Crusader (51 page)

Mrs. Knight called over to us, "Two minutes till the teaser, Angela."

Angela told them all, "I have to get to work. I hope you enjoy the show."

I followed Angela back inside. Two stationary cameras were set up, on the north and south ends, to catch all the action. I saw Kristin. She had staked out a place behind the north camera so Will could see her.

Karl, Will, and Betty were already sitting on stools in the middle of the floor. They looked extremely pale under the harsh lights, like a row of lab specimens. Karl appeared to be zoned out. Will seemed paralyzed. Betty looked distracted and unhappy. Studying their faces, I felt a surge of nausea, and of absolute terror; I was nearly overcome by it. But Karl's eyes suddenly snapped into focus, and he called to me, "What's wrong, cuz?"

I walked over to his stool and whispered to him, "This isn't working. There's no way this is going to work. I'm an idiot."

"No. You're not an idiot. I'm an idiot. You're a brain."

"I'm not, Karl. Not today."

"Let me ask you this: Do you still have the plan?"

"No. It's ruined now."

"How's it ruined?"

Bill uncovered the soundboard behind me. He tossed the black plastic cover aside. I rolled my eyes in that direction. "By him."

Karl nodded thoughtfully. "What do you need to happen to him?"

"I need to get him out of the RV."

"When?"

"After Angela brings in Ray Lyons."

Karl said simply, "You got it."

"What?"

"I'll take care of that part. You take care of your part."

Mrs. Knight walked Sam up to the remaining stool. She called over to Angela, "This is Sam the Arab."

Angela stepped up and shook hands with him. She asked him, "Do you understand what we're doing today?"

"Yes, I do. To a point."

"You sit on the stool. I ask you a question or two about these virtual reality games and these racist attacks against you. You answer nice and clear, and we'll have a great show. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Feel free to get excited, to get angry at people—but don't use any profanity."

"Gotcha."

Angela looked around carefully, getting her bearings. She asked Mrs. Knight, "Where'd you put Ray Lyons?"

"He's in an office in the back of the store. He's with that Mr. Knowlton."

"Okay."

Mrs. Knight called out in a loud voice, "One minute! Places, everybody!"

Everyone hushed. The tension was unbearable, but Angela was totally cool. I supposed she had done this a thousand times. She strolled over to check out the Crusader dummy. She whispered to Mrs. Knight, "Hey, real fast! Can we use this guy on the set?"

Mrs. Knight nodded. "If you want."

"Yeah. Drag him over there. Let's see."

Mrs. Knight grabbed Crusader and dragged him into camera range.

Angela laughed. "Oh yeah. Look at that. He is fine! Put him in my car after the show."

I figured I had better get to my place, too. I squeezed through the crowd and joined Bill at the console. He barely even looked up. He was totally focused on the broadcast now.

I didn't know what to do. I just stood there next to him and looked out at the strange sight. Arcane had been transformed into a soundstage by the powerful white lights. I finally dared to say, "What do you want me to do?"

"Stand there and wait. And don't touch anything."

Bill spoke through his headset to Mr. McKay. "I don't like this. Look at these lowlifes. Any one of them could utter a profanity." He turned to me and pointed to the
Angela
promo tape in the console. "You need to be ready with that."

I looked at the big console. The
Angela
promo tape was on top, ready to go. My Krystallnacht and Crusader tapes were stacked beneath it. Beside the console was an array of other tapes, marked with titles like
Heavy Metal/Satan, Nazi Teens in America, Witchcraft Covens,
and
Hate Crimes/Lynchings.
They had a backup tape ready for everything.

Angela put a tiny receiver in her ear, then covered it with her long red hair.

Bill said, "Ready for intro, Angela. On five, four, three, two, one."

Angela spoke into the camera: "By day, it's a typical kids' arcade in a typical South Florida mall. But what happens here when the mall is closed and the doors are locked will shock you—on today's
Angela
live!"

The camera light went off. The opening montage came up on the Sony monitor next to Angela. She remained in place,
reading notes on a small card. Then Bill said into her earpiece, "We're back in five, four, three, two, one."

