Uprising - The Suspense Thriller Part 7

"Maybe I can do a story and publicize Herman's tactics," offered Bruce.

"I'll keep that in mind." Jasper closed his eyes and wondered how far Oth.e.l.lo intended to go with this gay uprising. More importantly, he wondered if he should dare involve himself in it.

Feeling a sudden shot of restlessness, he rose up and went over to the floor-length window, staring at the millions of lights glittering in the Manhattan night. He knew the skyline well, the tourist traps, his own hotels, his rivals' buildings where he loved to imagine bleary-eyed executives staying up half the night trying to figure how to keep up with Hollinquest, Incorporated. And no matter how many times he stood at that window and surveyed the city he'd spent his entire life in, his gaze always seemed to roam toward the woodsy cruise haven in Central Park known as the Ramble. In his college days at Columbia, he was a regular there, sometimes looking to receive a midnight b.l.o.w.j.o.b, sometimes eager for the scent of another man's c.o.c.k, sometimes f.u.c.king, standing up, of course, pants around the ankles. And only at night, too, in the darkest recesses of the park. Darkest and most dangerous, but that's how he had to play it.

Those days seemed like a lifetime ago, before he owned a single piece of property, before the Cable News Corporation, before he was more than just one of New York's scions, running around the city with all the other rich kids, spending the money his family had made from the shipping business. A lifetime ago, indeed, but no matter what, those nights at the park would always be with him, for better and for worse.

He fingered the crook in his nose and glared at the black hole that was Central Park by night, remembering what very well may have been the worst period in his life. Then, in an effort to banish the memories flooding toward his conscious, he turned away from the window, vowing to someday break his addiction to dwelling on the past.

THICK BLACK SMOKE shot out of the exhaust pipes of the four white twenty-foot-long moving trucks lined up in pairs at the end of the alley, their engines revving, their steady roar breaking the silence of an otherwise quiet, overcast Sunday afternoon in suburbia. At the other end of the alley, four more trucks were positioned in the same way, and in between sat two maroon minivans. Scattered among all the vehicles were a dozen ACTNOW members, conferring with each other on last-minute details, checking maps and distributing the black hoods they were each about to don to go with their black outfits.

Near the middle of the alley, Oth.e.l.lo huddled in the back doorway of a warehouse, pretending to scratch his fake beard but in reality checking it for the tenth time in as many minutes to make sure it was properly secured. Being here in Simi Valleya"a right wing haven forty miles north of LAa"was the biggest gamble he'd ever taken dressed as the old man Joe. But this was a must. For several reasons.

Pushing up the prescriptionless gla.s.ses on his nose, he glanced both ways down the alley, searching but not finding what he was looking for. The other ACTNOW members knew he was there, but were too caught up in the operation to care, reminding him of those Navy commercials where military personnel ran around the deck of a large carrier, preparing to launch some hi-tech aircraft.

Since it was one of the reasons he was there, the main reason supposedly, he made a mental note of who had enough fire in them to be a part of this escalation of the war. Of course, Travis and Freedom were there, along with Giorgio, the former p.o.r.no star, and the d.y.k.e couple who looked like twins with their matching short hair and plump bodies. At the last meeting, Oth.e.l.lo had overheard them being called Liz and Beth. Beth was older, forty-something to Liz's thirty-something. He didn't know the names of the other members there, so to remember them, he gave them each a moniker based on a characteristic of theirs. The bearded white man in his thirties who always came to the meetings in overalls became Overalls; the young black woman who often dressed in African regalia was Afro. The heavyset black guy with dreadlocks who constantly talked about burning things became Rasta, and the short, bald man in his fifties who was always full of fiery rhetoric was now dubbed Sparkplug. The young queeny Asian in the short black cutoffs he decided to call Miss Saigon, and the butch fellow in his forties with the huge bushy mustache and c.o.c.kney accent became English. The white preppie man who often showed up to the meetings still wearing his business suit was, what else? Business Suit.

