Crusader (48 page)

Mrs. Knight told them, "Okay. Everybody follow me."

They all walked out onto the soundstage. Mrs. Knight seated them on three high stools—Betty to the left, Will in the center, and Karl on the right. Kristin stood off to the side, by Camera 1, where Will could see and hear her.

I joined Bill and Mr. McKay in the booth. It was my first time in there. The booth was a rectangular room with big soundproof windows. Most of its space was taken up by an awesome control board with hundreds of buttons and dials. While Bill stared at the dials, Mr. McKay opened up the studio mike and announced, "We're going to get some sound levels now. Girl on the left, go ahead and say something."

Kristin pointed up to the booth, indicating to Betty that she ought to answer. Betty finally said, "What?"

"This is your sound check. Please say something."

"Like what?"

"Like your name."

"My name is Elizabeth Lopez."

"Thank you. Next." That would have been Will, but he
didn't say anything, either. I could hear Kristin whispering to him and Will answering, "What?"

Mr. McKay said, "This isn't rocket science, people. When it's your turn to speak, you say your name, or something else, so we can get a sound level on you."

"My name is William Royce."

"Thank you. Next."

Karl looked up at the boom mike above him. He snapped his head back and shouted "
Achtung!
" as loud as he could.

Bill nearly jumped a foot. He yelled into the studio mike, "Don't do that again!"

I leaned over to the mike and said, "Mrs. Knight?"

She turned and looked up at the booth. "Yes?"

"Mrs. Knight, it's Roberta."

"Yes? What?"

"Remember, I said I wanted to learn how to run the board for this show?"

Mrs. Knight thought for a moment. "Right. Yes. Mr. McKay, is it all right if Roberta learns some of the cues?"

Mr. McKay leaned over in front of me. "Of course. That would be fine. Is everybody ready?"

Mrs. Knight said, "Yes, we're ready down here."

Mr. McKay told Bill, "Show Roberta what to do on the voice cues."

Bill looked at me with anger, but he did what he was told.

As the audition unfolded, Mr. McKay would say things like, "Camera One," "Camera Two," and "Open Angela's mike," and Bill would push the necessary button or turn the necessary dial. Everything was clearly labeled, so it was no big deal. Of course, it
was
a big deal for Bill.

Mrs. Knight stood between Camera 1 and Camera 2, where Angela usually stands, but she made no attempt to do an Angela imitation. She pointed to Betty and asked her in a flat
voice, "What would you reply if Angela asked you, 'Why are you a witch?'"

Betty thought for a moment, then answered like a Miss America contestant, "I am a witch because I believe in the ancient powers and the ancient wisdom. I believe they are better than anything we have today."

Mrs. Knight asked another question. "Do you believe in God?"

"I believe in many gods—including Jesus, Vishnu, and Zeus."

"Exactly how do you, yourself, practice witchcraft?"

"I practice witchcraft by calling on the arcane arts—such as herbology, astrology, tarot, and numerology."

"I see. And do you have a big black cat?"

I could almost feel Betty tense up at that one. She took a deep breath before answering. "Witches are just as likely to have little white dogs as big black cats. Myself, I have goldfish."

Mrs. Knight laughed. "All right. Thank you." Then she turned to Will. "Ironman? Why do they call you that?"

Will looked at Kristin, who pointed to his T-shirt. He pulled his shirt out and answered, "Because of my shirt."

"I see. That's what it says on your shirt. And you also have what on your shirt—a death's-head?"

Will answered, "Yes, ma'am." Then he added, "Satan stuff."

Mrs. Knight seemed confused. "What do you mean?"

"I listen to so much heavy metal that I hear voices. Like Satan's."

"I see. And do you ever play the virtual reality games?"

Will looked at Kristin, who nodded. "Yeah. I play them every night. It's like I can't stop."

Mrs. Knight nodded and waited for more, but there wasn't any more. Will just stared at her.

Betty saw that and broke in, "I play them, too. They're so real that I can't tell where reality ends and fantasy begins."

Mrs. Knight turned back to her. "Ah! Tell me more about that."

"Sometimes when I'm in a virtual reality game, or 'experience' as we call it, I think it's real. When I get out of it and walk around the mall, I think the mall is the fantasy."

