by Edward Bloor
Mr. Herman opened a door behind me and hissed, "Roberta? May I speak with you?"
I told him, "Sure."
He came in and stood next to the machine. He got right to the point. "What happened after I left today?"
I shrugged. "Nothing."
Mr. Herman nodded. "Yes, I suppose the day drones on, regardless of whether the teachers are there or not. That's some commentary about education, isn't it?"
He had asked me a question, so I asked him one, "Mr. Herman, why did you leave today?"
Mr. Herman set his briefcase down. He thought for a moment, then told me, "I think the question is, Why did I ever enter that place? It was a mistake, a mistake that I have now rectified."
"Do you mean you're not coming back?"
"Yes. How long do you think it will take for them to figure it out?"
"You're not even going to tell Mr. Archer?"
"No. Why should I? The man is a moron."
Those words made me angry. I thought, What did Mr. Archer ever do to you except give you a job? But I didn't say it.
Mr. Herman must have known how I was thinking, because he launched into an explanation. "I was called down to Mr. Archer's office at lunchtime. He told me I had given out too many Fs."
"How many?"
"How many deserved them?"
"You gave out that many?"
"Yes. I thought I could." He shrugged. "It turns out that I couldn't. Therefore, I would like you to do something for me. Can you do me one favor?"
"Sure. I guess so."
Mr. Herman reached into his briefcase. He handed me a padded envelope. I thought, Oh no, another videotape, but I took it from his outstretched hand. "I would like you to play this for me tomorrow. Will you do that?"
I said, "With Mr. Archer's permission."
"Yes, of course. With Mr. Archer's permission."
When my break time came at Arcane, I walked up to Slots #2 and #3, Florida Dermatology. I opened the door to the reception area, walked in, and asked a lady behind the counter, "Is Nina Navarro here today?"
The lady yelled behind her in a Cuban accent, "Nina! You have a friend here."
About two seconds later, Nina popped out of the back. She looked at me and her face fell. I said, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I just thought you were some guy. So what's up?"
"I have a favor to ask of you."
"Me?"
"Yeah. I was wondering if you could check your records for something."
Nina looked worried. "Oh, I don't know. Medical records are a private thing."
"I just wanted to know about a particular tattoo. An evil tattoo."
I could see Nina's curiosity starting to rise. She glanced over at the receptionist, then she said, "Come on back."
I followed her into a small office with a desk, a chair, and a PC. Nina closed the door and sat behind the desk.
She said, "Now, what's this about?"
"I wanted to know if you kept records of tattoos that you removed."
"Yeah. But like I said, that would be part of that private medical stuff."
"Can I just ask you some general questions, then? Questions that aren't about people?"
Nina thought about it. "Yeah. I don't see why not."
"Okay. In general, then, if somebody came in to you to get a tattoo removed, what information would you take down?"
"The usual personal stuff."
"What about a description of the tattoo?"
"For sure, and I'll tell you why. They might come back and try to sue us. They might say, 'Hey, I told you to take this chick's name off my arm, but not the American flag. You messed up my arm.' And we say, 'No, you wrote it right here on this paper, Take off the chick's name and the American flag.'"
I had never trusted Nina for a moment, but I had to trust her now. I decided to tell her the truth. "Listen, Nina. I just saw something evil."
"I'm listening."
"It was a surveillance tape, and it was taken the night my mother was murdered."
"Madre de Dios!"
"On the tape I saw the murderer's arm. It had a tattoo. A tattoo of a serpent wound around a wooden pole."
Nina's eyes were fiery. "You didn't see his face?"
"No. It was Halloween night. He had on a mask."
She leaned forward. "This is incredible. I feel like I'm in a movie and we're actors and you're telling me this."
"But like I said, I did see his arm, and his tattoo."
Nina punched excitedly at the computer keyboard. She said, "I am all over this."
"You can help me?"
"I am helping you right now. The records weren't so good back then, but I've keyed in a lot of them since. I'll do a search with the word snake. That might turn up something. If not, I'll try serpent. It could take a while."
