Crusader

  For the next twenty minutes Mrs. Weiss let me steer the big car all over the lanes of Eternal Rest Cemetery. She hardly spoke. Just once to say, "Go easier on the brakes," and another time, "Try not to overturn." She wouldn't let me drive out of the cemetery, though.

  We switched places at the front gate. Mrs. Weiss turned left onto Seventy-second Street, smiling. "So what do you say we go out to dinner? A birthday dinner."

  "I'm already going out to dinner. A birthday dinner."

  Mrs. Weiss must have been surprised, but she tried not to show it. "Oh? With whom?"

  "Dad and Suzie."

  "Yes? And where are they taking you?"

  "The Greek Isles Family Restaurant."

  "Where is that?"

  "It's over on the Strip."

  "The Strip? What? Where the drug dealers are? Where the prostitutes are? He's taking you there?"

  "It's not that bad, Mrs. Weiss. Anyway, it was my idea."

  "What would give you an idea like that?"

  "I wanted to go back. You know, I practically grew up there. Our first business was right on A1A. Right on the Strip."

  Mrs. Weiss paused. Then she said kindly, "I know, dearie. I know all about it."

  Now I was surprised. "You do?"

  "Of course. I remember when it happened. A terrible thing. Your poor mother."

  I thought, I remember when it happened, too—when I let myself.

  "I was a woman alone, just like your mother. What happened to her made me think twice about where I wanted to open my store. That's how I wound up out at that mall. I had to have the security."

  We turned right, into my development. Mrs. Weiss added, "You need security, too, Roberta. You're not safe here. You're a girl alone here."

  "I'm not alone."

  Mrs. Weiss snapped at me. "Don't tell me that! I know he leaves you here alone. Don't tell me he doesn't."

  "Sometimes he—"

  "And stop making excuses for him. He's not worth making excuses for. Roberta, if anything happened to you, I would just die. Do you know that?"

  She stared at me intensely until I answered, "Yes, ma'am."

  "But do you know what your father would do?"

  No, ma am.

  "He would buy you a cheap funeral, then he'd go waterskiing with his girlfriend. It's all about him. Him and only him. That's why I want you to move your things into my guest room."

  I didn't know what to say. I got out the passenger side and told her, "Thanks, Mrs. Weiss. I'll think about that."

  "I want an answer soon, Roberta. The right' answer." She stayed and watched as I walked up the driveway, under the carport, and in through the kitchen door. Then I heard the big Lincoln pull away.

  I started to get a soda, then I noticed a note on the refrigerator. It said: Roberta, We will pick you up at 7. Expect a nice surprise. Dad and Suzie.

  It was already after six. I took a quick shower, then I found a pair of black slacks and a wrinkled white button-down shirt. I pulled out the ironing board and ironed them both.

  After I got dressed I had a strange notion. I went into the bathroom, opened the cabinet under the sink, and took out the bag of makeup that Kristin had left behind. I thought about using it, but I chickened out. I was liable to dab something on wrong and look like a clown. Instead I combed my hair straight down, like I always do. I stood and stared at myself in that mirror for a long time until I heard Dad and Suzie come in. Then I went out to the kitchen.

  Suzie greeted me with, "Oh! You look nice!"

  Dad smiled. "Come on, birthday girl. Let's go."

  Since there were three of us, we had to take Dad's Chevy Malibu. I sat in the back. With the top down and the radio on, I may as well have been sitting in another car. Dad drove to the Strip from the north, down Ocean Boulevard. He turned right just before the 7-Eleven, the tattoo parlor, and the restaurant.

  The scene was just the way I remembered it. The same people were hanging out—the same sickly looking kids; the same bad guys in front of the 7-Eleven.

  Dad couldn't find a space in front of the restaurant, so he parked in the tattoo parlor's lot. It was close enough to the 7-Eleven that the tall scuzzy guy could call over to him, "Yo! Hey, you here to party?"

  Dad winked at me. He lowered his voice and answered the guy, "Yeah. We're here for a birthday party."

  The scuzzy guy held up his palms. "Cool. If you want to do some real partying later, you come see me."

  Dad smiled at him. He answered, "Cool." Then he rolled his eyes at me, like it was funny.