Angela continued, "You have seen them in the mall—without direction, without education, with no apparent sense of pride or self-respect—America's lost tribes of teenagers. In Africa, warlords would put machine guns in their hands, creating private armies of violent, unthinking children, ready to do their bidding, no matter what it is. Could that happen here?"

Angela spun around, and the cameraman got a wider view. "This is Arcane—The Virtual Reality Arcade. Teenagers come here to spend their last dollars on ultraviolent 'experiences' that seem frighteningly real. In many a tortured teenage mind, they
are
real."

Angela stood beside the Crusader. "Meet the future. Meet three teenagers who spend their lives in a state of virtual reality. They live only to pump money into mindblowing arcade games. Let me introduce you first to a youngster known only as Ironman."

As she stepped toward him, Will spoke up immediately, before Angela could even ask him a question. He said, "Satanic stuff. Heavy metal Satan worshiping."

Angela answered, "Uh-huh. I see. And do you think these virtual reality experiences fuel that?" Will looked at her dumbly. She tried, "Do they make you want to worship Satan?"

Will looked at Kristin, who nodded. He repeated, "Yeah. Satan-worship stuff."

"Satan? The prince of darkness? The source of all evil?" Will didn't answer. Angela looked into the camera. "Ironman is in his own twisted world, where reality itself is just another arcade game. We'll be back in a moment."

Bill yelled to Mr. McKay, "Watch out. She's going to a commercial."

The studio quickly took over the feed.

Angela spun around and looked for her producer. "Mrs. Knight? Did we prep these people?"

Mrs. Knight turned red. She answered, "I think Roberta prepped them."

"Yeah, well, Roberta is not my producer. You are."

Mrs. Knight turned red with shame. "I'm sorry, Angela."

Angela turned back to Will. She pointed a long red nail at his nose. "Do you have any other words that you could possibly work into your story? Or is this it?"

Will looked her in the eye. "Why? Isn't this what you want?"

Angela thought that over. She answered, "Okay. I guess I can work with this. You're possessed, right? It's a case of demonic possession?"

Will nodded. "Sure."

Bill warned her, "We're back in five, four, three..."

Angela looked into the camera. "Welcome back to the twisted reality of these American teenagers. Do any of them look familiar to you?" She moved toward Betty. "Betty the Witch, why do you call yourself that?"

"For you."

"Pardon me?"

"I call myself that because you want me to."

"I want you to? But I don't even know you."

Betty pointed to Will and Karl. "All of us, we're doing exactly what you want us to do. You want us to be scuzzbags so that you'll have somebody to look down on. So that you can feel better about yourself. So that you can say, 'At least I'm not a Nazi, Satan-worshiping witch hanging out in a scuzzbag mall.' So here we are. Look down on us and feel better. We're your four o'clock freak show for the day."

Angela said, "That's interesting. That's very interesting. Do the rest of you feel that way?"

She turned the mike to Will, who looked around for Kristin. Not seeing her in the lights, he mumbled, "Satan stuff."

Angela closed in on him, looking to change the topic. "What's that on your shirt? A death's-head? Does that signify allegiance to Satan?"

Will shot a quick look at Betty. Then he answered, very articulately, "No. It signifies a shirt. That's all. My mom makes them next door. She'll put whatever you want on there. You have to be very specific, though, or she might mess it up."

Angela stared at him hopelessly, then she snapped out of it. She turned to the camera. "Let's take a look at some of these heavy-metal groups in action, and at some of the Satanic symbols and imagery they employ."

The Sony monitor filled with a dark montage of rock videos while Angela rounded on Mrs. Knight. "What the hell is going on here?"

Mrs. Knight hung her head.

When the videos ended, Angela moved the mike over to Karl. "Skinhead Karl, tell me something: Why do you have
HEIL HITLER
written on your shirt?"

Karl looked into the camera. I could see that his eyes were out of focus. But he answered clearly enough, "Why don't you have
HEIL HITLER
written on yours?"

"For a number of very good reasons, Karl. Hitler was a monster responsible for the deaths of millions. Why would you walk around with the name of someone like that written on your shirt?"

Karl seemed at a loss to answer that one. He tried, "Why wouldn't I?"