But there was one person missing. Oth.e.l.lo surveyed the alley again, then made his way over to Travis who was with Giorgio, placing cardboard over the license plates of the vans. "Have you seen him?" Oth.e.l.lo asked in his scratchy old man's voice.

"We're all accounted for," Travis said without looking up.

"Not Raider."

Travis looked around hastily. "He was at the strategy meetings, but it's all right. We'll still have enough people. Liz and Beth were going to ride together, but Beth will just take his place."

"Did he say he would be here?"

"No time, Joe." He held Oth.e.l.lo by the shoulders. "Now, make sure you stay back and way out of harm's way. No one will be able to help if you get into trouble." Without waiting for a response, Travis took off for the far end of the alley.

Dejected, Oth.e.l.lo retreated from Giorgio and the vans, searching for Raider and replaying in his mind the meeting with Travis at ACTNOW's headquarters a week ago.

"The hospital thing was good," Oth.e.l.lo had told him. "The old lady was impressed." He then handed Travis another $7,000. "But she wants to see something more radical. She says take this money, find out who's willing to go beyond Mercy and show her more."

"How about showing her how we can screw up the a.s.semblyman Weeks fund-raiser?" Travis had said, and when the leader of ACTNOW told Oth.e.l.lo about the plan, Oth.e.l.lo decided to watch in person from afar to judge for himself the best candidates for putting a bullet into Jimmy Herman's head. He also told Travis about the new member of the group who showed promise, Raider Kincaide, and admonished him to recruit Raider for Simi Valley.

But Raider was a no-show and Oth.e.l.lo could kick himself for checking the impulse to simply show up at Raider's apartment and reveal his true ident.i.ty, an impulse he'd had hourly for the last week. But the rational side of this brain had told him to hold out, test Raider in the rebel department. Now, as Oth.e.l.lo stood alone in the alley, he was beginning to deeply regret ever having a rational side of his brain.

"People, let's roll!" Travis shouted as he ran down the alley toward the vans. The plan was simple enough. Eight trucks. Seven entrances to the Hacienda Hotel, site of the Re-elect Arnold Weeks Dinner. Two trucks block the main entrance; the other six cover the other doors. Each driver was to lodge his or her truck at the designated entrance, then run like h.e.l.l to the getaway vans waiting at either end of the hotel. On the back of each truck was a sign that said: WARNING: BOMB ON BOARD. By the time the bomb squad discovered this to be untrue and the trucks were removed, it would be too late for breaded chicken for the disciples of a.s.semblyman Weeks.

All the drivers got in their vehicles and pulled their hoods over their heads. Travis, standing on the running board of his van, waved them away. The trucks took off in both directions. Travis then plopped down in the van and gave Joe a thumbs up and a smile. Trying to hide his disappointment, Oth.e.l.lo gave him a military salute in return, but was interrupted when he noticed someone racing down the alley toward them. It was Raider, Oth.e.l.lo realized, his heart coming back to life. The man from Nantucket was truly a rebel after all. He was twenty feet away now, flagging down Travis and Oth.e.l.lo, filling Oth.e.l.lo's head with visions of the Dartmouth lacrosse legend in his heyday, his thick legs churning down the field, his sweat-soaked jersey pressed against his steely chest, the sides flapping in the wind flying past him as he charged through hapless compet.i.tors, face straining with both ecstasy and agony, all-Ivy League glory just seconds away.

But in this case, Oth.e.l.lo and Travis were just seconds away, and Raider, a few years removed from his all-Ivy League days, reached them slightly winded.

"Got lost," he said, trying to catch his breath. In reality, he'd gone down to San Diego last night, desperate for a break from West Hollywood and wanting to get laid. Mission accomplished, with some blonde he met in a bar near the beach, but the traffic back to Fairyland had been h.e.l.l.

"We're covered," Travis said from the van. "You stay with Joe, make sure he's all right. Glad you made it anyway." Then Travis, seeing the last of the trucks disappear, took off, leaving Oth.e.l.lo and Raider alone in the alley.