  I hated the way he dropped his voice to match that scuzzy guy's. And I hated the way he said "Cool." There was nothing cool about it. That was the guy who had grabbed Kristin, the guy who was going to shoot her just for fighting back.

  When we entered the restaurant, the owner came right up to Dad like he was a long-lost friend. He practically shouted, "Look who's here!"

  Dad said, "Hey, man, good to see you."

  "What's the occasion?"

  "A very special occasion, in more ways than one. Do you remember my little girl?"

  The guy's eyes bugged out. "Of course I do! Look at you. You always had the red around your mouth, right? From the Slurpees?"

  "Right," I said. But I had no recollection of him at all. He turned back to Dad. I wondered, Does he know about Mom? He must.

  Dad spoke quickly. "And this is Suzie. She's the other part of the very special occasion."

  Suzie gave him a wide smile. The guy said, "That's wonderful. Come in. Come in." He grabbed three menus and walked us to a table by the front window. I was glad of that, because I wanted to look out.

  Dad sat next to Suzie, across from me. She scooted her chair closer to him so that she could hook her arm in his. Dad and Suzie exchanged a look. Then Dad smiled at me. "Well, Roberta, happy birthday."

  Suzie said, "Yeah. Happy birthday."

  Then Dad said, "Don't you want to know what the other special occasion is?"

  A teenage girl came up and set down three glasses of water. "Can I get you anything from the bar?"

  Dad said, "Do you still have those split bottles of champagne?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Okay. I'll take one of those. Roberta, how about you?"

  I said, "Seven-Up."

  The waitress jotted the drink orders down and left.

  I tried to look out the window, at the action outside the 7-Eleven, but Dad drew me back. "So where were we? Oh yes, the other special occasion. Can you guess what it is?"

  I answered, "No."

  "Maybe I should let Suzie tell you."

  Suzie didn't like that idea. "No. You tell her."

  "We'll both tell her." Dad stopped smiling for a moment. He nodded gravely. "Roberta, maybe it's time we were a family again. Maybe it's time you had a mother again."

  If I had been eating any food, I think I would have choked. I must have looked pretty shocked, because Suzie jumped right in with, "Of course, I could never replace your real mother."

  The two of them stared at me uncomfortably. I finally said, pretty much for my own benefit, "So you two are getting married?"

  Dad seemed relieved that I understood. He smiled again. "That's right."

  As usual, I couldn't think of anything else to say. So I asked, "Where?"

  Dad looked at Suzie mischievously. Suzie didn't respond. I think she was disappointed in my reaction, but Dad pushed on. "I don't know. Maybe on a boat."

  That was unexpected. I said, "Whose boat?"

  He pulled Suzie over. She flopped against him like a marlin. "Our boat. Suzie only wants two things in the world: me and a boat. Pretty soon she'll have both."

  I couldn't look at either one of them. I looked outside and asked, "How can we spend money on a boat now?"

  Dad was ready with an answer. "Did you ever hear the expression 'Two can live as cheaply as one'? Well, it's true. Suzie and I will have two incomes, but we'll only be paying one rent. That's a great savings."

  The waitress cam
e back with our drinks. She said, "Mr. Anthony suggests the leg of lamb for you tonight. He said he would make it special."

  Dad held up one finger. "That's his name: Mr. Anthony." He looked at Suzie, then me. "Sounds good. Let's make it three."

  The rest of the dinner went a little better. The food was really good, and we kept away from the topic of their marriage. Instead we talked about the West End Mall.

  Mr. Anthony stopped by once to ask about the lamb. Then he came back with the waitress and a small cake with a lit candle. Mr. Anthony and the waitress started to sing "Happy Birthday." Dad joined in. Suzie, I think, lip-synched. After that Mr. Anthony said to Dad, "I know about this special birthday occasion. Is this beautiful lady the other one?"

  Dad said, "Yep."

  "You're ... you're what?"

  Dad laughed and completed Mr. Anthony's thought. "Getting married. Yes."

  "Ah! Congratulations." He told the waitress, "Let's have more champagne here. And whatever you're drinking, Roberta."

  I was surprised that he remembered my name. I said, "Seven-Up." I added, "Can I ask you a question, Mr. Anthony?"

