Show Control

<title>Show Control</title> <meta name="Microsoft Border" content="tl, default"> <BODY BACKGROUND=none BGCOLOR="#ffffffff" TEXT="#100005" LINK="#0000F0" VLINK="#990000" ALINK="#0077FF"><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" width="100%"><tr><td> <center> <table width=500 border=0> <tr> <td align=center valign=top> <p align="center"><strong><font size="3" face="verdana,sans-serif">Keith Snyder<br></font><font size="2" face="verdana,sans-serif">Show Control</font></strong><font size="2"><br> </font> <font face="Arial Narrow,sans-serif" size="2"> <nobr>[ <a href="../keith/index.html">Home</a> ]</nobr> <nobr>[ <a href="../keith/forum/index.html">Sanctum</a> ]</nobr> <nobr>[ <a href="http://www.kathleenhaaversen.com">Diva</a> ]</nobr> <nobr>[ <a href="../keith/music/index.html">Music</a> ]</nobr> <nobr>[ <a href="../keith/books/index.html">Books</a> ]</nobr> <nobr>[ <a href="../keith/writing/index.html">Writing</a> ]</nobr> <nobr>[ <a href="../keith/film/index.html">Film</a> ]</nobr> <nobr>[ <a href="../keith/whatever/index.html">Whatever</a> ]</nobr> <nobr>[ <a href="../coffin/schedule/index.html">Schedule</a> ]</nobr> <nobr>[ <a href="http://titan.guestworld.com/wgb/wgbview.dbm?owner=noteon_2">Guestbook</a> ]</nobr> <nobr>[ <a href="../guide/index.html">Other People's</a> ]</nobr> <nobr>[ <a href="http://www.magicmusicshop.com">Magic Music Shop</a> ]</nobr> <nobr>[ <a href="../coffin/presskit/index.html">About...</a> ]</nobr></font></p> </td> </tr> </table> </center> </td></tr></table><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" width="100%"><tr><td valign="top" width="1%"> <p align="right"><font face="Arial Narrow,sans-serif" size="2"> <nobr><a href="../keith/books/index.html">Up</a></nobr></font> </td><td valign="top" width="24"></td><td valign="top"> <center> <P><img src="../support/HR.GIF" img alt="HR SIZE=3" width="360" height="6"> <P> <font size=5>Chapter 20</font> <BR> <font size=3>of</font><br> <img src="SHOW.GIF" img alt="Show Control cover" width="100" height="118"> <P> <img src="../support/HR.GIF" img alt="HR SIZE=3" width="360" height="6"> </center> <P> <CENTER><font size=3><a href="reviews.html"><strong>Reviews of<BR><i>Show Control:</i></a></strong></font></CENTER> <P> Look for <i>Show Control</i> at your local bookstore. To order on the web, try <a href="http://www.amazon.com" target="_top">Amazon.com</a>. <P> <CENTER> <img src="../support/HR.GIF" img alt="HR SIZE=3" width="360" height="6"> <P> <a href="intro.html" target="_top"> <img src="INTRO.GIF" width="118" height="46"> </a> <a href="ack.html" target="_top"> <img src="ACK.GIF" width="109" height="46"> </a> <a href="signchat.html" target="_top"> <img src="SIGN.GIF" width="118" height="46"> </a> <BR> <a href="presskit" target="_top"><img src="presskit.gif" width="64" height="46"></a> <a href="../gun" target="_top"><img src="gun_butn.gif" width="109" height="46"></a> <a href="../people/keith2.html" target="_top"><img src="kms_butn.gif" name="About Meeeee!" width="109" height="46"></a> <BR> <a href="http://www.slip.net/~cluelass/Sale.html" target="_top"><img src="indy_butn.gif" name="Independents" width="109" height="46"></a> <a href="http://www.amazon.com" target="_top"><img src="amzn_btn.gif" name="Amazon" width="109" height="46"></a> </CENTER> <P> <CENTER><img src="../support/HR.GIF" img alt="HR SIZE=3" width="360" height="6"></CENTER> <P> <font size=4> Show Control <BR> by <a href="../people/keith2.html">Keith Snyder</a> <BR> <a href="http://www.ReadersNdex.COM/WriteWay/">Write Way Publishing</a> <BR> ISBN 1-885173-11-3 <BR> $20.95, Hardcover <P> </font> <i>Show Control</i> <BR>is available <BR>directly from <BR><a href="http://www.amazon.com" target="_top"><img src="amazon-logo.gif" alt="Amazon Logo" width="69" height="63"></a><BR>Amazon.com,<BR>the online