Uprising - The Suspense Thriller Part 20

"THE h.o.m.os.e.xUAL WAS created by the devil as an act of vengeance against the Lord Almighty, but G.o.d uses them as a teaching tool for the rest of humanity, to say: see these people? This is how not to live."

"The most unnatural thing in the world has got to be man l.u.s.ting after man. All serial killers, gay or straight, have always had tendencies toward this kind of perversion. I bet if you truly investigate your Ted Bundys and that New York killer, Son of Sam, I bet you'll find they too dabbled in unnatural h.o.m.os.e.xual acts."

"There are people that say AIDS is the cure for h.o.m.os.e.xuality. Do I believe that? Well, let's just say I don't disbelieve it."

Jasper walked over to the big screen television and turned it and the VCR off. "We don't need to hear any more from the distinguished senior senator."

"Then I take it you both understand how destructive the man is." Oth.e.l.lo used his finger to stir his ice water as he sat on the oak desk in the middle of the room. For the last hour, they'd been in the Royal Suite at the Palace Hotel, watching a retrospective on Jimmy Herman's career in the senate.

"Yeah, yeah, old Jimmy boy is vile," said Deon. He was by the window overlooking the casino, his tall frame stretched across the brown leather couch, his gigantic black Nikes on Jasper's coffee table. He hadn't said much all night, yeaing and naying absentmindedly to Triangle Fund business and barely tuning in now as Oth.e.l.lo began his pitch. Twelve hours ago, the Bulls lost game six of the conference finals despite forty-two clutch points from The D.A. The series was now heading back to Charlotte for the deciding game and Oth.e.l.lo a.s.sumed basketball was on Deon's mind. The better to sway him, Oth.e.l.lo decided, setting his water down and rising up to walk around the Royal Suite.

"And we're all aware of how much good we've done coming together," he said. "The Triangle Fund has benefited countless brothers and sisters. And once the statistics are available, I'm sure we'll see a reduced rate of hate crimes in some areas due to counter-bashing, especially in the areas where we actually struck."

"Won't solve all our problems," Jasper said. He was leaning against the television, his arms folded skeptically as he waited for Oth.e.l.lo to get to the point.

"Nothing ever will. So many fights on so many fronts." Oth.e.l.lo was trying to build up steam, telling himself: You've come this far. "As you both know, Jimmy Herman is erecting this museum dedicated to himself and American morals, whatever that means."

"Got me my invitation." From the couch, Deon laughed and rolled over on his side. "The grand opening of the Jimmy Herman Museum of American Decency."

Oth.e.l.lo turned to him. "You going?"

"h.e.l.l if I know," said Deon. When Jasper and Oth.e.l.lo eyed him curiously, he added in his own defense: "He's a big Gamec.o.c.k supporter. I don't take s.h.i.t from him or his friends, but the USC connection, that's a loyalty thing, a state thing. You wouldn't understand."

Oth.e.l.lo waited until he was back in the middle of the room again and finally said it: "We need to counter-bash Jimmy Herman."

Jasper had just picked up his scotch off the desk and was finishing a swig. "Blow the f.u.c.king n.a.z.i museum right out of the grounda"empty, of course, so we don't kill the innocent, which, in this case, would amount to the cleaning staff."

"An admirable sentiment," said Oth.e.l.lo, "but I'm talking death."

By the look in Jasper's eyes, Oth.e.l.lo could tell the tyc.o.o.n was surpriseda"no impresseda"but before either could get a word in, Deon said: "That's crazy."

"Think about it," Oth.e.l.lo began, not wanting to lose momentum. "A gay man or lesbian, with AIDS possibly, taking matters into his own hands, staring Herman in the face and firing a shot every f.a.g and d.y.k.e in this country would want to fire."

Not every f.a.g, Jasper thought, refreshing his drink and picturing Bruce, who had gone to Dallas this morning to investigate the counter-bashing there in his attempt to be the next Dan Rather. "What gay man do you have in mind for the task?" he asked.

"One of the members of Level 3."

"Which one?" asked Deon.

"Not sure yet."

"You wanted this all along, didn't you?" said Jasper.

"I made no bones about my hate for the man and my desire for blood. When we started, I didn't know how far I could go. Now I know."

"This is madness." Deon got up and turned to the casino window. "You're talking life in prison."

"What we've done so far could accomplish that," said Jasper. "More or less."

"We haven't murdered yet," said Deon.

"It won't be traced back to us." Oth.e.l.lo moved closer to Deon. "We find one person in Level 3 who is willing to a.s.sa.s.sinate Herman, provide him or her with the tools and turn 'em loose. Not even the triggerman will know who we are."

"What if they trace the person to Level 3?" asked Jasper.

"At the very worst, they go looking for an old black man. I'll burn the outfit. They still won't have a clue about the Three Wis.e.m.e.n."

"Killing people is playing G.o.d," said Deon.