"Thank G.o.d you made it," Oth.e.l.lo said, the smile on his face showing his relief. Still out of breath, Raider put his hands on his hips and flashed his own toothy grin that said: here we go again with this guy.

The street to the north of the alley was desolate, the mostly industrial buildings lining the two-lane road all closed for the weekend. Unlike the trucks, which were taking a circuitous route, Oth.e.l.lo and Raider headed straight for the hotel a few blocks away.

"You really had me worried," Oth.e.l.lo said as they walked, "but I'm glad to see you want to do this."

"No way was I gonna pa.s.s this up," Raider said, remembering how Travis had taken him aside at the last meeting and told him about this little shindig for some local politician. "Anything to bust their a.s.ses," Raider had said to Little Horse, jumping at the chance to gain his confidence.

"I'm also hoping we can..." Oth.e.l.lo racked his brain for the right words: "well, get started on a better foot as far as getting to know each othera"that is, so I can show you I'm not just some old pervert l.u.s.ting after your body."

"Yeah?" Raider said, sounding unconvinced. "Then why did we need to go somewhere more private than that park?"

"For our friendship...." Oth.e.l.lo paused.

"Yeah...and...."

"And...." Oth.e.l.lo stopped. To say more than friendship meant risking Raider becoming angry as he had at Mercy. And so Oth.e.l.lo fell silent, which only served as further incrimination. As if he'd scored a point in some game, Raider flashed a knowing grin.

"Let's just do our part for gay rights today, Joe, okay?" Raider said, then turned the corner onto a street that was full of more life than the previous, a street more commercial than industrial with small one-story storefronts and a steady stream of traffic flowing in both directions. When Oth.e.l.lo had caught up to him, Raider asked: "So why aren't you in there today, driving and stopping the bigots yourself?"

"My reflexes aren't what they used to be. But I had to at least see it."

Bulls.h.i.t, Raider said to himself laughingly. One thing had become instinctively clear: ol' man Joe was no innocent bystander in all this. He had to be more than that to be a one-man cheering section for these wannabe terrorists today. Maybe even Joe's rich old f.a.g hag was in on this with Oth.e.l.lo. Maybe Joe was reporting back to both.

"Something I don't understand, Joe," he said. "I know we wanna mess with this fund-raiser and all, but why not just phone in a bomb threat to the hotel?"

"Bomb threats aren't going to get you on American Diary or even in our own gay papers anymore." said Oth.e.l.lo. "We gotta be big. Even bigger than this."

"This Weeks guy anywaya"is he that bad? We don't hear much about him back in Nantucket."

"Arnold Weeks is a canker sore on California politics. Once he showed p.o.r.no tapes of guys into scat in the a.s.sembly to show how disgusting and perverted gays are. Another time, he tried to make it a felony for people with HIV to have s.e.x. With anyone. Safe or unsafe."

"What's wrong with that?"

Oth.e.l.lo stopped and froze, and after a few more steps, Raider noticed and also stopped, then turned to him.

"What's wrong with making a law saying HIV positive people can't have s.e.x?" Oth.e.l.lo asked in disbelief. "How about the right to privacy? How about the fact that an HIV person can have just as much s.e.x as anyone else, only he or she should practice safe s.e.x as we all should."

"Okay, okay, don't get so riled upa""

"I am not riled up! I'm just shocked at your...what kind of things go on back there on that fantasy island you're from?"

"All I know is, the thought of getting AIDS scares the c.r.a.p outta me. That's the single most thing I think about when I think abouta"not that I think about...." Raider checked himself, too many things going on in his head all at once. "I mean, aren't you terrified of getting AIDS?"

For a moment, the only sound between them was the pa.s.sing traffic. Oth.e.l.lo turned to the storefront next to him, a closed cleaners. His boyfriend was slipping away before he even got a chance to reveal himself. And Raider hadn't come to ACTNOW because he was positive and needed to fight for his life; that much was evident now.

