Inside Straight

"Yeah, but nobody is the quarterback."

It's Holy Roller who uses his voice and bulk to restore order. "Dammit, people!" The uncharacteristic use of profanity shocks the team to relative silence. "Time, as they say, is a-wasting. Brother Stuntman, you know this godless city better than any of us. Why don't you give us some guidance—and quickly."

Whether he likes it or not, Jamal is suddenly in charge. And the choices are obvious: "Brave Hawk, the mountain location. Reverend, you and Toad hit that Valley spot. Jade, Beverly Hills."

Jade's face lights up in triumph—which is bad enough, but then she elbows Diver. "Too bad, baby"—as Jamal is forced to say, "Diver, Venice." Remembering their earlier conversation, he adds, "Sorry."

If Diver's wild card were laser eyes, Jamal's head would vaporize. "Fuck you, Stuntman. Where are you going?"

"The zoo."

The departure is a mad scramble, and not just for Clubs. Brave Hawk flaps into the sky. A few seconds later, Jetman launches himself in a blast of smoke and flame, the echo booming off the hills. Buford transforms into a toad the size of a Volkswagen and goes bounding off, with Roller rumbling behind him. A pelican the size of a hot air balloon appears out of nowhere and flaps off to the northeast—one of Dragon Girl's stuffed toys, transformed. Is she heading for the zoo? Or Mount Wilson to battle Brave Hawk and Jetman?

Jamal hears Rosa Loteria shouting for Rustbelt to "take the zoo!" The ridiculous-looking hoser ace jumps into a production truck and starts grinding the gears . . . the whole interior of the vehicle is probably now rust. Jade Blossom grabs John Fortune's cell phone and calls for a cab. Well, she's headed for Beverly Hills.

Ever Big Bill Norwood's son, Jamal gets a good jump, running for the Humvee and sliding into the driver's seat before anyone else even reaches the parking lot. He is amused to find Art in the back with Diaz and camera in the passenger seat. "Who did you guys piss off today?"

"You're not gonna be pointing at us all day, are you, Stuntman?" Art sounds completely beaten down.

"Sorry," Jamal says. He backs the car out of the lot and burns, as fast as he can, toward the eastern exit.

Growing up in Los Angeles has given Jamal a highly developed sense of geography, especially of various traffic shortcuts. He finds a turn-out just beyond a tunnel and quickly passes Rustbelt's truck. "So I'm heading for the zoo," he says, turning to Art. "What am I supposed to do, wrestle a fucking alligator?"

Art can't hide the smile. "Something like that." Another reason why he is really a bad American Hero producer: he's jumpy about contestants breaking the fourth wall, yet can't keep his own mouth shut.

Jamal thinks for an instant—a long, stretched, athlete-in-the-zone moment, the sort he experienced on a long base hit, a broken field run, a shot from downtown. He could win this. He feels it. He wants it.

When he reaches the parking lot at the base of the hill, near the turn to the Greek Theater and right across Vermont from the battered little Roosevelt Golf Course, Jamal pulls over. He is still a few minutes ahead of his competitors. For a moment he considers simply waiting for the parade. Why not follow the competition? Lay back, hit them from behind when the time is right? Of course, that strategy presumed Rustbelt could find his ass with both hands.

What the hell. If you're going to play the game, play it balls out. More words from Big Bill Norwood. Let the other guy react to you.

One, two, three—here comes a truck and a pair of Humvees. Jamal can't see who's in the third vehicle. But who cares? The cars disappear into the neighborhood and what Jamal knows is horrific midday traffic.

The standard route would take them all south on Vermont to busy Los Feliz, then east and north to the entrance to the park and zoo. But there is another way. . . .

"Are you gonna get going, Jamal? Or should we order lunch?"

He smiles. "Art, do you wonder why I keep talking to you?"

Art shuts up. He obviously knows his own weakness.

"I am going, Art. Watch this."

And Jamal pulls out of the lot and heads left instead of right—climbing a twisty road that he knows will carry him up and over the spine of the hills to approach the zoo from the other side.

Griffith Park Zoo is closed for the day—Jamal would have known that from the empty lot where school buses were usually queued up. But an American Hero camera crew is positioned right next to the entrance—and clearly not expecting an arrival just yet. Jamal is amused to see the crew scramble like ants. "I guess you should have called these guys, Art."

Jamal pulls up to the entrance—knows he's in the center of two lenses—and suddenly this is like being not only on a movie set, but as the lead. Why can't he play an American hero?

He can feel his eyes narrow—a full Clint Eastwood—as he scans the scene, right to left and back—a modified Schwarzenegger. A path has been marked with cones leading from the entrance past the row of animal habitats.

Jamal turns on the Tom Cruise smile. "Showtime."

He guns the vehicle forward. "Anybody behind us, Art?"

Art simply doesn't answer.

The trip is a short one—Jamal would have to be an idiot to miss the AMERICAN HERO SCAVENGER HUNT, so proclaimed on a banner.

The idea that an idol is somehow secreted inside the zoo strikes Jamal as silly—but then, so has every challenge until now. Nevertheless, Jamal does not expect to go up against a rare Bengal tiger—and he isn't.

American Hero had built a habitat of its very own. And inside it? A brown bear, some kind of lion, a rhino—and a moat filled with snakes.

And a brand new fence that sparks and hums, electrified.

"Something for all of us," Tiffani says from behind him. So much for getting the jump. The reflection of the brilliant midday sun precedes her. Tiffani is in full diamond mode.

Jamal has never really met the glittering Diamond girl. He wonders how many discussions there were between Berman and his production team about whether or not the ace from West Virginia had to be in the Diamond suit because of her ability to transform herself into superhard carbon.

(Then he wonders how many discussions there were about making sure Jamal Norwood, aka Stuntman, did not wind up in Spades.)

In her natural state she is, as they would no doubt say up in some West Virginia hollow, a purty little thang—red-haired, bright-eyed, not much of a figure, but a definite attitude. Jamal's early impressions labeled her a white trash trailer park babe, but that could be the accent. Being this close to her for the first time forces him to revise his opinion to a more positive one. If Jamal didn't have Jade Blossom to drool over, he could do worse than Tiffani. Though not today. Not with immunity on the line.

"You can have mine," he says.

"And they say gallantry is dead."

Jamal smiles. "You made good time."

"They had a police escort for us." That explains it; Jamal knows there's no way his competitors could be here already, going the long way around in L.A. traffic!

That's another thing he failed to anticipate . . . the continued interference by the American Hero production team. What else have they got cooked up for him? He slips along the freshly-painted safety railing—surprisingly substantial, for an American Hero construct—noting the various booby traps laid for the contestants. Beyond the moat of snakes, there were odd-shaped pools filled with some kind of bubbling goo—acid? Surely not. Holes in walls—would something shoot out of there? Projectiles? Or balls of flame? The ground within the habitat, where the animals were clearly not walking (fenced by some low-level electrical current?), was marked with a grid. Webbing? What would happen if you stepped on it? Would you be hobbled, bound? Or would you fall through? Roaming through this habitat . . . three big, mean animals who somehow managed to keep from attacking each other? (A thought that inspires Jamal to look for feeding troughs—he finds them in the shadows at the rear, piled high with disgusting substances.) The question remains, of course: where is the damned idol? Come on, Jetboy, show yourself!