"Uh-huh."

Will said, "Me, too."

Mrs. Knight turned to Karl. "Now, Karl, are you a skinhead?"

"
Jawohl.
"

"Do you speak German?"

"
Ja, ich spreche Deutsch. Und Sie?
"

"Do you speak English?"

"I do. Although reluctantly, because it is the language of the weak and the inferior."

"Tell me more about that."

I noticed Angela over on the left side of the theater. I didn't know how long she had been in the studio, but she had obviously heard enough to pique her interest. I could hear her, through Mrs. Knight's mike, ask, "Is this the virtual reality show?"

Mrs. Knight answered proudly, "Yes, it is."

"They look great. Do they have a lot to say?"

"Oh yes. They sure do!"

Angela studied Betty, Will, and Karl, one by one. Then she said, "They're perfect. Go ahead and book it."

Mrs. Knight spun back to the auditioners and announced, "You heard the lady. You're in. We have some paperwork for you on the way out. Otherwise we'll see you at three o'clock Monday at Arcane."

I saw my opportunity, and I took it. I stepped out of the booth and said, "Angela?"

Angela smiled at me, thought about my name for a moment, then said, "Yes, Roberta?"

"I think Ray Lyons might like to appear on this show, too."

"Oh? Why?"

"Because the hate crimes at the West End Mall could be a direct result of these virtual reality games."

Angela focused on me more closely. "Keep talking."

"Mr. Lyons owns the mall. He's already trying to solve these hate crimes himself."

"Who are these crimes against? A black guy?"

"No. An Arab. And there's a virtual reality game there called Crusader that makes people want to attack Arabs."

Angela smiled at Mrs. Knight. "This is getting better and better." She asked me, "Can we get this Arab guy to come on?"

"Maybe. I'll ask him."

"Yeah. You do that. You get him, and I'll get Ray Lyons." She turned to Mrs. Knight. "Get Philip Knowlton on the phone."

Mrs. Knight left right away to do that. Angela turned to me again. "Do you have any more ideas for this show?"

I pulled a CD out of my backpack. "This is the virtual reality CD-ROM for Crusader. I thought we could use it as an intro to the show. The people could see the Arabs torturing the Christians and everything."

"Great. Mr. McKay will have to preview that, though."

"All right. I'll transfer part of it to videotape. I can put some of this hardcore CD on tape, too." I pulled out Krystallnacht and showed it to Angela. She seemed impressed.

"This is great stuff, Roberta. Maybe I'll make
you
my producer."

Suddenly I heard Betty call out, "Hey, Roberta! Can we go? I gotta get to work."

"Yeah. Thanks, Betty. Thanks, everybody. I guess you heard that the show is on for Monday. I still have to do some editing here, so I'll see you back at the mall."

Kristin, Karl, Will, and Betty gathered themselves up and trooped out the studio door.

I left the studio, too, and walked over to an editing machine in a small room off the lobby. I emptied out the items from my backpack and worked for about ninety minutes. When I was finished, I had made two highlight videos for Angela, one based on Crusader and one based on Krystallnacht. Then I made a different video for myself based on Ray Lyons's man-in-the-street interviews.

I left Angela's videos on Mr. McKay's chair in the booth, with a note on top,
Tapes for virtual reality show.

As I finished the note, I heard Angela's voice from behind me, "What? You're still here?"

I turned and said, "Yeah, I was just finishing those tapes. Crusader and Krystallnacht."

"Oh yeah. I want to see those."

"Do you want me to play them for you?"

"No, not now. I gotta get to the spa. I just want to thank you again for being such a hardworking intern. They're not all like you."

"Well, I like learning this stuff."

"Is this what you want to do?"

"I think so. I think I'd like to be a news reporter."

Angela twisted up her mouth. "Well, I don't want to discourage you, but that's a tough job to break into. You might want to think about producing instead." She started off. "Thanks again for all that you're doing for the show."

"Sure."

I said, "Angela? Do you really think you can get Ray Lyons for the West End Mall show?"

"I already got him, kid. I talked to Knowlton ten minutes ago."

"Great."

"Yeah. I always get my man. See you."