bookstore. <P> <IMG SRC="../support/HR_LONG.GIF" width="432" height="6"> <BR> <font size=7>Show Control</font> <br> <font size=5>Chapter 20</font> <BR> <font size=3>of</font><br> <img src="SHOW.GIF" img alt="Show Control cover" width="100" height="118"> <P> <img src="../support/HR.GIF" img alt="HR SIZE=3" width="360" height="6"> </center> <P> <p><dd><font size=3>Sunday mornings glittered and shone at the Church of the Believers. The congregation, mostly West African, decked themselves out in their second-finest clothes for the weekly services. Their first-finest were reserved for holiday-specific services. Their second-finest beat most people's first-finest by a long shot. <p><dd>At nine o'clock, in front of the church, no man was without a fresh shine to his shoes and a patterned vest under his shiny coat. No smear would be found on a spectacle lens; no rough, frayed part on a leather belt. The heads of the men were up and proud; their shoulders were square and straight. <p><dd>The women swathed themselves in expensive, glistening fabrics that flattered good curves and artfully concealed others. Those women who came with men stayed close to them. Those who didn't come with men stayed close to their families. <p><dd>Their headwear was crafted from the same fabric that wrapped their bodies, and their makeup was applied skillfully and subtlely, flattering good features and artfully concealing others, so that their faces shone gracefully and radiantly, as though burnished, in coruscating, elegant beauty. They chose their perfumes well, and applied them lightly. <p><dd>All of them smelled good. God deserved no less. <p><dd>There were three dirty people on the sidewalk outside the door that admitted the Believers into the Church. One of them was sitting up, a short black woman with flyaway hair, wearing a dark blue running suit with red and white stripes around one arm. She didn't smell good. Her lower half was wrapped in a mass of shredded blankets that looked vaguely pink. She watched the narrow parking lot, looking past the finery, and said, "Can you spare any change, ma'am?" softly. Most of the people gave her a dollar without looking at her. When a man saw the man ahead of him give two dollars, and when he knew that the man knew he knew, he would give four dollars. The woman would say, "Thank you, sir. Can you spare any change, ma'am?" <p><dd>The second dirty person was asleep on a big flattened cardboard box with a filthy blue blanket around him. He lay in a fetal position with his back to the pretty churchgoers. The hair that stuck out between his collar and his dirty knit cap was salt-and-pepper gray. He didn't move, except to breathe heavily. <p><dd>The third dirty person was Robert in his Salvation Army clothes, pink sunglasses, three-day beard, and Autumn Mist Blond hair, squatting on a Nigerian Times newspaper on the sidewalk and muttering. A faded orange baseball cap that said, "Cal Trans" was jammed onto Robert's head. He'd pushed one of the sunglass lenses out, and stared blindly with one eye past the churchgoers. The Nigerian Times was from a stack near the door. <p><dd>"Good Master Mustard-seed," he growled, "I know your patience well; that same cowardly, giant-like ox-beef hath devour'd many a gentleman of your house." A young family approached him. The father steered his wife and children around Robert. <p><dd>"I promise you your kindred hath made my eyes water ere now!" Robert yelled suddenly. The young mother jumped. "I desire you more acquaintance, good Master Mustard-seed!" As the family passed him, he muttered, "Goddamn Squash. Goddamn Peas-blossom," in the Jack Palance whisper. <p><dd>Across the street, Jason and Martin sat in Martin's CVCC with a Thermos of coffee and watched Robert. They had removed the license plates from both cars earlier in the morning. The