He uncapped the vial, reached across the bench, and poured the liquid guilt into the judge’s water glass. “Go ahead, judge. Take a sip. All your gut-wrenching regret will be restored to you—or do you still maintain the Guilt Remover isn’t real?”
The judge hastily chucked the glass into a wastebasket. “Restrain this man!” he ordered.
The guards quickly subdued Ravi. He offered no resistance as they slapped the cuffs on him. But despite his humiliation, the hearing wasn’t over.
“Your Honor,” said Ravi, “I believe I’m entitled to make a closing statement.”
“I’ll give you one minute.”
Not a pin-drop was heard as Ravi composed himself. He looked down at the chains clasped tightly around his ankles.
“Finding sympathy isn’t easy, is it, judge? When did forgiveness go out of style? We’ve all done things we’re not proud of, but why should bearing the weight of that guilt be a life sentence? The Guilt Remover was created so that the unforgiven can live a guilt-free existence. You may be a high and mighty judge, but I’ve learned something you haven’t. When compassion enters our hearts, wonderful things happen. We become human again—more merciful, more tolerant. I believe that all people, regardless of their shortcomings, deserve to be treated with an equal measure of kindness. Can you say the same?” He turned to the gallery. “Can any of you?”
But the cold-hearted judge was unmoved. He addressed the courtroom.
“Regarding The People vs. Ravi Hakeem, in the view of this court, probable cause has been sufficiently established. The defendant will thereby stand trial in federal court, and will be bound over without bail until a trial date is set.”
It’s been said that our legal system doesn’t guarantee justice, only a chance at justice. If that’s true, then Ravi was the most unlucky man in the world. Act I of this drama was over, but I was proud of Ravi’s performance. He battled his adversaries bravely. He spoke passionately from the heart, but in the end, the play’s antagonist would have the last word:
“This hearing is closed.”
Bang!
Chapter 16
Be Gone
“We’ll be right back after this commercial message,” said the late-night talk show host. The live TV audience applauded, as the band launched into a lively tune.
This is the ad the home viewers saw:
FADE IN:
ANNOUNCER
Attention! The following message is for anyone suffering with severe guilt.
INTERIOR - OFFICE CUBICAL
MAN sits at his desk. Tense. Can't keep his mind on his work.
ANNOUNCER
Is a guilty conscience getting you down? Are you losing sleep over an honest mistake? All your life you've tried to be fair, thoughtful, and decent. Now, every morning you wake to that nagging guilt. Well, don't sit there feeling sorry for yourself.
MAN looks up into camera.
ANNOUNCER
Wash away your guilt with Guilt-Be-Gone!
A shampoo bottle magically pops into MAN'S hand.
ANNOUNCER
Introducing the amazing shampoo that guarantees you guilt-free living.
CUT TO:
INTERIOR - SHOWER STALL
Bare-chested MAN in shower.
ANNOUNCER
Simply apply Guilt-Be-Gone instead of your regular shampoo. Lather, rinse, and watch your shame go down the drain. Its scientific formula not only cleanses your conscience, it leaves your hair healthy and manageable. Plus, it's sulfate free and environmentally safe.
CUT TO:
Close-up on product.
ANNOUNCER
Guilt-Be-Gone works on all sins, from evil deeds to the slightest indiscretion:
Deceit
Infidelity
Fraudulence
and More!
You could spend thousands on antidepressants. Psychotherapy can cost even more. But Guilt-Be-Gone won't cost you $5,000 dollars. It won't even cost you $500 dollars. Right now, through this incredible TV offer, Guilt-Be-Gone can be yours at the unbelievably low price of only $499.95.
But wait! Be one of the first 100 callers and receive a free shampoo dispenser. Call in the next 10 minutes and we'll send you a second dispenser absolutely free! That's a $5 dollar value!
CUT TO:
INTERIOR - OFFICE CUBICAL
MAN is back at his desk. A flirtatious young secretary walks by and winks at him. He smiles back at her, then gives the camera a thumbs-up.
ANNOUNCER
Guilt-Be-Gone is not available in stores. Quantities are limited. Operators are standing by. Call now!
FADE OUT
That was all it took! Snipper Jim had answered the call of a guilt-ridden nation. With one airing of that commercial, he scored enough orders to clear out his entire inventory. By dawn he and his crew had packaged, labeled, and shipped every last bottle.
The lowly hairdresser had made himself a small fortune. To hide his taxable income, Jim’s earnings were deposited into offshore bank accounts. All of this was illegal, of course. Aside from dodging the taxman, Jim was peddling stolen goods containing substances not approved by the FDA.
But the shampoo’s safety wasn’t a concern to Jim’s buyers. Media coverage of Ravi’s hearing had everyone craving the miracle product. Not even its exorbitant price deterred ordinary people from getting their own bottle. The rich and powerful—who really needed it the most—hoarded it by the case.
The minute Jim’s crooked operation was uncovered, police were dispatched to his hair salon. What they found was an abandoned building. The empty back room revealed evidence of a hasty retreat. Barber chairs, hair dryers, and beauty supplies had all been left behind. The only clue pointing to Jim’s whereabouts was an airline ticket receipt to a foreign destination.