This morning, I woke up in Condo #303, showered, and ate breakfast. Then I called our answering machine at Sawgrass Estates. There was only one message: "This is Mr. Lewis from Arcane Industries in Antioch, Illinois. You have missed your third straight payment. Your franchise is officially in default. I believe you understand the consequences of that. If you do not, you are welcome to call me. You should probably call me anyway, so that I can make arrangements to reclaim our equipment."

I jotted down the number that he gave and then left for the mall. I pushed open the entrance doors exactly at noon. As soon as I reached the rotunda, I noticed something odd. Karl, Kristin, and Will were huddled together outside the glass doors. The arcade was not open.

Karl looked very upset. He was pumping his arms and rocking on his legs. He sputtered at Kristin, "No way! I'm not going in there."

She told him, "Karl, I can't pick him up by myself."

"No! Get somebody else. Get your boyfriend, here."

Will said, very maturely, "I'm not her boyfriend. I'm her friend."

Kristin clapped her hand on Karl's shoulder and held him still. She told him emphatically, "Karl, this isn't for friends or for anybody else to do. This is for us to do."

"I'm not going in there."

The three of them became aware of me all at once. They stopped talking and looked away, like they were embarrassed.

I said, "What's up?" No one replied, so I looked past them, through the sliding-glass doors. At first I didn't see anything unusual. But then I did.

It was Uncle Frank. He was curled up within the ring of Crusader, just lying there on the raised platform. A black helmet was half on and half off of his head. He appeared to be a total wreck, a broken man. I decided, "I'll go talk to him." I unlocked the door and slid it open a foot.

Kristin tried to stop me. "There's no talking to him, Roberta. Not when he's like this."

I said, "Let's find out."

"No. He's not himself. This is not my dad."

I looked her in the eye and answered, "Oh yes, it is."

I walked over to the Crusader platform. Uncle Frank was making a hollow sound, something in between snoring and gasping. I leaned over him. "Uncle Frank?"

His upper body jerked slightly, enough to make the helmet slide the rest of the way off his head. He managed to say, "What?" in a lost and confused voice.

"Uncle Frank, I just heard from Mr. Lewis, the guy from Arcane Industries, up in Antioch, Illinois. I know you haven't paid them in three months. I know it's all over."

Uncle Frank rolled onto all fours, like he was going to do push-ups. He shook his head furiously, trying to clear it.

I told him, "I just wanted to say this: At least you're here, Uncle Frank. At least you're upset, and angry, and broken up about it. That's because it matters to you. My dad, I'm sure, is at the beach now, or out test-driving a boat."

Uncle Frank looked up at me through bloodshot eyes. He spoke clearly. "You don't know what I did."

"Yes, I do. And I think it was a bad thing to do. A terrible thing. But I don't think it was an evil thing."

He wasn't buying that. He demanded to know, "Then what was it?"

"It was natural law. You fought to save what was yours. You fought with spray paint, and hate, and lies. You fought in a
cowardly way"—he bristled at those words—"but I don't think you are really a coward. And I don't think you are really evil. You're just drunk, Uncle Frank. You're drunk, and you've given up. You gave up months ago."

Uncle Frank twisted his body left and right. Then he managed to sit up. He even managed to regain a bit of his dignity. He reminded me quietly, "I was in Desert Storm."

"I know you were."

"I was sitting in a tank, in the middle of a desert, when your Mr. Samir Samad was sitting in a carseat, in the back of his daddy's BMW."

"Yes, sir. I know that."

Uncle Frank struggled all the way up to his feet. "That's all I have to say." He stepped down off the platform and walked, pretty steadily, into the back.

I watched him go. Then I squeezed back out though the door. I told Kristin, Karl, and Will, "It's over. We're out of business."

Kristin flopped back against the glass. She let herself slide down until she was on the floor. Will did the same, so Karl and I sat down, too. We remained there together for a few minutes, returning the curious stares of the early shoppers.

Then I felt the glass doors sliding against my back. I looked up and saw Uncle Frank. He stepped out, closed the door behind him, then turned and locked it with his key. He made no eye contact with anyone. He just said, "Let's go."

Kristin and Karl hopped up. They each put an arm around Uncle Frank. Then the three of them walked away, through the rotunda and out of sight.

Will and I stood up, too. He said, "I better go help my mom. Is your plan still on for tomorrow?"