Nina stopped typing and looked up at me. "Hey, I gotta see that tape, though."
I told her simply, "No, you don't."
"I gotta see that arm. It could help me."
I repeated, emphatically, "You don't need to see it. This is not Angela Live." Nina looked hurt. I added, "Anyway, the tape is gone."
Now she looked crushed. "Gone?"
"Nina, it nearly killed me to watch it. It's gone." She nodded like she understood. I added, "That thing was evil."
"Yeah. Yeah, I hear that."
I hurried back to work, but there was no need. Everybody was just hanging around.
Mrs. Roman walked across the mallway at seven o'clock. I asked her, "Is Leo minding the store?"
"Yes, the dear man. He'll do anything for anybody. And he's very handy, too."
"Have you heard from Mrs. Weiss?"
"Yes. She says everything is fine. Of course, she would say that. I felt like saying, 'Everything is so fine that you're still not able to get out of bed?' But I didn't. I didn't want to upset her. Will you be with her tonight?"
"Yes. I live there now."
"Good. That's real good. I better get back over to Leo."
I turned toward the counter and was surprised to see Nina standing there. She was chatting with Kristin like nothing was different. Like I hadn't just asked her to do something that was extremely important to me. To make it worse, much worse, she called right out, "Hey, Roberta, I couldn't find that thing for you."
I joined them at the counter. Kristin was looking daggers at me. I asked Nina, "You couldn't find anything about a serpent or a snake?"
"That's right. I searched the files for both words. Nada."
Kristin locked eyes with me. "What is this?"
Nina answered, "It's a secret."
Kristin remarked coldly, "Another secret, Roberta? You're telling things to Nina now that you don't tell me?"
That made me feel terrible. "It's not a secret, Kristin. I had an idea, but I didn't know if it would work. It didn't work. So it was a bad idea, not a secret."
"Okay. So what was it?"
"I was hoping Nina would have information about my mother's murderer." Kristin's eyes opened wide. "There. Now you know."
Nina said, "The killer had a snake tattoo."
Kristin nodded. "And that's why you searched your files?"
"You got it."
"But, Roberta, how do you know that?"
Nina answered, "Because she saw the video, girl. She saw the murderer—at least she saw his arm. It was on the video."
Kristin got very upset. "Roberta, is this true? Have you told the police?"
"I got the tape from the police. I got it from Griffin."
Nina added, "Yeah. And it was so evil that she destroyed it."
I told Kristin sincerely, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it before. You should have known about it before Nina."
Now Nina looked offended.
Kristin put her arm around my shoulder. I don't think she had ever done that before. I don't think she had ever touched me before.
After closing, Mrs. Roman and I walked back to Century Towers together. She was very tired, but she wanted to say go
od night to Mrs. Weiss, so we both stopped into #303.
Mrs. Weiss was up, sitting in the living room, watching TV. She had a green plaid blanket over her legs. Mrs. Roman called to her from the kitchen door, "Hi, Isabel. We had a great day at the card store."
Mrs. Weiss turned and smiled at her weakly.
"I'm not going to stay tonight, if it's okay."
"It is okay, Millie. You go get your rest. Thank you for everything."
Mrs. Roman left, and I joined Mrs. Weiss in front of the TV. She pointed at it and told me, "It's the History Channel. It's about Egypt tonight."
"How are you feeling?"
"Not bad at all. I had a very restful day. A peaceful day."
"That's good. Can I get you anything?"
Mrs. Weiss waved the offer away. We watched a camera pan down a wall of hieroglyphics. A commercial came on, and I said to her, "I've been thinking about that memorial you left to your mother." Mrs. Weiss cocked her head at me. "I've been thinking ... maybe I'll do the same."
Mrs. Weiss thought about that. "Sure. Why not? It's no dumber than anything else, right?"
"It's not dumb at all."