Needless to say, none of Snipper Jim’s profits made it into Ravi’s pocket. Languishing behind bars without bail, no amount of cash was going to get him out of there anyway.
Having his life’s work sold on the black market upset Ravi terribly. He fell into a deep depression. He wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t speak to anyone. He became so despondent that the police placed him under a 24-hour suicide watch. As weird as this may sound, that was the best news I had heard, because that evening . . .
A security guard making his rounds discovered Ravi’s jail cell empty. There were no physical signs of escape. The cell lock hadn’t been jimmied open, nor had the bars been pried apart. Ravi simply wasn’t there.
The police scoured the jailhouse grounds. They combed the backwoods by helicopter. Road blocks went up. Homes were searched. They looked everywhere—all the while scratching their heads, wondering how their prisoner had escaped.
But Ravi’s vanishing act was no mystery to me. It was a brilliant backup plan. Anointing his head with Guilt Remover provided him the perfect means of escape. All he had to do was think suicidal thoughts, and whoosh, he’d be transported from the jail to the barbershop mirror. And I would be there to welcome him.
Alec gripped the dashboard as I raced my little car through the night. “Slow down!” he demanded. “A speeding car is just what the cops are looking for.”
“But if they get to the barbershop before we do, they won’t let us near it, let alone go inside.”
“Use your head. The police are already there. The shop is the first place they would have gone to look.”
Somehow, I imagined that rescuing Ravi would be like a Sunday walk in the park. We would leisurely stroll into the shop, apply a little Back Splash to Ravi’s noggin, then make a clean getaway. At least Ravi was safe. No policeman in his right mind would search for an escapee in a mirror.
To appease Alec, I let up on the gas. But as the car began to slow, we heard the wail of sirens behind us. Red and blue flashing lights lit up my rearview mirror. I reached for my car registration as I pulled over, certain I’d be issued a speeding ticket. But our pursuer didn’t stop. The vehicle following us wasn’t even a police car. It was a convoy of fir
e engines.
“That’s a break,” said Alec, as the big red trucks zoomed past us. “Now, let’s keep it down to a safe speed, shall we?”
But instead of easing away from the curb, I jammed the car into gear and floored the gas pedal.
“No time for that,” I said. “Look!”
Down the road ahead, plumes of smoke billowed into the sky, as an orange glow flickered against the downtown buildings.
“Dear God!” cried Alec. “It’s the shop!”
A crowd of onlookers gathered to watch the fiery spectacle. Helmeted firefighters in yellow jackets scrambled in all directions. High-pressure water hoses, bulging like well-fed jungle snakes, crisscrossed the street. I raised my arms to shield myself from the intense heat, as Alec and I entered the surreal scene.
Flames had already engulfed the barbershop’s ground floor. Spreading to the upper level, the upstairs windows exploded from the blistering heat. Despite the best efforts of the brave firefighters, the blaze raged out of control.
My feeling of helplessness was overwhelming. There must be a way in there, I thought, but the unyielding flames guarded every door and window. And as I watched the walls crumble, I knew that all hope of saving Ravi was lost.
I saw the horror in Alec’s eyes as he stared at the blaze. Somewhere inside that raging inferno was his father—perhaps dead, perhaps trapped in an alien world for all eternity.
I slipped my hand into Alec’s. His tearful gaze stayed on the flames, as he gave it a gentle squeeze.
A familiar voice called my name. “Amy!” Hubert, too, had followed the trail of smoke in the night sky.
“I’m so sorry, Amy,” he said.
“Please don’t be. Things like this happen, that’s all.”
“But this was no accident. I overheard the investigators say that it was arson. A real professional job. They’ll probably never catch the guy who did it.”
Hearing that disturbing news, Alec dropped my hand and ran toward the shop. Shoving aside spectators and firefighters, he stopped at the front entrance. Bursts of flames roared out through the doorway, as if taunting him. A fireman pulled Alec back, yelling, “It’s no use, son!”
Struggling with the fireman, Alec finally relented, tearfully falling to his knees in defeat. He staggered to the other side of the street, then sat on the curb and buried his head in his hands. Hubert and I went over to him, but neither of us could find any words of comfort.
As I lay my hand on his shoulder, Alec tipped his head up. “So, on it goes,” he said, gazing at the shop’s smoldering remains. “There are two kinds of people in this world: those who take, and those who take more. When will it ever change?”
Most of the fire trucks had gone, leaving a few firemen to watch over the hot spots. What was once the 2-Bit Solution barbershop was now a huge mound of charcoal. With his home and family destroyed, Alec would soon be off in search of new horizons. What lay in store for him I could only wonder. As for me, my incredible journey had come to an end.
“Nothing more to do here,” said Hubert. “Can you give me a ride to my truck?”
Alec and I drove him down a side street to his SUV. Hubert climbed out of my car, then opened up the rear liftgate of his truck.
“Anything you guys need?” he asked.
“Nothing. Thanks.”
“Not even this?”
He reached in and pulled out a heavy object: a large, round mirror—Ravi’s mirror!