Angela looked at the camera. "One of Arcane's most popular virtual reality experiences is called Krystallnacht. In that experience, for five dollars, you can join Nazi stormtroopers
beating and killing German Jews. We've come a long way since Pacman. Let's take a look."

My Arcane video came on, without sound, so that Angela could talk over it. "Watch with me, Karl, and tell me: When you play these virtual reality games, like this Krystallnacht, do you actually think you're in Nazi Germany?"

Karl replied, "No. To tell you the truth, I'm not really a skinhead. I just have bad skin. I bought these boots, and I wrote on the shirt with a Magic Marker."

The video soon ended. Angela must have felt punch-drunk by now, but she maintained control. She pretended Karl had never spoken. She took a step toward the right, toward Sam. "All right. Let me talk to Samir Samad for a moment. Sam, you are an Arab. You were the victim of a hate crime that directly followed an illegal after-hours party with hardcore, racist virtual reality experiences. Watch with me now as we show the audience part of a tape from an Arcane experience called Crusader."

Bill popped in the tape, and the screen filled with the image of a turbaned Arab's head being cut off and spewing out blood. The tape ended quickly. Angela picked up, "We can't show you much more on TV. Tell me, Sam, do you feel like one of those people?"

"No. Not really. I grew up in California."

"You were attacked following a late-night party during which people played virtual reality games like this. Were you not?"

"Yes."

"What did the mob do to you?"

"Well, it wasn't a mob. It was one guy. He didn't actually do anything to me. He did things to my store. And to my car."

"Didn't this hate crime happen because you're an Arab?"

"No. It turns out it was all about money. About recapitalizing the mall. By the way, I'd like to encourage your viewers to come shop at the West End Mall."

Angela looked into the camera. She spoke flatly. "We'll be right back with someone who has been fighting against hate crimes and racism in the West End Mall, state senate candidate Ray Lyons."

Another commercial came on. Angela looked at Mrs. Knight and told her bluntly, "This show is a loser."

Betty suddenly spoke up. "You're the loser, lady. You should look at yourself in a mirror sometime."

Angela turned to Betty and told her, in a voice loud enough to carry into the mallway, "You're entitled to your opinion, Broomhilda, but not on my show. Now get the hell out of here."

Betty said, "No problem. I'm bored, anyway. This is stupid. You're stupid."

Angela was struggling now to keep cool. She rounded on her other guests. "I'll tell you what—I'd like to replace all four of you."

Betty slid off the stool, walked out into the mallway, and kept on going. Karl, Will, and Sam stayed put.

Suddenly a voice shouted out of the audience. It was Nina. She cried, "Angela! Yo, Angela! Maybe I could take her place."

Angela stepped over the cables and regarded Nina closely. I guess she was actually considering it, but then she said, "No. You don't look like a witch."

Nina was frantic. "Okay. I—I could be something else."

"What?"

"I could be Nina the Nympho."

Dr. Navarro's eyes snapped wide open. He shouted, "Prin-cesa!"

Nina turned to him. "No. It wouldn't be true, Papi. I'd just be pretending. They're all just pretending. That's what you have
to do to get on the show. You have to act like you're really messed up."

"You will pretend no such thing. Think of your family. Think of your mother."

She made one last plea to Angela, "What about Nina the Klepto?"

Dr. Navarro looked at his daughter closely—like he was examining her with his laser glasses, like he was seeing her for the first time.

Angela walked away and posed to start the next segment.

Bill counted it off, "Five, four, three..."

"Let me bring my last guest into the mix. He is the developer and owner of the West End Mall, which is the scene of our show today. He is also a candidate for the state senate, Ray Lyons."

Ray Lyons entered Arcane from the back office. He sat on Betty's stool and started to drone on about hate crimes. He was opposed to hate crimes against hardworking people like Sam. He was opposed to Satan-worshiping Nazis like Karl and Ironman.

Karl appeared to be completely zoned, and Angela knew it. She didn't direct any questions to him. She didn't direct any questions to anyone else, either. She didn't seem to care anymore. She let Mr. Lyons hijack the show.

I stood in the booth next to Bill with my hands motionless at my sides. I was devastated. I was humiliated. I felt like crawling into a ditch and dying. My plan was ridiculous, and I was ridiculous, and we were all going to lose everything because of me.