  "Yes. Of course."

  "Do you remember our old arcade?"

  His smile became tense. "Sure I do."

  "It's that tattoo parlor now, right?"

  "Right."

  "Do you know the owner?"

  "I do know her. Her name's Connie. She comes in here. Real nice. But guess what?" He smiled. "She doesn't have a tattoo on her."

  Dad laughed. "Is that right?"

  I continued, "Do you think this Connie lady would mind if I stopped in there to look around?"

  Mr. Anthony thought for a moment. "No, I'm sure she wouldn't."

  Dad looked disturbed. He asked me, "Roberta, honey, why would you want to do that?"

  "I've been thinking about it a lot lately. I have to see it."

  "Why now? Why spoil tonight?"

  "It's not spoiling anything. And when else will I ever get down here?"

  Dad didn't know what to say. He turned to Mr. Anthony. "How long has it been a tattoo parlor?"

  "A couple of years. It was a jewelry store before that, but it kept getting robbed." Mr. Anthony paused. He suddenly looked sick. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

  Dad reassured him. "It's okay."

  Mr. Anthony turned to me. "You tell Connie that I said you should come in and see your old store. And you have a happy birthday."

  Dad and Suzie drank their champagne. Then Dad paid the check and we left. Outside, Dad unlocked the car door for Suzie, who slid into the front seat. I kept walking, around the car and up to the door of the Third Eye Tattoo and Body Piercing Parlor. I peered in and saw the same lady as last time sitting at a card table. It looked like she was playing solitaire.

  I looked back at Dad. He wanted no part of this. He was staring at the ground, but then he looked up at me. "Roberta, I don't know what's going on here, but there's no way I can walk back into that building. Do you understand?"

  "Sure, Dad. I don't want you to. This is something I want to do. For me. For my birthday."

  Suzie said something to him, and he relayed it to me. "We'll sit in the car. Okay?"

  "Okay." I looked closely at the frame of the doorway. I thought, This is how people used to enter the arcade. This is how the killer entered, too. I took a deep breath and pushed open the glass door. The woman at the table looked up at me. I could see now that, although there were cards on the table, she was actually filing her nails. I wouldn't call her look friendly. She said, "Did you want a tattoo? You'll need an adult with you."

  "No. No, ma'am. Mr. Anthony said I could come in and look around."

  "Who's Mr. Anthony?"

  "He owns the restaurant next door."

  The woman nodded. She lightened up a little. "Oh yeah. I forgot his name." She put down her nail file. "What do you want to look at?"

  "This was our family business. We had an arcade in this building about seven years ago."

  "Really? I heard there was a jewelry store here."

  "We were here before them."

  The woman thought harder. "Was that the woman who was—" She stopped before she said the rest.

  I answered, "Right. My mother."

  "Oh? Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

  "That's okay. Can I look around?"

  "Sure. Suit yourself. But please don't touch anything sharp."

  "I won't." I walked slowly through the room, concentrating on the past. I wanted to remember the place exactly as it was—bright, neon, crowded with machines. I looked at the back wall. That was where my mother would stand, so that was where I chose to stand.

  I tried to reconstruct where the cash register had been, where the safe had been, where the security camera had been. Then I tried to imagine the killer entering. Did he burst in? Or did he come in casually, posing as a customer? Was my mother afraid when it happened? Or was she too surprised, too stunned to be afraid? I stared at the door. I imagined him entering and closing in on me quickly. I imagined him pulling out a knife. I imagined the knife punching into my stomach, doubling me over.

  I clutched my stomach and lurched across the room toward the door. Connie didn't look up. I pulled the door open and staggered outside. My eyes fell immediately on the spot, ten feet in front of the door, where my mother had fallen. I fell, too. I lay there, doubled over, with my hand plugging the imaginary hole in my stomach. I studied the sidewalk in front of my face. Was this the last thing she ever saw? I listened to the blood rushing in my ears. Was that the last thing she ever heard? I felt the grit of the sidewalk. I smelled the asphalt of the parking lot.

  Suddenly a face was leaning over, looking down at mine. I knew the face. It was that street girl, the chubby one. She whispered, "Hey, are you okay?"

