Uprising - The Suspense Thriller Part 23

T HIRTY MINUTES AFTER Jasper and Deon were gone, Oth.e.l.lo decided to leave the Temple himself. Dressed as the old man, he pulled out of the driveway in the Impala, firmly deciding that once Jimmy Herman was dead and buried, some things would have to change. What he would do in the war and how he would do it, he didn't know, but one thing was for sure: Old Man Joe would have to go on permanent vacation.

He made a right turn out of the driveway, thinking about his options until he was distracted by the sight of a white-haired woman across the street. She had to be in her seventies and was watering her lawn in a pink bathrobea"odd, considering it rained all day yesterday. As he pa.s.sed, she stared him down, then turned away as if scared, accidentally wetting the lower half of her robe in the process. Writing her off as either eccentric or racist, he kept going but glanced back once in the rear view mirror. She was staring at him again.

He picked up speed. His curiosity getting the best of him, he turned his head around for one last look at her. This time, his eye caught sight of a side view mirror on a plain white van facing the opposite direction. There was a face in the mirrora"white, tanned, blond, Raider. It was Raider, straining to get a look at him through the mirror. Oth.e.l.lo's heart stopped. He stuck his head out the window for a better view. The face in the mirror disappeared. Something from within told Oth.e.l.lo to turn around and face the wheel. He did just in time to see the front of the Impala about to ram into a blue Mercedes parked along the street. He braced himself and slammed on the brakes. The Impala stopped an inch shy of the Mercedes. In full panic now, Oth.e.l.lo put the Impala in reverse, then backed up, put it in drive and took off, too frantic to look back again.

Ridiculous, he tried telling himself as he drove through the streets of Hollywood, his heart and mind still racing. I'm getting paranoid. That was not Raider in a van. But it was. Had to be. It was.

Visions of a hundred TV detectives conducting a hundred stakeouts in disguised vans ran through his head. That would explain so much about Raider's behavior. He was a cop of some sort. Straight, too. But they were dating, kissing, fondling each other. A straight cop wouldn't do that. Right? And a gay cop wouldn't be trying to bust him. Would he? But would a straight man go through all this? The debate raged on as he drove. He knew there was only one way to confront his worst fears. He gave the pedal a little more gas and headed straight for West Hollywood, determined to settle this once and for all.

By the time he parked the Impala a handful of s.p.a.ces down from Raider's apartment, all sorts of frightening thoughts had run through his head, some of them making him feel like the most paranoid man on the face of the earth, some of them rendering him angry enough to kill the man who claimed to want to be his boyfriend. His adrenaline was at full speed when he got out of the car. He saw Raider's Jeep farther down the street, but that didn't mean a thing. A young Latino man was opening the door to the apartment complex and dragging his collie by the leash through the entrance. Quickly, Oth.e.l.lo ran to catch the door. Better to surprise him if he's there, or wait for him if he isn't and catch him driving up in the stakeout van. Too anxious to wait for the elevator, he took the stairs, his heart in his throat, his knees weak with fear. He reached the apartment, 206, and listened for signs of life within.

Silence. Further incriminating evidence.

Anger supplanting paranoia, he pounded on the door five times. Nothing. Too busy at some headquarters filing a report on Oth.e.l.lo. Then he heard a male's baritone voice from inside: "Door's open."

Oth.e.l.lo turned the k.n.o.b and opened the door.

"Hundred and four, hundred and five." It was Raider, huffing and puffing on a rowing machine smack dab in the middle of the living room. "Come on in, almost finished," he said between labored breaths, then kept on counting to himself. "Hundred and six, hundred and seven...."

In a daze, Oth.e.l.lo stood in the doorway, then slowly but steadily moved inside Raider's apartment for the very first time. There wasn't much there: a sofa on the far wall, VCR and small TV on a plastic crate, wood dining table near the opening to the right that led to the kitchen, and that rowing machine. Raider was only wearing a pair of gray gym shorts. His upper body was drenched with sweat, the kind that came from hours of exercise, not sitting in detective vans in residential neighborhoods.

"You've been working out?" was all Oth.e.l.lo could think to ask.

"Almost done. Have to get two hours in every day. Gotta keep up with you."

"How long have you been at it?"