"No. But it is ... temporary. It's all temporary, Roberta. We're all going to be dead someday."
I didn't like the sound of that. I wanted her to stop talking that way, but I answered, "I guess so."
"So what does it matter if you have a big memorial? Or a little one? Or none? You're just as dead."
"I guess."
"Look at these pharaohs of Egypt. They spent all their lives, and all their money, building monuments to themselves. Bunch of fools. Before they were even cold, robbers were in there looting them. Now, three thousand years later, we're parading their bones around the world in a freak show. So what was it all for?"
"I don't know."
"Better someone should look back on one kind deed you did, than look at a big pile of stones."
I nodded in agreement. I wanted to say something—anything—positive to her. I finally thought of this: "I think the bleeding has mostly stopped."
It took a moment for her to figure out what I meant. "Oh? Good. That's good. Next month, you'll be ready. It won't be so bad."
"It's going to take me more than a month to be able to handle this."
Mrs. Weiss shrugged. "You have no choice. When you have no choice, you just handle it." She clicked off the TV. "I'd better get to sleep, darling."
"Can I help you get in there?"
Mrs. Weiss stood up straight. "No. What for?"
I said, "All right, then. Good night." And I watched her walk slowly but steadily into the bedroom.
TUESDAY, THE 24TH
Today after I got off the school bus, I had to pass through a double line of deputy sheriffs just to get to the front door. Then I had to pass through a metal detector.
When I got inside the office, I saw Mrs. Biddulph standing next to the video equipment, looking very harried. As soon as she saw me, she cried, "Roberta! Are you in charge of this equipment?"
"Yes, ma'am. Along with Mr. Herman."
Mrs. Biddulph didn't say anything else, so I asked her the question that was on my mind. "Is Mr. Archer coming in this morning?"
"He's working at home today. I will be doing the morning announcements." She thought for a moment. "Are there any?"
"Well, that's up to you, ma'am."
"You don't have anything for me to read?"
"Me? No. All I have is a tape from Mr. Herman. He asked me to play it." I pulled the video from its envelope. "Do you want to preview it?"
"What does Mr. Archer do?"
"He has me play the tape on the monitor, and he previews it. Do you want to do that?"
"Yes, please. Quickly, though."
Mrs. Biddulph stared at the dead screen while I set up the TV and VCR. Then we both watched as Mr. Herman's face appeared onscreen. I could tell where he was sitting—at the news desk in the Channel 57 Studios. He looked at the camera and said this: "I had a notion that I wanted to give something back. To teach. That's what I came here for."
Just then Officer Dwyer came in and beckoned to Mrs. Biddulph. She half turned to me and said, "That's fine." Then she went to talk to the officer. I stopped the tape and rewound it. About two minutes later the first bell rang. Mrs. Biddulph came back and said, "I want to say a few words to start the day. Where should I stand?"
I looked around quickly. "How about in front of Mr. Archer's door?"
Mrs. Biddulph walked over there obediently. She said, "Just tell me when to start." I nodded.
The second bell rang; I pressed the button and pointed at her. Mrs. Biddulph said, "Good morning, everyone. Officer Dwyer just informed me that no student had any trouble of any kind entering the building today. I think that's great. Let's keep it that way. Let's all do our part to make this a completely trouble-free day. And if trouble finds you, just remember the Lord's example—that it is better to turn the other cheek and walk away. Have a great day, everybody!"
Mrs. Biddulph turned her eyes toward me, so I shut off the camera. She walked back to the officer while I cued Mr. Herman's tape and pressed the Play button on the VCR.
I was soon sorry I had.
Mr. Herman's speech began as before: "I had a notion that I wanted to give something back. To teach. That's what I came here for." But then he continued, "But you just sat there, staring at me. I told myself that it was not your fault, that you had been raised by parents who don't value education; who actually resent it; who desperately do not want you to be better educated than they were.