  I unclenched my fist and pulled it back from my stomach. I stretched out, facedown. Then I got up to my knees. I told her, "Yeah. Yeah, I must have slipped."

  The skinny boy was standing behind her. I looked from one to the other. Neither one believed I had slipped. The girl asked me, "Are you wasted?"

  "Am I what?"

  "Are you loaded?"

  "What?"

  The girl looked at me like she thought I was stupid. She tried, "Do you need some help?"

  "No. Thank you. I'm okay now. I slipped."

  "No, you didn't."

  A car pulled into the space right in front of us. Its headlights made the street kids squint like moles in the sunlight. I was blinded, too, but I realized that it was Dad's Chevy Malibu. He yelled at me, "Come on, Roberta. That's enough now. Get in!"

  I didn't react right away, so he yelled again, "I mean it. Get in the car!"

  The street girl took a step toward the headlights. She asked me, "Is this guy after you?" But before I could answer, she whipped out a small metal cylinder and yelled back at the car, "Get outta here, you creep. I got Mace. I'll Mace you!"

  I hopped up to my feet. "No! No, it's okay. It's my dad."

  She remained standing between the car and me. "Are you sure?"

  "Sure I'm sure. He drove me here."

  "Do you want to go back with him?"

  "Yes. Yes, I've been waiting for him."

  "No, you haven't. He's been parked right there all along."

  "I mean ... I don't know what I mean. But I want to go with him now."

  The girl stepped back, joining the boy. She put the cylinder away. "Okay. It's your funeral."

  I walked to the passenger side of the car. Suzie opened the door enough for me to squeeze in. I looked back to thank the girl, but she and the boy had disappeared.

  Dad pulled out with a squealing sound, just like Nina had. Maybe he thought that girl might still try to Mace him. He yelled back to me, "What were you doing lying on that sidewalk? What's the matter with you?"

  I thought for a moment. Then I yelled into the front seat, "I think it was the lamb. I never had lamb before. I think it gave me cramps."

  I guess Dad acce
pted that explanation. He didn't say anything else about it. We drove back with the radio on and no conversation. By the time they dropped me off at the bottom of the driveway, all was forgiven. Dad just said, "Do you have your key?"

  "Yeah."

  "Okay. You get to bed. I'll be back soon. I just need to drive Suzie home."

  The Chevy Malibu started to back away. Suzie hadn't said anything all the way back, but now she called out cheerfully, "Good night. Happy birthday."

  I crawled into bed and tossed all night. I know I had several jagged, dark dreams. But there's only one I can remember now, and only a few seconds of it: My mother sat at the table of the tattoo parlor, where that Connie lady had sat. She looked up at me when I came in. She spoke to me very calmly, without a trace of pain: "Roberta, I told them I didn't want one of these. I never wanted one of these." I looked at her arms. In my mind, I knew she was talking about a tattoo. Her voice was calm, even peaceful, but her actions were anything but. Her right arm was busy doing violence to her left. She had a knife in her right hand, and she was scraping the skin away on her left forearm. The blood from this crude operation was running in a narrow stream, across the card table, onto the floor, and right out into the street.

  MONDAY, THE 25TH

  Today is a teacher workday. That means that no kids in the county have to go to school. Only teachers.

  I took advantage of this to get to the mall in the morning. When I got to the rotunda, I saw that Leo had pulled all the Santa's Workshop stuff out of storage and hauled it in there. He appeared to be having a problem with the Santa seat. Suzie, as usual, was on his case. She was staring at the Santa seat with alarm. "Leo? Why is that chair moving?"

  Leo explained without looking up. "It's that pump under the grate. It's making the grate vibrate. So the seat moves a little."

  "Does it move when somebody is sitting on it?"

  "I don't know."

  Suzie looked up to heaven, as if asking for help. She said sarcastically, "That's okay, Leo. I'll do it." Suzie walked over to the Santa seat and sat lightly on it. It stopped moving. She said, "Is this all it takes to hold it still?"

  I guess so.

  "So there won't be a problem when Gene is sitting here? He's a big guy."

  "Problem? How could there possibly be a problem?" Leo displayed his oversize teeth.