Plymouth was parked with the cover over it in the parking structure in Hollywood near the Chinese theater. <p><dd>Jason was wearing Wayfarer sunglasses and had his hair bunched under a blue baseball cap. Martin was wearing aviator sunglasses, brown slacks and a tan Marvel Comics T-shirt with holes in it. On his head was the auburn wig and an ugly green canvas cap with ear flaps. <p><dd>Martin said, "So that's what five cups of coffee will do to you." <p><dd>Jason said, "He was supposed to not attract attention." <p><dd>Martin said, "Maybe we should talk to him about it. But you know," he twisted around to face Jason, "this is Robert we're talking about here." <p><dd>"You look really stupid," Jason said. <p><dd>"You look like a DEA agent," Martin said. "I'll take stupid." <p><dd>Across the street, Robert stood up and assumed a shaky <I>en pointe</I> position with his hands stuck out like an Egyptian tomb painting. <p><dd>Jason muttered, "Goddammit, Robert." When Robert seemed to be looking toward the CVCC, Jason threw his hands up. <p><dd>Robert mimicked the gesture, putting his whole body into it. Jason drew one forefinger sharply across his throat, and Robert went off on a whole new routine, apparently arguing with someone invisible. <p><dd>"Well, hell," Jason said. <p><dd>The flock of churchgoers outside the building had begun to thin. After a few minutes, the ones mingling on the sidewalk looked at their watches and entered the church. Robert got up and paced back and forth in front of the church, and then sat down next to the door, crosslegged, and played with his feet. <p><dd>Jason relaxed a little. For Robert, sitting crosslegged on the sidewalk and playing with his feet was low-key. <p><dd>A few minutes later, Jason pointed at a white Cadillac that was leaving the parking lot. "Is that Solomon whatsisname?" <p><dd>Martin squinted. "Could be." <p><dd>The Cadillac drove away. <p><dd>The next hour went quickly. Jason found Car Talk just starting on an NPR station, so they listened to that. Martin didn't know much about cars, but he liked the show anyway. Jason tried to diagnose the callers' car problems before the hosts could, and invariably failed. <p><dd>When Car Talk ended, they listened to The Best Of The Seventies And Eighties on another station and agreed only upon the Police and Thomas Dolby. <p><dd>At ten-twenty, people came out of the church. <p><dd>Martin looked inquiringly at Jason. Jason nodded and climbed over the seat into the back. Martin started the car, put it in gear, and pulled into traffic. Half a block down, he made a U-turn and entered the long parking lot at the far end, put it into Park, unlatched the passenger door, and sat there with the engine running. Robert didn't acknowledge their presence, though they were close enough to overhear the louder conversations of the people leaving the church. Jason pulled his cap lower to cover his face, and Martin did the same. <p><dd>The Preacher came out. <p><dd>"That's him," Jason said. <p><dd>There was no question. The Preacher was close to seven feet tall, a slender man with dark skin. He wore a grey robe and carried a black-bound Bible. His bearing was that of an important man, and Jason had no doubt that he was very rich. <p><dd>As the churchgoers paid their respects to the Preacher, Robert lurched to his feet, picked up his Nigerian Times, staggered a few steps, fell against the Preacher, and yelled, "I can see! It's a miracle!" <p><dd>The Preacher's back was toward the CVCC, but after a pause of only a fraction of a second, Jason heard the Preacher say, in a mellifluous, unaccented baritone voice, "Amen, brother. The Lord has truly blessed you." <p><dd>"Smooth," Martin said in the CVCC. Some of the churchgoers said, "Amen." <p><dd>"It's a miracle! A miracle!" Robert yelled, whipping off his pink sunglasses