Crusader

  He asked me, "You're the intern, right?"

  "Right."

  "Start interning. I need to set up the soundboard right here, in front of the truck, where I can protect it."

  I said, "Okay."

  "Get the stand and the hardware. They're right inside the door."

  I stepped up into the RV. I turned to the left and saw a packet of iron legs and clamps, neatly bound with black electrical tape. I picked it up and went back out to Bill.

  Bill was looking very perplexed. He clearly didn't want to set the expensive soundboard down anywhere inside the West End Mall. I asked him, "Where do you want me to set this up?"

  The question seemed to surprise him. He stated, "You couldn't set this up," but then asked, "could you?"

  "Why not?" I peeled off the tape and laid out the four legs on the rotunda tiles. After all my Arcane promotional display assemblies, this was simple. I clamped the legs together in the only way they could possibly be clamped, and I stood the stand upright. Bill examined it for a moment, trying to decide if it would hold or collapse. Then he delicately placed the soundboard on top. I handed him two remaining clamps, which he used to attach the board. Then he pressed a pair of plugs into the floor outlet.

  Bill stepped back. He said, "Okay. I need you to stand here and make sure nobody touches the board. That's all you have to do. Just stand here and—"

  I interrupted him, "I can't do that. I'm part of the man-in-the-street interview, up at the mall office."

  "No, you're not. Not if you want this internship."

  Maybe Bill thought that was a scary thing to say to me, but it didn't scare me a bit. I thought of a couple of things to say back to him right away. The best one was, "That's what Angela told me to do. Do you want me to tell her that you said I can't?"

  Bill blinked rapidly. He backed off immediately. "No. No." He muttered, "Just stay here for two minutes while I call McKay."

  He spun around and got back into the truck. I could hear him call the studio and ask for Mr. McKay. They started talking about the broadcast, the director's cues and stuff. Stuff that I wanted to learn about. I listened as best I could, until I heard, "Hey, cuz! What're you doing?"

  I turned and saw Karl. He was standing dangerously close to the soundboard. Uncle Frank was right behind him, but he was looking at the Santa setup. I said, "I'm just watching the equipment for a minute."

  Karl said, "Cool." Then he reached a long white finger over, touched a sound-level button, and slid it upward. An earsplitting shriek flew out of the mall public-address system.

  Bill bounded angrily out of the truck. He yelled at me, "What was that?"

  This time I couldn't think of an answer. But Karl could. He said, "That ... was feedback, dude."

  Bill rounded on him. His eyes darted to Karl's finger, still poised criminally close to the sound-level button. "Don't touch that again! Ever! That thing's worth more than you are!"

  Uncle Frank turned around. He walked slowly past Karl, right up to Bill. He stared directly into Bill's eyes for several long, intimidating seconds. Bill tried to return his stare, but his shoulders began to sag. And then he took a step backward, as if he was going to fall. His voice croaked out, "Please do not touch anything out here. It's very valuable." He retreated back into the truck.

  Uncle Frank turned toward me. "Who was that?"

  "That's Bill. He does the remote broadcasts for the studio."

  "You're working for him?"

  "Partly. I'm supposed to watch the equipment, but I have to be in the mall office, too."

  Uncle Frank nodded. "I see. Well, go ahead down to the office. I'll watch the equipment for you." I must have really reacted to that, because Uncle Frank actually smiled. "It'll be okay. Bill and I have an understanding now."

  I ran down toward the mall office. Angela was talking to the blond camera guy about how to shoot the interview. I waited until they finished their planning. Then she turned to me. "Hey, you're the intern, right? You ready for the show?"

  "Yes, ma'am. I'm really looking forward to it."

  "Good. Stand over there by the old guy." I took my place by the back wall, next to Mr. Lombardo. Then I heard Angela whisper, "Here they come."

  We all craned to look at the mall entrance. Philip Knowlton appeared first. He stood just inside the entrance doors, looking out. Then a stocky, red-faced guy walked in. I said, "Is that Mr. Lyons?"

  Mr. Lombardo snorted. "No. That's gotta be a bodyguard."

  I felt dumb. A tall man came in next. He had a full head of gray hair, and he was wearing a very expensive-looking blue suit. He also had a great tan. I ventured to say, "That's him, right?"

  "Right. That's Mr. Big Shot."

  Mrs. Knight led the group of three men toward the office. Once inside, she introduced Philip Knowlton to Angela. Angela flashed a particularly dazzling smile. "I know Mr. Knowlton. How are you, Phil?"

  Mr. Knowlton smiled back as best he could. "Not bad, Angela. How are you? Let me introduce you to the candidate. This is Ray Lyons. Ray, this is—"

  Mr. Lyons took an energetic step forward and extended his hand. "You don't need to tell me who this lovely lady is. My wife watches you every day. My daughters, too."

  Angela put on a pretend pout. "What? You don't watch me?"

  Mr. Lyons put on a pretend look of his own. He said in a low voice, like it was a secret, "Don't tell anybody. But sometimes I do."

  Angela laughed politely. Mrs. Knight laughed loudly. Then Mr. Lyons turned and pointed to the red-faced guy. "And this is Joe Daley. Joe was a Florida state trooper for twenty years. Now he's with us, and we're real glad to have him aboard."

  Mr. Daley waved bashfully at Angela. She put him at ease with, "How you doin', Trooper?"

  Sam walked in wearing a SAVE THE MALL T-shirt. Philip Knowlton stared at the shirt and snapped, "Wait a minute, who are you?"

  When Joe Daley heard that he got up and took a step toward Sam.

  Sam answered, "I'm Samir Samad. Man on the street. I'm supposed to be here for an interview."