"Who isn't terrified?" Oth.e.l.lo turned to Raider. "But if you only play safe, you won't get it. Period. Everything Arnold Weeks does comes from hate. And ignorance. Why can't you and I have safe s.e.xa"that is, a.s.suming we would both want to and say you or I were positive?

"I don't know." Raider shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets. A bus roared by, causing him to pause and turn toward the street. "Sometimes I wish all the people with AIDS were forced to get some kind of tattoo, a little one, say right where your crotch meets your waistline. That way, when you strip down for s.e.x, you see that and you know for sure who has it."

And Oth.e.l.lo would have one of those little scarlet tattoos and Raider would run away from him faster than he ever ran on the playing fields of Dartmouth.

Oth.e.l.lo remained silent. How could a fellow gay man be so insensitive? How could life be so cruel? To dangle a dreamy G.o.d in front of his face, inject said G.o.d with l.u.s.t for Oth.e.l.lo's true ident.i.ty, then rip him away with poison and fear. Wasn't anything ever plain and easy? "We better step it up," he mumbled, bent on avoiding further debate. They began walking again, this time a little faster, and Oth.e.l.lo tried to rea.s.sure himself that all this Nantucket boy needed was a good dose of safe s.e.x education, then s.e.x, unbridled, sweaty and pa.s.sionate. How could they not fall in love then?

The Hacienda Hotel was on Meridian Boulevard, a busy four-lane, divided thoroughfare that cut an east-west path through the heart of the Simi Valley business district. At eight stories, the hotel was the largest building for several blocks and sat back off the street, completely surrounded by parking lots. The front of the hotel was bustling now. Cadillacs, Chevy Blazers and Jeep Cherokees pulled up to the valet parking attendants. Excited middle-aged couples were getting out in formal wear. In the lot between the hotel and the street, still more couples were parking for themselves and heading toward the gala, ready to honor their symbol of traditional family values at $250 a head. Six hundred guests were expected. Several dozen were already gathered around the front of the hotel.

When Oth.e.l.lo and Raider reached the T intersection where Meridian met the driveway that led to hotel, Oth.e.l.lo halted abruptly. "This is as close as I can get," he said with trepidation as he stood directly across the street from the hotel. "I shouldn't even be this close."

He mumbled this last bit to himself, but Raider heard him anyway and eyed Joe for a moment as the old man sat down at the adjacent bus stop. "d.a.m.n, wish I was in there," Raider said, looking at the hotel, making sure Joe heard him.

"If we play our cards right, maybe we'll both have our day. Together."

Raider looked at him una.s.suredly, but before there was time for further reaction, a diesel-powered rumble permeated the air, causing them both to turn toward the road.

The eight trucks rolled past them, their occupants sporting black leather hoods. Sparkplug, the short bald man in his fifties, was in the lead truck, followed by Rasta, the black man, Afro, the black woman, Liz, Giorgio, Overalls, Beth, and Freedom. The vans were already in place on either side of the hotel, Travis and Miss Saigon in one, English and Business Suit in the other.

Oth.e.l.lo stood up. The trucks were coming from the west and needed to make a left turn to enter the hotel's driveway. The light was green with an arrow. Three cars in front of the trucks made the turn, followed by Sparkplug, Rasta and Afro. The light turned yellow. Speeding up a bit, Liz and Giorgio made it through. Too quickly, the light turned red. Two cars in the oncoming lane took off as soon as they got the green light; but because Overalls, Beth and Freedom had to keep up with the others, they all made the turn anyway. The cars had to slam on the brakes, almost smashing into the trucks driven by Beth and Freedom. The screeching caused the banquet-goers in the parking lots to take notice of the street, then the sight of eight white trucks caravanning toward the hotel.

"Ready or not," Oth.e.l.lo murmured, moving toward the edge of the sidewalk.

When they came within fifty feet of the hotel, the first four trucksa"piloted by Sparkplug, Rasta, Afro and Liza"broke off and headed for the four back and side entrances. The last four trucksa"driven by Giorgio, Overalls, Beth and Freedoma"turned to the right and headed straight for the front of the hotel.