"Jimmy Herman kills people every day," Oth.e.l.lo said, "by spitting out hate that people who believe in his ideas use as an excuse to beat up f.a.gs, by cutting funding for AIDS, by just being the hateful b.a.s.t.a.r.d that he is. There must be thousands of gay men or women out there willing to end his miserable life and would if they could. We're not playing G.o.d. We're just conduits of vengeance."

Jasper looked up from his drink. "No one knows about Joe? Other than your manager. And us?"

Oth.e.l.lo paused. If he was going to lead the horses to water, he had to be honest with them. "One person."

"Who?" both Jasper and Deon asked.

"My boyfriend."

Jasper eyed him suspiciously. "You said you didn'ta""

"We just started being boyfriends." Felt good to say it aloud, even if he wasn't sure it was the right term yet. "He's okay. He's one of the counter-bashers, actually. He wouldn't rat on me."

"You willing to bet your life on that?" Jasper asked.

Oth.e.l.lo paused. "He has no clue about you two anyway, even if he did decide to sell me up the rivera"which he's not going to do." Oth.e.l.lo scooped up his ice water from the desk and took a sip, suddenly thankful he'd decided this trip was too important to have Raider along as a distraction.

"My Charlie knows about us," said Deon, to which Jasper and Oth.e.l.lo gasped. "He supports mea"chill out. He won't tell anybody. We've been together for years. We're tighter than tight. He's my babydoll."

"Jasper, did you tell Brucie-boy?" asked Oth.e.l.lo.

"No, and he'll never know." Jasper went for another drink at the bar. "What's your boyfriend's name?"

"Raidera"Brian Kincaide. And don't worry, I had Sweeney check him out before I ever let him into my life."

Deep in thought and seemingly unconvinced, Jasper took a good long swig of scotch.

"Why don't we take this up after the playoffs?" said Deon.

"We can't wait," said Oth.e.l.lo. "It's June already. The museum opens at the end of the month with a ceremony that's picture perfect for our uprising's greatest moment. Imagine all those rednecks in their shiny white plantation-owner suits."

"Sounds like a logistical nightmare," said Jasper. "A lot harder than shuffling a few million into a fund or giving some gay boys bats and vans and plane tickets."

"That's where Deon comes in," said Oth.e.l.lo. "You know Senator Evil. You can visit the museum beforehand, get the lay of the place so we can plot and plan."

To this, they said nothing. Deon stared at the casino below and Jasper turned away from them. The suite was silent until Oth.e.l.lo spoke.

"Remember when we were in this room a while back and you both dismissed the concept of the Three Wis.e.m.e.n as ridiculous. Look where we are now."

More silence.

"Let me ask this," he said. "Is it a matter of valuing Jimmy Herman's life?"

"No," the other two Wis.e.m.e.n said almost simultaneously.

"And Jasper, how about the millions you have tangled up in Belize? You value that? Bet you could recoup your losses a lot faster if your amba.s.sador-elect had the elect removed from his name."

"Oh, no." Deon knew exactly what Oth.e.l.lo was doing. "This cannot be majority rules. If I don't agree to this and you two go ahead, count me out of the Wis.e.m.e.n period. They'll come after me even if I'm not guilty."

"Then it has to be unanimous," said Jasper. "We agree on that?"

Both Deon and Oth.e.l.lo shook their heads.

"It's already unanimous we could give a d.a.m.n about Jimmy Herman's health," said Oth.e.l.lo.

"If we agree to this," said Jasper, "why don't I contact professionals? They'll do a clean job and can't be traced as easily."

"That would be meaningless," said Oth.e.l.lo. "We need a gay person, out in the open, sending a message to all the other anti-gay pundits. Who knows, maybe we'll inspire a whole mess of copycats who take care of the rest of the Jimmy Hermans in office, not to mention the h.o.m.ophobic religious leaders."

"I've already heard rumors of other Level 3-type groups in New York and Boston," said Jasper.

"The uprising has already begun, gentlemen," said Oth.e.l.lo. "We simply need a spark so powerful and dramatic they have to stop what they're doing and take notice."

Deon sat back down on the couch. "Jasper, you seem to know about this kind of stuff. Can we really get away with it?"

Jasper set down his drink and savored the last taste of scotch descending his throat. "With professionals setting up an accident or heart attack or something to that effect, yes. With professionals a.s.sa.s.sinating him? With a well-hated nut like Herman, possibly. Probably. With amateurs? You're asking for a miracle."

"How can they trace us?" asked Oth.e.l.lo.

"Depends on how well we cover our tracks."

"Can we trust each other?" asked Deon.

Jasper regarded his partners, first Deon, then Oth.e.l.lo. "We already have to do that."

The Three Wis.e.m.e.n eyed each other, each face registering power and vulnerability at the same time. Then Deon picked up his sweat jacket off the sofa and slowly made his way to the door. There, he paused, searching for the right words, rolling his tongue in his cheek, his face more serious than Jasper or Oth.e.l.lo had ever seen it.

