Uprising - The Suspense Thriller Part 8

"I want her right here for the media to see," said Weeks.

"So a riot can start?" Raider kept walking. "Is that what you want, innocent peoplea"your peoplea"getting hurt, going to jail?" To that, the politician had no response save clenching the hood in his fist and gritting his teeth. Then, just when Raider and Beth were about to clear the crowd, a young black man came running up to them, clad in what looked like a black hotel security blazer.

"You don't work for us," he informed Raider. "Let me see some ID."

"I can run if I have to," Beth whispered too loudly under her breath.

"He's no security," Arnold Weeks decided. "He's one of them queers!"

Raider swung around to Weeks, instinctively ready to kick his a.s.s, but then he noticed the suddenly suspicious faces of the white suburbanites in front of him.

"You're a f.a.ggot, aren't you, boy?" Weeks asked, realizing he was getting to Raider. Still clutching onto Beth, Raider scanned the crowd, sensing the changing tide. Then, before he could think of what to do next, a red-headed, freckled-faced teenage boy spoke out from the vicinity of Beth's truck: "A bomb." With a surreal calmness, he pointed to the sign on the back. "There's a bomb on this here truck."

All h.e.l.l broke loose in every direction. The air was filled with shrieking and screaming. The crowd took off, away from the trucks, the direction for most being toward the street, which provided the farthest distance from the impending explosions. Raider grabbed Beth's hand and made a break for it, losing himself in the panic-stricken crowd but still hearing cries of "get 'em!" and "don't let them get away!"

Oth.e.l.lo, who was stranded on the median strip, was unable to hear what had transpired. He had no idea why Raider, a hobbling Beth, the valet parking attendants and seemingly the entire throng of right-wingers were stampeding straight toward him. His first split-second reaction was that it had something to do with them all finding out his true ident.i.ty. Then he realized that was beyond illogical. But they were still coming. He turned to run back across the street, momentarily forgetting that he was in the middle of it. He stepped off the median strip to find a pick-up truck speeding toward him. With a nanosecond to spare, the truck swerved to avoid him but sideswiped a compact car in the next lane, sending both vehicles careening toward the sidewalk. The compact met a telephone pole, the truck a row of newspaper boxes just ahead of that. Stunned, Oth.e.l.lo jumped back onto the median strip.

Surrounded by the mob, Raider and Beth raced for the street, unsure of who was after them and who was merely trying to escape being blown to bits. Once out of the hotel driveway, the crowd ignored the light and spilled out onto the intersection, adding to the confusion caused by the accident. Oncoming cars began breaking left and right to avoid hitting ma.s.ses of bodies, causing fender benders and more chaos.

As the crowd began to reach the middle of the intersection, Oth.e.l.lo was at a loss for what to do. Then he saw Raider and Beth coming and decided to hold out for them. "Get me out of here," he pleaded when they reached him. Raider grabbed him by his jacket and herded him and Beth toward the other side of the street. To get across as quickly as possible, they split up to weave through the maze of traffic, which was at a standstill now with dozens of drivers out of their cars, looking around or attending to the crash victims. When they reached the sidewalk, Raider yelled for them to break right. Oth.e.l.lo followed but lost sight of Beth.

"Raider!" Oth.e.l.lo shouted as they ran. "Where's Beth?"

Raider stopped and quickly scanned the sidewalk, noticing that the people running their way were more concerned with their own safety rather than Raider or Joe. In the distance, near the newspaper stands, he spotted Beth, taking off on a motorcycle that was parked next to a smashed-up truck. As Raider saw her, so did the poor sap who owned the bike, a long-haired hippie in a fringed jacket. Must have been helping out with the accident and abandoned his Yamaha. Now, he was chasing it down the street and losing the race.

"She's covered." Raider pointed her out to Joe, making a quick mental note to admire her guts and laugh about the poor sap later. "C'mon," he then said, wanting to save the old man from getting caught in all this.

Before they could take another step, the sound of sirens pierced the air, momentarily paralyzing them until Oth.e.l.lo saw Arnold Weeks crossing the street thirty feet away, looking like a man on a mission.

"What are we waiting for?" Oth.e.l.lo took off, sprinting down the block as fast as he could. "Weeks is back there," he said when Raider caught up with him a few seconds later. Raider glanced back to see the a.s.semblyman running their way along with the black security guard who had tried to bust him. They were about a block away, but with all the banquet-goers and onlookers on the sidewalk, Raider wasn't sure if he and Joe had been spotted. They ran anyway, past restaurants and office buildings, faster than most of the people around them. They came to a corner, ducked around it and stopped. After a couple of deep breaths, Raider peeked out. Weeks and the guard had slowed down but hadn't given up.

"Still on our trail," Raider said, and he and Oth.e.l.lo took off down the block. It was a short one. At the next intersection, they broke left and were now running down another long boulevard parallel to the scene of the crime. Darkened mom-and-pop businesses lined this avenue, which was like a ghost town compared to the chaos one street over. Raider saw that as bad. Weeks and the guard would spot them immediately. The block was long, too, no easy outlets in sight.

"Our best way out is up," he decided, stopping and pointing to the roof above a check cashing store which was closed. "I'll climb up, then pull you up."

Oth.e.l.lo nodded, as if he had a choice. Raider, star athlete that he used to be, scaled the building in no time: right foot on the window ledge of the check cashing store, left foot up higher between a crack in the brick wall. Then, because the check cashing store had a large sign over it that stood in his way, he pulled himself up over the awning hanging over the pet store next door, then onto the roof. "Hurry," he then ordered Oth.e.l.lo.