  Knowlton shook his head slowly. "Not in that shirt, you're not."

  Sam feigned innocence. "What's wrong with the shirt?"

  "It's this simple: Either you get another shirt, or I get another minority."

  I thought Sam would get angry at that, but he didn't. He looked at Mr. Lyons. Then he answered, "If the shirt offends anyone, of course I'll change it." And he went back out.

  Angela said to me, "You're part of the man-in-the-street thing, too, right?"

  "Right. I'm the young person."

  Mr. Lombardo growled, "I guess we know what that makes me."

  Sam returned two minutes later, wearing a black sport jacket buttoned up over the shirt.

  Angela concluded, "Okay. Everybody's here. Let's do it."

  It was hard to tell if Angela or Philip Knowlton was running the show. They were both telling people what to do. Angela finally asked him, "Are you ready to tape?"

  Knowlton answered, "We can begin, but I reserve the right to interrupt this at any time. The candidate is not here to talk about mud wrestling, or cross-dressing, or anything like that. He's here to talk about the issues. Understood?"

  Angela was cool. "Of course I understand. Anyway, you can edit out anything you don't like, Phil. You know that."

  "It needn't get to that point." Knowlton added, "Those who do not abide by the rules stand outside, thrusting their microphones at the candidate and shouting questions that never get answered. Understood?"

  "Of course."

  The cameraman positioned himself in front of Angela with a big camera sitting on his shoulder. He said, "Can I get an ID, Angela? From both of you?"

  Angela looked at the camera. "I'm Angela del Fuego."

  The cameraman turned to Mr. Lyons. He followed her example. "I'm Ray Lyons."

  The cameraman said, "Thank you. Ready."

  Mrs. Knight stood right next to him and started to count backward, "Five, four, three..." She mouthed th
e last two numbers silently, then Angela began to speak.

  "Welcome to Meet the Candidates, Channel Fifty-seven's exclusive look at the men and women running for Florida's top offices. In this segment, we will meet Florida Senate candidate Ray Lyons." The cameraman turned and focused on Mr. Lyons, who smiled easily, showing his white teeth. "Ray Lyons is one of Florida's most successful developers. His projects include the Gold Coast Mall, the West End Mall, which is where we're meeting today, and the Century Towers community."

  Angela turned and flashed a dazzling smile at the candidate. "Ray, I'd like to start with a personal question. Where did you get that gorgeous tan?"

  I could almost feel Philip Knowlton tighten from his perch behind the camera, but Mr. Lyons handled the question well. He laughed openly and told her, "Thank you, Angela. That's a Florida tan. I got it from growing up here and living and working here my whole life. Can I ask you, where did you get yours?"

  Angela shot a sly look at the camera. "A tanning parlor on Las Olas Boulevard." Mrs. Knight laughed loudly. Angela continued. "Mr. Lyons—"

  "Call me Ray."

  "Okay. Ray, like many Floridians, I'm a transplant from another state. So tell me, what was it like growing up here?"

  Suddenly Philip Knowlton walked from behind us right into the picture. Angela gave the "cut" sign to the cameraman, drawing a finger across her throat like she was slashing it. She looked at Knowlton. "Was it something I said?"

  Knowlton explained to her, "I don't want Ray to sound like some old geezer who lived here during the Civil War. We want to stress that Ray is youthful and energetic."

  "Okay. How about if he talks about raising his family here?"

  Knowlton smiled. "All right. That's good. Are you comfortable with that, Ray?"

  Mr. Lyons told him, "Sure. How about if I tell the story about Richard and the golf clubs?"

  Knowlton thought for a moment, then decided, "I don't think so, Ray."

  Mr. Lyons said, "Why not? What's wrong with that?"

  "Nothing. But I need to think some more about Richard and the golf stuff."

  "What? Is there something wrong with golf now?"

  "No. I just don't know how well your voter base relates to it. Let me get some stats. For now, why don't you go ahead and say something about your other kids."

  Mr. Lyons didn't look happy. He paused for a moment. Then he shrugged and looked at Angela. Angela asked him, as an aside, "What's your wife's name, Ray?"

  He told her, "Estelle."

  Angela made the "roll tape" sign to the cameraman, twirling her finger like a fork in spaghetti. She said, "How many children do you and Estelle have, Ray?"

  Mr. Lyons smiled broadly. "Three children. All born and raised in Florida, and all still living here. Richard's the oldest. He went to Saint Francis Xavier Prep here, and then to the University of South Florida. Then there's Christie and Annie."

  Knowlton interrupted, "Shouldn't that be, 'Then there are Christie and Annie?'"

  Mr. Lyons stopped smiling. He clenched his jaw. "I don't talk that way, Phil."

  Angela added. "Yeah, Phil. You don't want him to sound like some college professor."

  Knowlton nodded his agreement. Angela signaled the cameraman, whispering, "Pick it up where you were, Ray."

  Mr. Lyons resumed smiling. "The girls both went to Our Lady of Lourdes Academy. Christie married a Florida Gator, and Annie married an FSU Seminole, so we got it covered in our family."

  Angela laughed. "It sure sounds like it." She looked over at Knowlton, who smiled. Then she looked into the lens and switched tones to say, "Now I'd like to bring in our man-in-the-street segment for today."

  She turned to look at us. "Folks, thank you for coming." Angela smiled at us as the cameraman turned. We all stared blankly into the lens. "Please introduce yourselves and ask your question of the candidate."

  Mr. Lombardo took the lead. He said, "I'm Tom Lombardo. I run the drugstore here in the—"

  But Philip Knowlton interrupted him. "We don't need that."

  Mr. Lombardo glared at him. "What?"

  "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."