and flinging them against the church wall. "I can see!" <P> <P> <CENTER> <img src="robert1.gif" width="108" height="230"> <P> </center></center> <P> <P> <p><dd>The Preacher said, "The power of the Lord has made itself manifest here today, brothers and sisters." <p><dd>Robert said, "Hallelujah!" <p><dd>Several more churchgoers said, "Amen!" <p><dd>A look of shock passed over Robert's face, and he said, "Let me hear you say Amen again!" <p><dd>The churchgoers said, "Amen!" <p><dd>Tears appeared in Robert's eyes and he shouted, "I can hear! It's a miracle! I can hear again!" <P> <P> <CENTER> <img src="robert3.gif" width="87" height="209"> <P> </center></center> <P> <P> <p><dd>"We are thankful for the blessing of our God," the Preacher said with a slight edge to his tone. "Because we know that the Lord punishes those who do not deserve His mercy." <p><dd>Some of the congregation looked at each other uncertainly. Robert frowned in concentration and made snuffling sounds in his nose. The Preacher turned to his flock. "Brothers and sisters--" <p><dd>Robert made a very loud snuffling sound and yelled, "I can smell!" <p><dd>The Preacher laid his hand on Robert's shoulder and said, "Let us pray for this poor soul." <p><dd>Robert flinched and canted as though the Preacher were squeezing his shoulder painfully, and whined, "Ow, ow, ow, ow." The flock exchanged uncertain whispers. <p><dd>Two bulky men in grey suits and white shirts stepped onto the sidewalk from inside the church. One of them was Tony. His face was still puffy and bruised. <p><dd>Robert swiveled toward the Pastor, did his tough squint, and grated, "Who killed Monica Gleason?" <p><dd>Tony pointed excitedly and said, "This is Big Bob, Pastor!" He took a step out of the doorway. The Preacher took his hand off Robert's shoulder and stayed Tony with it without looking away from Robert. <p><dd>Robert whispered dangerously, "I'm sorry. I didn't quite hear your answer." He inhaled deeply, put his face up into the Preacher's, and bellowed, "Who killed Monica Gleason?" <p><dd>The Preacher angled his hand slightly, and the staying gesture turned to a beckoning one. Robert saw it and held one hand away from his side with two fingers pointing down. <p><dd>Martin said, "There's the signal," put the CVCC in gear, and pulled forward. Robert said, "That's okay, never mind," twisted out of the Preacher's grip and off the curb, pulled the passenger door open, and jumped in. Martin accelerated smoothly. Jason turned around in the back seat and looked out the window. Tony and the other bulky man were standing with the Preacher, looking at the car. The Preacher's arms were up to encompass his people, as in a benediction, but his gaze was on the CVCC as it reached the end of the parking lot and exited onto Martin Luther King Drive. <p><dd>"Harass your enemy ceaselessly," Martin said. <p><dd>"Now that we've done it," Jason said. "I'm not quite sure it was such a good idea." <BR> <P> <P> <CENTER> <img src="robert1.gif" width="108" height="230"> <P> <i>Blake Arnold as Robert <BR> in <a href="http://www.cosmic-debris.com">The Cosmic Debris</a>' dramatization of this chapter <BR>at Mystery Ink in Huntington Beach. </font> <P>Robert was kinda sorta based on Blake, <BR>so it's been a lot of fun seeing Blake portraying him. <BR>(It's got that self-referential kind of thing to it that <BR>we dweeby keyboard players like so much.)</i> </center></center> <P> <P> <P> <img src="../support/HR.GIF" img alt="HR SIZE=3" width="360" height="6"> <P> <img src="../support/HR.GIF" img alt="HR SIZE=3" width="360" height="6"> </CENTER> <P> © 1997 <a href="../people/keith2.html" target="_top">Keith Snyder </a>. </FONT> <P> <IMG SRC="http://counter.digits.com/wc/-d/4/showcontrolcount" ALIGN=middle WIDTH=60 HEIGHT=20 BORDER=0 HSPACE=4> </td></tr></table></BODY> </HTML>