"Like I said." He saw me, Raider thought, cursing himself for looking up too soon after the Impala had pa.s.sed. At least he had reacted quickly enough to race the h.e.l.l back here, grease himself up with baby oil and water and hit the rowing machine in antic.i.p.ation of this little visit. "Give me five minutes."

But I don't understand, Oth.e.l.lo wanted to say aloud, circ.u.mnavigating the apartment, searching for answers. So it hadn't been Raider in the van? But how could Oth.e.l.lo have been so sure in that instant? Chalk it up to Raider on the brain?

"Have a seat," said Raider, thankful he'd had enough time to dump the p.o.r.nos in the trash chute in the hall. Oth.e.l.lo ignored him and stood by the window overlooking the street, his senses confounded, his body restless. Perceiving this, Raider brought the rowing machine to a halt.

"Done." He rose up, went over to Oth.e.l.lo and gave him a light peck on the cheek, pretending not to be bothered by the pasty makeup on Oth.e.l.lo's old man face. "How you doing, baby?" Raider said. "Sorry I look and smell like a pig." With Oth.e.l.lo's eyes still fixed on the street below, Raider stole a glance himself, finding what he expected: the white Honda Civic belonging to Gus parked farther down the street. "Wanna drink? Gatorade's all I got." He went to the kitchen and fetched two large plastic bottles from the fridge. "What brings you here? Not that I'm not glad to see you." Raider returned to the living room, handed a silent Oth.e.l.lo a bottle, then fetched the towel draped over an arm of the sofa. "No drinking gla.s.ses, sorry."

"I just had to see you." He hadn't thought up a reason for being here save confronting Raider. Now, that didn't seem necessary.

"Something wrong?"

Oth.e.l.lo didn't answer.

"Why don't we go somewhere, enjoy the day," said Raider. "There's not much in the way of entertainment here. I say we go to the park or grab some lunch."

Oth.e.l.lo turned away from the window and set the bottle on the dining table. For the first time since he entered, he allowed himself a good look at Raider's half-naked body: the light patch of dark blond hair skimming his chest, his arms with their distinctive cuts around the biceps, his legs, thick like a soccer player's. "Look at you." Oth.e.l.lo shook his head, his voice full of irony. "I couldn't have ordered it up from the G.o.ds any better." He sighed, as if to say: what a shame.

Raider laughed a modest laugh, his hands on his hips, the towel draped over one shoulder. "You know, you clean up pretty good yourself when you're not limping around as some old f.a.g hag's gardener."

"Raider," Oth.e.l.lo began, trying to stave off the potential for s.e.xual heat. "We've got to talk. You know I'm taking some life-or-death chances."

"Of course." Raider sat sideways on the rowing machine and grabbed at his right shoulder as if in pain. "While we talk, would you mind rubbing my shoulders? My clavicle is killing me."

Fl.u.s.tered, Oth.e.l.lo paused, then sat on the sofa above the machine and placed both hands on Raider's shoulders, his mind torn between his wants and his needs.

"But take off those raisin-skinned gloves, if you don't mind."

Oth.e.l.lo obeyed, then repositioned his real hands on Raider's back.

"I hope you don't mind the sweat."

"Sweat is a good thing, healthy...natural...primitive."

That's my boy, Raider thought. Get into the spirit; forget all about that van. This is your boyfriend here.

"To say I'm risking everything is the understatement to end all understatements," Oth.e.l.lo said. Raider was so wet his hands practically slid over his back.

"Baby," Raider moaned. "You got a way with your hands. It's an old lacrosse injury. f.u.c.king Yalie did it to me. I hate Yalies. Always have."

"Because of the risks, I have to investigate every possible leak or problem."

"Smartest thing to do." Raider took one of Oth.e.l.lo's hands and guided it to the area just above his right pec. "Here, get these, too. All of me needs working over."

Oth.e.l.lo's hands began to roam Raider's upper body freely, his neck, his shoulder blades, the small of his back, the light hairs dancing on his chest. It was the most they'd ever done. Raider was finally relaxing and letting him in, finally conceding to the fact that there was more heat between them than either could resist. No way could this man be a cop, Oth.e.l.lo told himself. As further proof, his hands slid down Raider's torso, over his firm stomach and toward the band in his shorts. No resistance. Raider simply arched upward and moaned, his sweat-soaked blond locks brushing against Oth.e.l.lo's mouth. Oth.e.l.lo took the wet strands of hair between his lips and savored the moist salty taste while his fingers slipped underneath Raider's shorts and landed on top of the soft but spa.r.s.e bush that was Raider's pubic hair.