"I gotta think about this before I put my whole life further into you guys' hands," he said dubiously. And with that, he left the Royal Suite minus one Wiseman.

STEADILY THE MORNING SUN climbed toward its midday peak, shining down brightly on the modest skyline in the distance and bathing the blue-green hills of the golf course with rich golden hues more a.s.sociated with the coming summer than the fading spring. The coursea"which was on the outskirts of Charlottea"was deserted except for the party of six bursting into laughter on the tenth hole. Winston Callahan had just sent yet another ball sailing into a magnolia tree far from the fairwaya"nothing new for the thin man with a permanent six o'clock shadow that made him look older than his forty years. He never took golf or life very seriously. You didn't have to when your father was the biggest man in Columbia, South Carolina.

Also there were Percival Stone, the heavyset, high-powered attorney from Charleston who was never without a cigar and a flask, and Sheriff, a short, feeble-bodied man in his fifties. He had never been a.s.sociated with the law, nor was that his real name, but for reasons now lost, everybody just called him Sheriff. The last of the South Carolina good ol' boys who had flown up in Percival's plane was Big Daddy Callahan, his six-foot-eight, three-hundred-pound boulder of a body dressed in a white suit with his usual white straw cowboy hat. The lone non-Southerner of the bunch was Kersey Stevens, the blond guard for the Bulls who loved golf almost as much as his teammate, Deon Anthony, the last piece of the puzzle who had arranged the game with a single phone call to Big Daddy.

"Come up and lose some cash," Deon had said to him on the phone. "It's also your chance to ask Kersey to the charity tournament." With or without Big Daddy, Deon would have played a round of golf today as a way of relaxing before tomorrow's game seven against the Hornets; but he wanted to look Callahan in the eye to see if it was possible to tell just how much racist and h.o.m.ophobic blood ran through his veins and the veins of his best friend, Jimmy Herman. The senator was also invited but had been too busy preparing for the museum opening to make the trip.

"Boy, Deon, I sure appreciate you having me and the boys up here," Big Daddy was saying as they watched Percival step up to the tee. "And good ol' Kersey is the perfect choice for the tournament."

Of course, thought Deon. Kersey Stevens had the cleanest reputation in the NBA. The only renegade group he ever joined was the Fellowship of Christian Athletes.

"I knew he was your type," said Deon, getting a confused smile from Big Daddy in return.

With the tenth hole complete, they boarded their carts and drove to the eleventh, a tricky hole in between two small but treacherous lakes. Deon was first up. He sliced his ball into the larger of the lakes to the right of the fairway.

"Hope your game is better than this tomorrow," Sheriff chided, prompting Percival to slap him on the shoulder.

"Bite your tongue," said Percival. His drawl was the thickest. "You know we're rooting for our fellow Southern Hornet boys." He then broke into a whiskey laugh. "Just kidding there, D.A."

Deon shook his head and watched Big Daddy working on Kersey on the other side of the tee. Kersey was resting on the golf cart while Big Daddy hovered over him, waving his hands and looking as if he were using the hard sell to get the two-time NBA all-star to next month's fund-raiser.

"Daddy wants him awful fierce," Winston whispered in Deon's ear.

When the party moved to the fourteenth hole, Deon finally got a chance to get Big Daddy alone.

"How's the senator?" he asked while the others made fun of Winston's swing. "Heard he was in the hospital a while back."

"Two days of testing," said Big Daddy. "Man's getting up there, but he's fine. Still looking forward to seeing you at both the museum opening and golf tournament."

"Speaking of the museum, what's it stand for?"

"Why decency, just like the name saysa"hey, Winston, son, go ahead and just aim for the trees. Maybe then the ball will make it to the hole."

"So it's not antia"" Deon searched for the word, but only came up with: "minority?"

"Aw, boya"era"sona"era"man, it's pro-family. American familya"Winston, let me show you how to hit the ball. Excuse me, Deon."

They played on. At the next hole, it was Kersey who made a point to get Deon alone.

"Can you believe that man?" he said, indicating Big Daddy sizing up a putt. "He's ready to sell his soul to get me to that tournament."

"Warned you."

"I told him just because I'm from Utah doesn't mean I'm a redneck who supports redneck charities."

"Redneck?" Deon repeated, somewhat confused. "It's for inner city kids."

"Told me it was about helping organizations that make sure 'our' people get their fair share of the American pie. You think 'our' means inner city kids with that man?"

Eight years of Deon's life flashed before him, specifically the portions spent teeing off at the Jimmy Herman Carolina Gentlemen's Charity Golf Cla.s.sic. Soon as he got the chance, which was at the next hole, he went up to the co-founder of the tournament.

"Big Daddy, Kersey says you told him the tournament is for white causes."

Big Daddy broke out laughing, and like a chorus, so did the Southern gentlemen behind him.