"Time to kick some conservative b.u.t.t," said Raider.

Giorgio and Overalls were going about forty when they reached the valet parking area directly in front of the hotel, looking as if they were about to smash into the line of cars waiting to valet park. Several of the parking staff and guests dove out of the way. Then Giorgio steered onto the sidewalk and slammed on the brakes, leaving the grill of his truck inches away from the six gla.s.s doors that made up the main entrance. Overalls did the same, coming to a stop next to Giorgio and forming a V with their two trucks underneath the hotel's concrete canopy.

"Pay dirt!" declared Oth.e.l.lo.

With similar precision, the scenario was repeated around the building, at the single-door entrance on the far side of the hotel, at two entrances in the back, including a service entrance, and another side entrance to the hotel bar. Out front, Beth was coming to a stop in front of the hotel restaurant entrance to the left of the main entrance while Overalls and Giorgio jumped out of their trucks and took off runninga"Overalls to the left, Giorgio to the righta"as the crowd looked on with confusion.

"Faster," Oth.e.l.lo said, then turned his attention to Freedom's truck, which was seconds away from a single set of double doors twenty feet to the right of the main entrance.

Freedom Clark decided a week ago he wasn't just going to park his truck and run off like a wuss. As he headed toward the entrance, he sped up, then gave the wheel a hard jerk to the left before jamming on the brakes with both feet. The truck fishtailed 180 degrees as it hurdled toward the building. Freedom then threw his entire weight on the brake, rising out of his seat as he did, his hands still choking the wheel, his face locked in a grimace. The back of the truck collided with the set of double gla.s.s doors, finally coming to rest five feet inside the hotel amidst shattered gla.s.s and tangled metal.

"A perfect ten from the Romanian judge!" Freedom cried out.

He's practiced that, Oth.e.l.lo thought to himself, not sure if he was horrified or proud.

With a triumphant yelp, Freedom jumped out of the truck. "Take that, bigots!" he shouted at the crowd of shocked guests twenty feet away. "Down with fascism! Down with fascism!" he repeated over and over, getting louder and louder each time. The crowd began to congregate near the valet parking drop-off and most were beginning to understand that they were under siege.

"What is he doing?" Oth.e.l.lo tried to get a better look but was too far away. Traffic was brisk, but he had about fifteen feet before the next car pa.s.sed him. Hastily, he limped across the street, barely beating a convertible sports car speeding past. Immediately, Raider darted across and joined him. Not wanting to press his luck, Oth.e.l.lo stopped on the median strip, which was three feet wide, and watched from there as Freedom seemed to inch closer and closer toward the crowd, taunting them with his fists until Giorgio, who was running by on his way to the getaway van, grabbed Freedom by the neck of his black turtleneck and tried to drag him to the van thirty yards away.

"Get in the G.o.dd.a.m.n car, Freedom," Oth.e.l.lo said, then looked around to see how the others were doing. In the van to the left of the hotela"powered by Travis and Miss Saigona"Afro, Liz and Overalls were jumping in one after another. In the van on the right, English was holding the door open as Rasta and Sparkplug dove in while Business Suit sat anxiously behind the wheel, foot ready to pounce on the accelerator.

"Get your b.l.o.o.d.y a.s.ses in here!" English yelled to Freedom and Giorgio.

"The van'll take off without 'em," said Raider. "That was the deal."

"If everyone would just do as planned, this would be over with," Oth.e.l.lo said, the fear for his own safety growing by the minute.

"They're gonna leave us!" Giorgio told Freedom as he struggled with him. "Where's your head?"

"f.u.c.k you!" Freedom said to Giorgio, then repeated it to the crowd, then flipped them off and turned toward the van, his tirade apparently over.

"Go home, you pervert!" suddenly came from a tall thin man who stood above most of the crowd.