“There was no one around when I saw the smoke pouring out of the shop. I called 911, then broke down the front door. I had just time enough to yank this off the wall before the flames got to it.”
Hubert lowered the mirror to the ground. Amazingly, a pair of eyes peered over the frame in the reflection. A face then timidly rose into view. It was Ravi, still in his orange jumpsuit!
With his hand on top of his head, he grumbled, “Try being a little more gentle with this thing.”
“Relax, tough guy,” said Alec. “We’ll have you out of there in a jiff.” He held his hand out to Hubert. “I’ll do it.”
We turned our attention to Hubert, but he just stood there.
Alec snapped his fingers. “The Back Splash, please.”
Hubert silently stared at the ground.
Alec’s face turned pale. “Don’t tell me!”
“There wasn’t time,” confessed Hubert. “I when back for it, but . . . I’m sorry.”
We had fought a noble battle, and were so close to victory. We had outsmarted the police, survived a deadly fire, and found Alec’s dad unharmed. But without that key to Ravi’s freedom, he was no better off now than back in jail.
Ever the optimist, Ravi took it all in stride.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Look at it this way: Hang me on a wall and I’ll make the world’s greatest conversation piece. Or, how about the bathroom? Put me over the sink and we can chat while you brush your teeth.”
Ravi was trying to cheer us up, but it wasn’t working. Then we saw a dark shadow move across the mirror. We weren’t alone. Behind us stood an unfamiliar figure.
“Will this help?” asked the stranger.
If I never believed in miracles, I did now. The intruder was Debbie Fink, holding a bottle of Back Splash in her hand!
“Where did you get that?” I asked her.
“My dad swiped it from the shop years ago. He was a thief, even back then.”
“No,” said Ravi. “I gave it to him. He kept it for me in case of just such an emergency.”
I leaned over Ravi. “You mean, you trusted that snake?”
“Debbie probably doesn’t remember, but her dad and I were close friends at one time. We nearly became business partners. I was good at imagining, and he was good at selling. How was I to know he’d turn against me?”
“That’s easy,” said Alec. “You took away his guilt. He could then be as cruel as he wanted and never feel sorry for it.”
Debbie stepped forward and lifted her bottle, like raising a glass of fine wine. “All I can say is, if this isn’t an emergency, I don’t know what is.” She twisted off the bottle cap. “Anyone for a shampoo?”
The TV was on in our living room, as I quietly tweaked the front door closed. Due to the lateness of the hour, I planned to sneak upstairs to bed before anyone saw me. After all I had been through, the last thing I wanted to hear was, Where have you been? or, Do you know what time it is?
I could have easily gotten away with it, too. Dad was sunk into the living room couch, absorbed in a TV newscast. The rest of the household was likely fast asleep.
But I decided I was beyond such childishness. I walked in on my dad, as if everything was hunky-dory. To my relief, he quickly glanced over at me, then said, “Did you hear about the big fire tonight?”
Now that the pressure was off, I could have simply wished him a good night and scampered off to bed, but I didn’t.
“Come watch,” he said.
Normally, I would have sat in the comfy armchair, but I felt the need to sit next to him.
Realizing he was getting special attention from me, he asked, “You alright?”
The newscast was playing video of the raging fire at its peak. Bystanders were interviewed, each describing the blaze as if the end of the world was coming.
I bowed my head and folded my hands, like a Sunday school pupil. “I was there,” I said. “I was at the fire.”
Dad reached for the remote and clicked off the TV. I prepared myself for a lecture, but instead, he asked calmly, “Do you want to tell me about it? It’s okay if you don’t.”
I looked up at his concerned face. “No, I want to talk about it. I want to tell you everything.”
I started out slowly from the beginning, describing my first day at Ravi’s shop.
Dad listened attentively.
I spoke of police raids and talking squirrels.
He nodded politely.
I told him about jumping over rooftops of condemned buildings.
He raised an eyebrow.
Dad remained remarkably patient, even after I explained how people pop in and out of mirrors.
I ended my story by saying, “I’m sorry if I worried you.”
“I wasn’t worried,” he said. “Ravi has been keeping me updated.”
“How do you know him?”
“He called. Employers have to get parental consent before hiring a minor.”
I was stunned. “So, you knew what I was doing the whole time.”
“Well, not the whole time.”
“What about all that talk about letting me spread my wings?”
“I want you to have that freedom. But, even a tightrope walker needs a net under him while finding his balance. I wanted to be there to catch you in case you fell. I was just being a responsible parent. You wouldn’t want a slacker for a father, would you?”
In a million years, I wouldn’t wish for any other dad, but I couldn’t tell him that—not yet, anyway. That would be like telling him that I loved him—which I did. Don’t ask me why, but there’s an awkwardness that always crops up at moments like these. But, it’s okay. Feelings like that don’t need words put to them. Just knowing they’re there is enough.
“I’m curious,” said Dad. “What made you decide to open up to me?”
“I don’t know. I should have told you what I was doing all along. I guess keeping it to myself made me feel . . . guilty.”
“How do you feel now?”
“Better.”
“Better than if you’d used the Guilt Remover?”
The Age of Amy: Mad Dogs and Makeovers Page 13