Part 40 (2/2)
”Not now.” He stroked her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, circling her aureola with a forefinger. ”Succubus, you don't know how I looked forward to seeing you after all this. It's been a very long and frustrating night.” Gregg turned to her and she snuggled against him comfortably, though her mind raced.
Musing, she nearly missed his words. ”. . . if the JJS insists, it's going to be very bad.”
Her hand stopped moving on him.
”Yes?” she prompted.
But it was already too late. Already, she could feel the tug of his l.u.s.t. His hand closed on hers. ”Feel,” he said. His hardness throbbed on her thigh. Again, she began to sink into him, helpless. Her concentration left her. He kissed her and her mouth burned; she straddled his body, guiding him into her once more. Inside, trapped, Sondra railed at Succubus. d.a.m.n you, he was talking about the JJS d.a.m.n you, he was talking about the JJS.
Afterward, exhausted, Gregg would say very little. It was all she could do to convince him to leave the apartment before her form collapsed and she became an old woman again.
SENATOR WARNS OF CONSEQUENCES AS MAYOR VOWS ACTION.
The New York Times, July 16, 1976
CONVENTION MAY TURN TO DARK HORSE.
New York Daily News, July 16, 1976
”OKAY, DAMMIT! MOVE IT OVER THERE THERE. IF YOU CAN'T MANAGE TO WALK, GO OVER TO GARGANTUA'S CART. LOOK, I KNOW HE'S STUPID, BUT HE CAN PULL A f.u.c.kING CART CART, FOR CRISSAKES.”
Gimli exhorted the milling jokers from the tailgate of a rusty Chevy pickup truck, waving his short arms frantically, his face flushed with the effort of screaming, sweat dripping from his beard. They were gathered in Roosevelt Park near Grand, the sun baking New York from a cloudless sky, the early morning temperature already in the high eighties and heading for a possible three figures. The shade of the few trees did nothing to ease the sweltering-Sondra could barely manage to breathe. She felt her age with every step as she approached the pickup and Gimli, dark circles of perspiration under the arms of her calico sundress.
”Gimli?” she said, and her voice was a cracked and broken thing.
”NO, a.s.sHOLE! MOVE IT OVER THERE BY MARIGOLD! h.e.l.lo, Sondra. You ready to walk?-I could use you to keep the back of the group organized. I'll give you Gargantua's cart and the cripples -that'll give you a place to ride that's away from the crowds and you can keep the ones in front moving. I need someone to make sure Gargantua doesn't do anything too f.u.c.king dumb. You got the route? We'll go down Grand to Broadway, then across to the Tomb at Fulton-”
”Gimli,” Sondra said insistently.
”What, G.o.ddammit?” Miller put his hand on his hip. He wore only a pair of paisley shorts, exposing the ma.s.sive barrel chest and the stubby, powerful legs and arms, all liberally covered with reddish-brown curly hair. His ba.s.s voice was a growl.
”They say the police are gathering around the park gates and putting up barricades.” Sondra glared at Miller accusingly. ”I told you that we were going to have trouble getting out of here.”
”Yeah. p.i.s.s. f.u.c.k 'em, we'll go anyway.”
”They won't let us. Remember what Hartmann said at the Aces High? Remember what I told you he mentioned last night?” The old woman folded her bony arms over the tattered front of the sundress. ”You'll destroy the JJS if you get into a fight here . . .”
”What's the matter, Sondra? You suck the guy's c.o.c.k and take in all his political c.r.a.p as well?” Miller laughed and hopped down from the pickup to the parched gra.s.s. Around them, two hundred to three hundred jokers milled about near the Grand Street entrance to the park. Miller frowned into Sondra's glare and dug bare toes into the dirt. ”All right,” he said. ”I'll go f.u.c.king look at this, since it bothers you so much.”
At the wrought-iron gate, they could see the police putting up wooden barricades across their intended path. Several of the jokers came up to Sondra and Miller as they approached. ”You gonna go ahead, Gimli?” one of them asked. The joker wore no clothes-his body was hard, chitinous, and he moved with a lurching, rolling gait, his limbs stiff.
”I'll tell you in a minute, huh, Peanut?” Gimli answered. He squinted into the distance, their bodies throwing long shadows down the street. ”Clubs, riot gear, tear gas, water cannon. The whole f.u.c.king works.”
”Exactly what we wanted, Gimli,” Peanut answered.
”We'll lose people. They'll get hurt, maybe killed. Some of them can't take clubs, you know. Some of them might react to the tear gas,” Sondra commented.
”Some of them might trip over their own G.o.dd.a.m.n feet, too.” Gimli's voice boomed. Down the street, several of the cops looked toward them, pointing. ”Since when did you decide that the revolution was too dangerous, Sondra?”