But it was Oth.e.l.lo who halted things this time, forcing himself to yank his hands out of Raider's shorts and rise up from the sofa. Don't get confused, he commanded himself. You saw what you saw. This man could make every day for the rest of your life a living h.e.l.l.

"We're going to play it safe, remember?" Oth.e.l.lo walked over to a small sliver of a window located over the far end of the sofa.

"Ma.s.saging is safe." Raider also stood up, thankful Oth.e.l.lo had stopped while Raider was trying to come up with yet another way out of intimacy.

I can't trust you for c.r.a.p, Oth.e.l.lo wanted to blurt aloud.

"I could use a ma.s.sage every now and then...." Raider said and went on about things Oth.e.l.lo didn't hear for he was lost in his own thoughts as he stared out the window: You get me here, with you all hot and sweaty, teasing me as if I'm some kind of dog you can wave a piece of meat in front of. And for what? What the h.e.l.l do you want with me? My money? A free ride? To see my a.s.s in jail and you on the cover of Time and Newsweek? You think I'm just going to roll over and let you hustle me because you're a G.o.d? You're dealing with Oth.e.l.lo here.

As he came to his senses, his worst fears were confirmed. In the small sliver of a window, he could see a piece of the alley behind the complex. And in that alley, he could make out the back doors of a plain white van.

"You just came from a house in the foothills, didn't you?" Raider said, his first words to command Oth.e.l.lo's attention in minutes. Oth.e.l.lo turned around. Raider was to the left of the front window now, his body shielded from the outside by the drab green curtain, his head peeking out at the street.

"You should know that better than anybody," said Oth.e.l.lo, inching toward the traitor. "You were there."

"I can explain," said Raider. Down below, Gus was loitering near the Impala, doing a bad job of being inconspicuous. Sorry ol' drinking buddy of mine, Raider thought. Time to sell your sorry b.u.t.t down the river. "I didn't want to get you all worried, but now you have to know."

"Know what, Raider?" Oth.e.l.lo asked. "If thata"or Briana"is your name."

"Of course, it is," Raider scolded. "Look down below, carefully."

Oth.e.l.lo peeked over Raider's shoulder. A man in a black leather jacket was standing idly near the Impala. It was Gus from ACTNOW.

"Get back," Raider ordered Oth.e.l.lo.

"What's this all about?" Oth.e.l.lo said, feeling that things were about to go from bad to worse.

"Gus. He's not one of us."

"And you are?"

"Listen to me," Raider insisted harshly. "After you told me about that high speed chase, I got worried about you and asked him about it. He told me he saw you near Franklin and Wilton, a long-a.s.s way from Franklin and Vine where he told you."

"What?"

"He was lying."

"Oh, s.h.i.t." Oth.e.l.lo turned toward the room, trying to take it all in.

"I had him checked out." Raider couldn't say via the FBI, so he said: "An old Dartmouth friend is an investigative lawyer. Gus's real name is Crane Malloy. He's an member of Guardians of the Scriptures."

"The ones on the news all the time?"

"The rightest right wingers in the country. I befriended him to find out what he was up to, pretended to get drunk with him at the Spike. I told him I was from some other Christian group and he came clean to me."

He turned back to Raider. "So you're from a Christian group?"

"Not mea"Gusa"Crane. Stay with me on this, O, we don't have much time."

"Time for what?"

"Gus is straight as an arrow. He was sent to infiltrate ACTNOW and get them busted. I told him we should combine forces, put our heads together. He fell for it. He's after you."

"He knows who I am?"

"He told me about trailing you one night after an ACTNOW meeting to some house in the foothills. Did you ever go straight to that house? Is that true?"

Oth.e.l.lo racked his brain. "Yes, one time. It was a few weeks before the chase. I went to one of the meetings they had after Simi Valley."

"Must have been that night. But he said he didn't want to stick around and look suspicious. He checked out the home later but couldn't find out who owned it. He even had the nerve to knock on the door once."

"n.o.body lives there."

