Children of the Knight (47 page)

Until now.

Until Arthur.

LAPD Chief Murphy had been promoted up the ranks, having spent his entire adult life with the Los Angeles police department. A quiet, introspective, middle-aged man with a balding pate and bushy eyebrows, Murphy had been chief now for four years, and ever since the now-infamous Rodney King beating, the police chief served at the whim of the mayor, not the people. Thus Murphy, and every other chief, had to kiss major ass just to keep the job, and right now Villagrana wasn’t happy.

“Yeah, I got it on right now,” the mayor was barking into his phone. “Yes, the chief’s with me. For once we agree. I’ll tell him.”

He slammed the phone down hard, glaring at the exploding cop cars and scrambling officers on TV.

“Council Pres, I bet.” Murphy sighed. He
knew
he was in the hot seat.

“Your men look like shit out there.”

“What did you expect us to do, start shooting?” The chief was pissed at Villagrana
and
his men.

The mayor glared at him fiercely. “From now on, you do nothing. You don’t do a thing.”

Murphy bristled with indignation. He hated politicians telling him how to do his job. “What? Mr. Mayor, that guy torched five of my vehicles and wrecked four more near the river!”

“You’re lucky he didn’t turn those kids loose on you,” Villagrana retorted. “And it was your own men who crashed the other cars. Now hear me good, Murphy! This guy’s already getting too much public support for you to go muscling in on his parade. Watch him and wait, but don’t interfere. That’s an order.”

Murphy swore to himself but grudgingly nodded. “You’re wrong, but I’ll do it.”

He shook his head with anger as he stepped from the office, mumbling under his breath, “Bureaucrats!”

Villagrana ignored the dig and turned back to the television, dropping slowly into his lush, leather chair and fixing his eyes on the screen. This guy was becoming a media darling, something he could not allow. He pushed the pause button just as Arthur galloped through the smoke and leapt directly toward the camera. He studied Arthur’s face carefully. He liked to know his enemies before he struck.

Chapter 9

I
N
THE
days following the first Boyle Heights cleanup, Arthur and his children repeated the operation in other neighborhoods, fanning outward from various Boyle Heights communities to surrounding areas. The reception in every neighborhood gratified the king. The people not only welcomed Arthur’s help, but also pitched in and worked alongside the kids. Camera crews followed them everywhere, always led by Helen Schaeffer. Arthur liked her and felt comfortable speaking with her, so Helen tended to get far more face time than any other reporter with the biggest newsmaker of the moment.

Some of Arthur’s kids laughingly called her Lois Lane, which she found both endearing and amusing, though the mystified king had no idea who Lois Lane was, and Lance had to give him a crash course in pop culture references. For her part, Helen found herself more and more enamored of these kids and the man leading them and valued every moment she spent in their company.

Angelenos had taken Arthur’s initial plea for cast-off junk to heart. Local trucking companies, who often had idle drivers due to the slow economy, offered their services to anyone in the city—they gladly collected any donations and delivered said items to Arthur in whatever neighborhood he chose. Contributions poured in literally by the truckload. And not just junk, either. People donated new items as well. Furniture, wood, fresh cans of paint—a
lot
of paint—clothing, shoes, appliances.

The stuff poured in, and Arthur’s kids doled it out, neighborhood by neighborhood, painting, repairing, replacing, cleaning, and always removing graffiti wherever it defaced buildings or homes. Those knights with repair and mechanical experience coached and guided those without, and the city residents added their own skills and tutelage.

Arthur’s popularity among the populace soared higher with each passing day, infuriating the mayor and city council members, but invigorating the people of Los Angeles. Arthur and his children had given the people something their elected officials never even attempted to offer: hope.

Enrique, Luis, Lavern, and a few other knights always found a visible spot in every neighborhood for a small mural depicting some aspect of Arthur’s crusade, always assisted by enthusiastic residents, many of whom possessed extraordinary artistic talent.

Unlike political campaign slogans, Arthur’s A crest actually became a genuine symbol of hope and change.

Lance continued to lead the procession into and out of every locale, banner held high, snapping in the breeze along with his flowing hair. While he had once thought his hair a Samson-like asset to his skating, he soon realized, as his face popped up on every news broadcast and Internet site, that his striking hair had become almost as recognizable as the banner he hefted.

Residents lining the streets chanted his name as the procession marched into each neighborhood, and representatives of shampoo companies began waylaying him along each daily route, offering him print ads and commercials highlighting their products. Helen took it upon herself to run interference for him so he could work unmolested. She instructed him to merely smile and say he’d think about it to whatever offers these companies tossed his way.

Because of the long days and exhausting work, Lance seldom had time alone with Arthur anymore, which bothered him intensely when he wasn’t too worn out to care. It almost seemed to him that he spent more time each day with Helen and those shampoo guys than he did with the man who had chosen him to be First Knight. Arthur suddenly belonged to everyone, not just him, and not even to the other knights, but to
everyone
in the entire city. As such, the demands on the king’s time had become more and more extreme.

The group, Lance soon realized,
had
become more important than the individuals in it, individuals like him. The “needs of the whole” philosophy suddenly loomed large and monstrous before Lance’s lonely eyes, almost blocking out the sun, and it filled his heart with immeasurable gloom. His mind understood that it had to be this way, but his heart, the heart of the one—him—still felt bereft and, despite the presence of his fellow knights, very much alone.