”When did you decide that we had to hurt our own people to get what you want?”
Gimli stared back at her, one hand s.h.i.+elding his eyes from the sun. ”It ain't what I I want,” he said slowly. ”It's what fair. It's what's just. Even you said that.” want,” he said slowly. ”It's what fair. It's what's just. Even you said that.”
Sondra set her mouth, wrinkles folding around her chin. She brushed back a wisp of gray hair. ”I never wanted us to do it this way.”
”But we are.” Gimli took a deep breath and then bellowed toward the waiting jokers. ”ALL RIGHT. YOU KNOW THE ORDER -JUST KEEP GOING NO MATTER WHAT. SOAK YOUR HANDKERCHIEFS. STAY IN THE RANKS UNTIL WE REACH THE TOMB. HELP YOUR NEIGHBOR IF HE NEEDS IT. OKAY, LET'S GO!” The power was in his voice again. Sondra heard it and saw the reaction of the others; the sudden eagerness, the shouted responses. Even her own breath quickened to hear him. Gimli c.o.c.ked his head toward Sondra, a mocking gleam in his eyes. ”You coming or are you going to go f.u.c.k someone?”
”It's a mistake,” Sondra insisted. She sighed, pulling at the collar of the dress and looking at the others, who stared at her. There was no support from them, not from Peanut, not from Tinhorn, not from Zona or Calvin or File-none of those who sometimes backed her during the meetings. She knew that if she stayed behind now, any hope she had of holding Miller in check would be gone. She glanced back at the park, at the groups of jokers huddling together and forming a rough line; the faces were apprehensive, but nonetheless resolute. Sondra shrugged her shoulders. ”I'm going,” she said.
”I'm so so happy,” Gimli drawled. He snorted his derision. happy,” Gimli drawled. He snorted his derision.
THREE DEAD, SCORES INJURED IN JOKER RIOT.
The New York Times, July 17, 1976
It was not pretty, it was not easy. The planning commission of the NYPD had made copious notes that supposedly covered most of the eventualities if the jokers did did decide to march. Those who were in charge of the operation quickly found that such advance planning was useless. decide to march. Those who were in charge of the operation quickly found that such advance planning was useless.
The jokers spilled out of Roosevelt Park and onto the wide pavement of Grand Street. That in itself was not a problem-the police had blocked traffic on all through-streets near the park as soon as the reports of the gathering had come in. The barricades were across the street not fifty yards from the entrance. It was hoped that the march organizers would simply fail to get the protest together or, coming upon the ranks of uniformed cops in riot gear, they would turn back into the park where officers on horseback could disperse them. The police held their clubs in ready hands, but most expected not to use them-these were jokers, after all, not aces. These were the crippled, the infirm, the ones who'd been twisted and deformed: the useless dregs of the virus.
They came down the street toward the barricades, and a few of the men in the front ranks of the police openly shook their heads. A dwarf led them-that would be Tom Miller, the JJS activist. The others would have been laughable if they were not so piteous. The garbage heap of Jokertown had opened up and emptied itself into the streets. These were not the better-known denizens of Jokertown: Tachyon, Chrysalis, or others like them. These were the sad ones who moved in darkness, who hid their faces and never emerged from the dirty streets of that district. They'd come out at the urging of Miller, with the hope that they could, in their very hideousness, cause the Democratic Convention to support their cause.
It was a parade that would have been the joy of a carnival freak show.
Later, the officers indicated that none of them had actually wanted the confrontation to turn violent. They were prepared to use the least amount of force possible while still keeping the marchers off the downtown Manhattan streets. When the front ranks of the jokers reached the barricades, they were to quickly arrest Miller and then turn the others back. No one thought that would be difficult.
In retrospect, they wondered how they could have been so d.a.m.ned stupid.
As the marchers approached the barrier of wooden sawhorses behind which the police waited, they slowed. For long seconds, nothing happened at all, the jokers coming to a ragged, silent halt in the middle of the street. The heat reflecting off the pavement sheened the faces with sweat; the uniforms of the police were damp. Miller glowered in indecision, then motioned forward those behind him. Miller pushed aside the first sawhorse himself; the rest followed.
The riot squad formed a phalanx, linking their plastic s.h.i.+elds, braced. The marchers. .h.i.t the s.h.i.+elds; the officers shoved back, and the line of marchers began to bow, buckling in on itself. Those behind pushed, crus.h.i.+ng the front ranks of jokers against the police. Even then the situation might have been manageable-a tear-gas sh.e.l.l might have been able to confuse the jokers enough to send them running back to the relative safety of the park. The captain in charge nodded; one of the cops knelt to fire the canister.
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