"What I did not realize is that it was I who did not get it. In fact you are supposed to be just as dumb, uncurious, and cretinous as you are. You are supposed to get out of here equipped to be no more than a member of the servant class. Pardon me—I believe they call it the 'service class' now.
"You are destined to serve the small percentage of people whose families did value education, and who made their children's futures their priority and their pride. It is you who have it right, and I who had it wrong. So I bid you good-bye. I hope you all get what you want and what you deserve, and I look forward to tipping you well someday, for services rendered."
The video went black. I couldn't bear to look around me, but I finally did. Fortunately, Mrs. Biddulph wasn't there. I guessed she had left with Officer Dwyer. I popped out Mr. Herman's tape and put in the Pledge and Banner one. After that ended, I turned everything off and hurried to first period.
During second period, a kid arrived with a guidance pass and a slip of paper with my name on it. I figured this was it. I was going to get suspended, or taken to Juvie, for playing Mr. Herman's video. For inciting to riot, maybe.
But I was wrong again. Mrs. Biddulph was standing in her old spot behind the guidance desk. She looked at me with no apparent knowledge of the video incident. She told me, "Roberta, there's a police officer in Mr. Archer's time-out room. He has asked to speak to you. I called your father, and I paged him, but he hasn't answered. So I'm going to leave it up to you. Do you want to speak to him?"
I looked into the room and saw Griffin. I said, "Okay."
I walked into the office. He looked up and said immediately, "Someone signed out the surveillance tape. That wasn't supposed to happen."
I replied, "You could say that about a lot of stuff, couldn't you?"
"That tape was forensic evidence, Roberta. It belongs with the victim's clothing and the other stuff that no one but a jury was ever supposed to see."
After a long pause, I admitted, "You're right. I signed it out."
Griffin grabbed his strands of blond hair and pulled them outward. "Oh, god. Did you look at it?"
"Yes, I did. Did you?"
"Yes. That's why it wasn't in your packet." After a very long exhale, he decided, "All right. What's done is done. Do you have any questions for me?"
I asked, "Why didn't they catch the guy? They knew what his tattoo looked like."
"They tried. They worked hard on it. Th
e file is a thick one, believe me. But this isn't a TV episode, Roberta. Crimes don't get solved in an hour. Many times they don't get solved at all."
I asked him pointedly, "What's in this thick file?"
Griffin shook his head no. "There are regulations about this sort of thing. I can't talk about another detective's case." He glanced at the door. "I can tell you that he canvassed tattoo parlors along the Strip. He got no leads. Those tattoo guys are not a real cooperative bunch."
I tried, "Okay, can you tell me if he ever had a suspect?"
Griffin answered emphatically, "I can't tell you anything else."
I closed my eyes. I tried to remember the murder video—my mom's face, her look of fear, the moment when she took off around the counter. I felt tears welling up in my eyes. Then I felt them start to fall.
I waited Griffin out like that, sitting in the time-out office with tears rolling down my face. He gave in first. I heard him get up. Then I heard the sound of the door closing. I opened my watery eyes.
Griffin said, "You never heard a word of this from me." I nodded my agreement, and he sat back down. "There was a loan shark working the Strip back then. A big, bad guy named Sonny Santos. According to the detective, nothing happened on the Strip without Sonny knowing about it. The street punks were a lot more afraid of him than they were of the law. The detective figured that ... Sonny knew about the bag of cash in the arcade, and that he sent someone in to grab it."
Griffin was looking at the floor as he continued. "All the evidence in the case was moving, slow but sure, in Sonny's direction."
I said, "Did he have a tattoo?"
"No. You're not following me, Roberta. He didn't do the crime himself. It was a street punk who grabbed the cash, who ... committed the murder."
I started to shake, but I struggled to hide it.
"But I'm saying that no punk on the Strip would rob a store without Sonny's permission. Are you with me?"
I nodded. "So did they question this guy?"
Griffin exhaled loudly again. "No, because Sonny disappeared. One day he was cruising the Strip in his big El Dorado. The next day he was gone. Forever."