Astonished, Freedom swung back around, took one good look at the man, recognized him, then exploded, telling the crowd how someday he was going to blow every last one of their f.u.c.king heads off and trying to yank off his hood which was getting in the way of his anger. When Giorgio saw this, he made a valiant effort to restrain Freedom, pulling him toward the van by his belt and repeatedly knocking Freedom's arms away from his hood, which was halfway off now.

The man in the crowd seemed to relish Freedom's reaction and began hurling insults back, prompting some of the others in the crowd to do the same, some of them even throwing cans and bits of trash at Freedom and Giorgio.

"This isn't supposed to be happening," Oth.e.l.lo pleaded, not expecting this much trouble when he decided to be part of this day.

The van to the righta"the one that Freedom and Giorgio should have been in by nowa"started moving forward steadily, then made a sharp U-turn and headed toward the back exit as planned. The sound of burning rubber prompted Giorgio to give up on Freedom and make a run for the van. Then, when he realized he was about to be stranded, Freedom flipped one last bird toward the crowd and took off. Forty yards later, the van slowed down just enough for both men to jump inside, then sped off to catch up with the other van, which was already halfway down the street that bordered the back of the hotel.

Oth.e.l.lo breathed a sigh of relief and leaned against the light pole on the median strip, but his respite was short-lived.

"That girl," Raider said, pointing to the left side of the hotel.

On the ground, next to the truck lodged in the entrance to the hotel restaurant, was Beth, the older of the lesbian couple. She was sitting upright, holding onto her ankle and rocking back and forth. Three of the valet parking attendants were standing over her, and now that The Freedom Show was over, many of the banquet-goers joined them, forming a curious and uneasy circle around her.

"Raider, we've got to help her," said Oth.e.l.lo.

"You know the rules," Raider said. "Anyone who gets caught gets caught, and as long they don't implicate ACTNOW, we'll bail 'em out."

The crowd was getting larger and larger, some of them gesturing angrily toward Beth.

"After what Freedom did, they'll lynch her," said Oth.e.l.lo. "She doesn't deserve that. Plus, your showing up late split up her and her lover."

Just then, a tall man waded through the crowd and up to Beth. He stood head and shoulders above the others. Oth.e.l.lo realize he was the man who had taunted Freedom. To get a better view, he stepped on the base of the light post. The man was talking to Beth, then the group. Then he turned back to Beth and s.n.a.t.c.hed her leather hood off, holding it up to the crowd and spitting out what appeared to be heated words of condemnation. When he turned toward the direction of the street, Oth.e.l.lo realized who the man was.

"That's Arnold Weeks doing that!" he said, his voice ripe with terror.

Raider took a good look at Joe, saw that this was as good a chance as any to score points with ACTNOW and took off across the street, dashing through traffic and racing toward the angry mob, leaving Oth.e.l.lo alone on the island, helpless to do anything but stand and watch.

"This lady," a"Arnold Weeks turned a scornful eye to Betha""if you can call her that, is the ant.i.thesis of American family values! She and her immoral cronies are the kind of indecent filth I seek to protect our children from." The crowd, which now numbered at least fifty, murmured in agreement, their choruses swelling until Raider reached them and yelled: "Everybody step back!" He then proceeded to make his way through the human barricade. "Security," he said, flashing the inside of his wallet too quickly for anybody to notice what was truly inside. "There'll be no more violence on top of what's already happened. Back up. The law is on its way." When he reached Beth, he knelt down and asked: "Can you walk?"

"If it's out of here, I can," she promised. Raider helped her up, then acted as her crutch and began leading her through the crowd.

"Sick d.y.k.e," said a man's voice.

"Pervert!" said a female's tearful voice.

"Disperse I said!" Raider paused to glare at the crowd, which stared back una.s.suredly. Decisively, he began walking again with Beth in tow.

"Where are you taking her?" came from Arnold Weeks as the crowd began to part, letting Raider and Beth through.

"I'm holding her across the street until the police get here so none of you does anything you'll regret later on."