like Hawg's?"

"Yeah. Like Hawg's exactly. He's the very important person I told you about. Ray Lyons made the state's attorney go after Hawg so that he could have a campaign issue. It'll be something like this: Ray Lyons is against committing hate crimes; Ray Lyons is for saving small children."

I stood with him for another minute, watching the on-air news people do their remote broadcasts. Then I told him, "I don't think Hawg did it."