"He went back another time and asked some elderly woman across the street to call him if she ever saw the Impala there again. His plan is to follow you to see where you go next and find out who Joe's boss is. He got a call from the lady a few days ago, but missed it."

The day of the interrogation, Oth.e.l.lo thought, pacing the floor. "He's on to me. He knows who I am. Him and you. You're both on to me."

"He doesn't know yet. That's why I've been keeping an eye on him." Some n.a.z.i G.o.d Squad geek wasn't going to steal Raider's thunder. "I told him to let me know when the lady calls him again so we could both stake you out. That's why I rented a van and was there today."

"Why didn't you tell me about this?"

"And get you worried when everything's going so right?"

"Then why did you lie just now about working out for two hours?"

"I wanted to protect you, do this on my own, but I think it may be too late." With his head, he indicated the window. Oth.e.l.lo peered out in time to see Gus planting something underneath the back of the Impala. "My guess is it's a tracking device," Raider said.

"He won't stop." Oth.e.l.lo stepped away from the window. "They won't stop. I'm a dead man."

"Not my O."

"I'm a dead man!"

"Bulls.h.i.t." Raider grabbed a T-shirt and a set of keys from the dining table and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Oth.e.l.lo demanded, but when Raider didn't answer, Oth.e.l.lo grabbed his old man gloves off the sofa and went after him.

"Stay back." Raider slipped on his T-shirt as he raced down the stairwell. "Let me handle this."

"I will not!" Oth.e.l.lo was right on his heels, struggling to get his gloves on. "This is my life. How do I know who to trust?"

"Then just stay with the old man act, whatever you do."

They reached the sidewalk. Gus was way down the block, heading away from the Impala. He heard their clamor and looked back. After seeing who it was, he started running down the nearest driveway.

"Stay here," Raider said and took off after him. Oth.e.l.lo followed, faster than an old man, slower than the real him. Raider reached the driveway ahead of Oth.e.l.lo and saw Gus climbing over a small chain-link fence into the home's backyard. Raider shot down the driveway and leaped it like a hurdler. Ten seconds ahead, Gus ran across the yard, heading for the tall brick wall bordering the back of the property. He scaled the wall using a trash can, knocking it over with his foot before he disappeared into the alley.

Oth.e.l.lo ran down the driveway and saw Raider dashing across the yard and taking a long leap toward the back wall. One foot landed mid-wall, the other near the top. Raider then pulled himself over and out of sight. Oth.e.l.lo looked around for an alternative route and saw a narrow pa.s.sageway between the detached garage and the neighbor's garage. He slithered sideways through it until he too was in the alley. There, he saw Raider catch up to Gus and tackle him with the ferociousness of a linebacker. They both went sliding across the concrete, then wrestled on the ground ever-so-briefly before Raider gained control.

"Who the h.e.l.l are you?" Oth.e.l.lo demanded when he reached the tail end of their skirmish, unsure if he was just asking Gus or both of them.

"A traitor." Raider shook Gus, twisted his arm behind his back and forced him to stand. "It's over, Jesus freak. Joe knows all about your sick plot."

"You're on my side," Gus said, wiping blood from his mouth and grimacing at the pain Raider was causing to his other arm.

Raider laughed a cynical laugh. "Gullible fool. You f.u.c.ked with the wrong queer when you messed with me." Raider c.o.c.ked his free arm to punch him, but Oth.e.l.lo pleaded for him to stop, which Raider did. Oth.e.l.lo then eyed Gus, who was still in Raider's clutches.

"What are you trying to do to me?"

Gus paused, then let loose: "Stop you and your old lady friends and all you sinners. Sinners!" he repeated, yelling at the top of his lungs. "Help me somebody! These sinners have got me; help me, please!"

"Get the picture now?" said Raider.

"The G.o.d-fearing of this world will prevail," Gus promised. "We'll bring in the law, go to the police, Pat Robertson and the leaders of the right. Help me, somebody, please! Sinners!"

"Shut up, already," Oth.e.l.lo said, his mind going numb at the worst possible time.

"I'm not going to let him ruin our work." With one hand still twisting Gus's arm, Raider fished his keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Oth.e.l.lo. "Give me the one to the van."

"What? Which? Why?" Oth.e.l.lo fumbled for the right key.

"The big long one," Raider said harshly.