Likewise, Mark continued to mope and brood whenever they weren’t working, his despair deepening with each passing day, expanding like a balloon slowly filling up with poison.

Jack sought to direct Mark’s feelings toward him. He made it a point to touch Mark as often as he could, to joke with him, play with his hair, and even walk around shirtless whenever possible. What he
didn’t
do was the one thing he should’ve done—tell Mark the truth. Alas, fear always won out over truth—the ever-present fear of rejection.

One thing Jack hadn’t expected was himself drawing closer to Lance as they worked side by side and learned more about each other, something he knew would likely
not
have happened had they’d met in high school. Whenever Jack’s thoughts drifted back to his school days, he realized he’d be a senior now, and Lance a freshman.

The social pecking order of most high schools would’ve made associating with a freshman—other than for purposes of harassment—anathema to his reputation, especially as a jock. But within the chivalric order of the Round Table those social standings, which almost overpowered and smothered kids in the “real” world, blurred and lost all meaning. Here they were equals, even the jocks and the nerds and the queer boys. Here they were family. Despite his despair over Mark, Jack really liked his new family and almost felt sorry for those kids out in the “real” world.

Mark had begun working with Lance and Jack on a daily basis and, in an effort to distract all three of them from their personal demons, Jack coached both boys on the fine art of “gun building through the use of heavy objects.” The long hours and exhausting work mostly kept their jittery emotions in check and softened the individual pain each of them felt.

During these long days and nights, however, Lance experienced uncertainty deep within himself, feelings he’d never allowed himself to explore when he’d simply pushed everyone away because that was what loners did, because that was how you kept out the pain. That was how you kept out… yourself.

But now, in his closeness to Mark, and
especially
to Jack, Lance’s eyes often wandered surreptitiously toward his friends, and his heart fluttered like hummingbird wings with feelings he desperately wished to suppress, but couldn’t.

Could what he’d dreaded for so long, what he’d suppressed for so long, what he’d finally confessed to Arthur, be true after all? Did he just admire Jack’s impressive physique because he wanted to look like that himself, or was he really…
that
way?

These terrifying thoughts and feelings never strayed far from his mind, but he did his utmost to push them down into the darkness of his heart and soul like he’d always done, so he wouldn’t have to face them head-on. But for how much longer could he do that?

Despite all their inner struggles, the three boys still had lots of fun together. Mark and Lance often rolled their eyes at one another when Jack would show off by lifting some crazy-ass heavy weight, and then they’d take him down in a two-man tackle that set them all to laughing, which felt both buoyant
and
cathartic. Lance realized once again how good it was to have friends, even though those friendships had opened him up to real hurt and vulnerability.

He so desperately yearned to tell Mark he loved him for keeping his secret, for not even telling Jack when he easily could have. He felt Mark deserved those words, maybe even needed them to help with his depression, except Lance had never spoken
those
words in his entire life. Not to anyone. And he wasn’t even sure he knew how. He also didn’t even know if a boy was
allowed
to say them to another boy without being…
that
way. So he just let Mark be, the words unsaid, and would later come to hate himself for that decision.

On the whole, Arthur’s crusade was succeeding beyond his wildest dreams. With each new interview, the king reiterated his views on justice and fairness, how these children that society deemed worthless had more than proven their worth and then some, each and every day.

Reporters also clamored to interview Lance at every turn, recognizing the boy’s looks and charm were a sure ratings-grabber. And they were. His face showed up on nearly every broadcast, if only as a backdrop. Within a matter of days, Lance’s face, silky brown hair, and crown-like circlet around his brow had become the national symbol for Arthur’s new Camelot.

Being smart, Lance knew the media fawned over him because of his looks, and he desperately
didn’t
want the crusade to be all about him. It was so much more important than that. So he made a point of dragging other kids on camera with him, often Mark and Jack because they worked together, to accentuate Arthur’s point that every child had value and should be nurtured, not abused, and should be given more rights by the government to make sure they weren’t abused by adults.

Despite his most concerted efforts to share the spotlight with the other kids, between the news broadcasts, the Internet, video-sharing sites, and every social-networking site, within less than two weeks he had become the biggest media darling of the moment and the talk of the entire country.

Being kids first and knights second, they also loved to clown for the cameras whenever they could, because that’s what kids did. When one lady reporter told Lance he was cute, he mischievously pulled Jack on camera and yanked up the older boy’s shirt. “Yeah, but Jack’s got the abs,” he announced, “and guns like M16s!”

Jack grabbed Lance in a headlock, both boys wrestling and laughing, all caught on camera, all for the enjoyment of the people.

And the people were smitten.

It seemed almost every day Helen told Arthur and Lance they’d gotten tons of calls and e-mails from people who wanted to adopt Lance or Mark or Jack or this one or that one, even the hard and aloof Esteban.

As was usually the case with human nature, suddenly the people woke up and took notice of the lost children who’d been in their midst the whole time, simply because their plight had become so visible, and so inspiring.

But how long would it be, Lance wondered, before they forgot again and went back to their own little lives? He wasn’t so young that he hadn’t seen that
happen before.

He asked Helen almost daily if either Mark or Jack’s parents had contacted the station, wanting to get in touch with their sons, and it shattered his heart every time she shook her head sadly and said no.

Reyna, ever the showboater, loved to preen before the cameras whenever possible, showing off her bow and arrows, her fancy hairstyles, her designer tunics she’d ordered online, which to her credit, she had toned down of late, probably, Lance had observed, to fit in better with Esteban and his simple street style.