Oth.e.l.lo glanced each way down the sidewalk, took a deep breath for courage, then began the same steps Raider had taken: right foot on the window ledge, left foot up higher between a crack in the brick wall. Then he heaved himself up on the awning, amazed at how easy it was. But just as he stood up, ready to step from the awning to the roof, the tattered fabric gave way, ripping and sending Oth.e.l.lo straight down as if he had fallen through a trap door. Raider, who had his back turned, plotting their next move, swung around when he heard Oth.e.l.lo's yelp, simultaneously extending his hand and diving for Oth.e.l.lo's wrist. He caught it as he landed stomach down on the roof, which left Oth.e.l.lo hanging in midair, the ground a few feet below him.

"Hold ona"Joea"!" Raider grunted.

Oth.e.l.lo's body twisted side-to-side in midair. When he twisted to the right, he saw Weeks and the guard at the intersection half a block away. They were flagging down a police car with their backs to Oth.e.l.lo. "Overa"therea"!" he cried through a strained voice.

"Don'ta"leta"goa"!" Raider used every ounce of muscle in his right bicep to lift Oth.e.l.lo inch by grueling inch until Oth.e.l.lo was able to get a foot on top of the awning's railing. Oth.e.l.lo then hurled himself over the edge of the roof, unintentionally collapsing on top of Raider in a sooty cloud of dust. They lay there, catching their breath in the missionary position, Oth.e.l.lo noting how hard and ma.s.sive Raider's body felt underneath his own and Raider realizing he'd never felt more awkward in his entire life.

The moment only lasted a few beats. Hastily, Oth.e.l.lo rolled off Raider, and lying on his stomach, sneaked a peek at the street below. Weeks, the guard and the police car were coming down the street, their motions telling Oth.e.l.lo they were trying to figure out which way to go.

"Joe, over here," Raider whispered urgently from the opposite edge of the roof. A fire ladder provided an easy escape down the back of the building. Once on the ground, they ran three blocks down the alleyway, then carved their way though a series of residential streets before ending up on a deserted dead-end road behind a physical plant. Out of danger, they came to a stop, keeling over and gasping for air.

"I can't tell you how much you saved my life," Oth.e.l.lo said, leaning against a tall cement wall and grabbing his chest.

Still out of breath, Raider held himself up by clutching onto a chain-link fence ten yards across from the old man. Then, opportunity knocked. "Oh, I think there's a lot you can tell me, Mr. Joe The Gardener."

"What do you mean?" Oth.e.l.lo asked.

"I mean I want to know who the h.e.l.l you are."

Oth.e.l.lo felt his eyes widen, praying they wouldn't betray him.

"You claim to be this old man, but you sure as h.e.l.l run like a young buck."

Oth.e.l.lo tried to collect himself. "When you're scared you'll run like the world's fastest athlete."

"Not when you're pushing whatever age you claim to be pushing."

"I'm not claiming anything. I was scared. I ran."

"I'm not buying it, Joe!"

"We don't even know if Beth is okay, let alone everybody else, and you're questioning my running?"

Raider moved toward the old man, backing him up. "I put my life on the line out there today and for what? For who? Who are you? Why are you in this? You could be some kind of cop or traitor or FBI type, trying to send me and the rest of ACTNOW up the river. Why should I trust you? Why should anybody in ACTNOW? Who the h.e.l.l are you, Joe?"

Oth.e.l.lo felt his heels. .h.i.t the cement wall. "Let's go somewhere and discussa""

"I'm not taking another step, here or anywhere else, until you quit lying to me. Now, I really like you, Joe, but it's beginning to p.i.s.s me off that I don't even know who I'm dealing with."

"I'll tell you who you're dealing with if we could just go somewherea""

"Nowhere, Joe, until you cough up some answers."

Oth.e.l.lo took a long, nervous breath.

"Okay. Okay. I've been wanting to do this since the night I met you." Slowly, he removed the wire-rimmed gla.s.ses. Then the fisherman's hat. Then the nappy-haired wig, letting them all fall to the ground. "And what you did over there shows me how much guts you have." Gently, he peeled away the bushy eyebrows. "And now I'm gonna have some guts." With both hands, he rolled down the gray-tinted beard until it was all the way off. And he stood there, feeling naked and vulnerable, eyes searching Raider's for some kind of sign.

Raider had suspected Joe of some kind of deceit; but thisa"this was the furthest thing from Raider's mind, the last thing he expected. And now, he wasn't sure which was more unbelievable, the realization that he was standing a breath away from one of the most famous human beings in the entire world, or the fact that he had hit pay dirt in his infiltration of ACTNOW. Either way, both sensations left him shocked beyond belief, as shocked as he was when he found out Oth.e.l.lo was gay in the first place.

SIX.

THE RUSTED, TAN Impala came to a stop in front of the private entrance to the Big House. Night had fallen on the Hollywood Hills, the full moon casting a somber glow on the chaparral-filled slopes, the city lights below shimmering like millions of tiny electric stars. Waiting for the gate to open, Oth.e.l.lo eyed the rear view mirror and tried to get a good look at Raider, whose face was lost in the reflections draping the windshield of his idling black Jeep. Oth.e.l.lo still wasn't sure how to define Raider's reaction to seeing the real man behind the old man in Simi Valley well over an hour ago.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Oth.e.l.lo had asked, still backed up against the wall, their faces inches apart.

"If I knew what to say I wouldn't be standing here like a zombie," Raider had said.

"This is a good thing for you?"

"Why should it be bad?"

"You can't tell a soul."

"Count on it."

"Not even ACTNOW knows about this. They think I'm just Joe."

"Oh, you're far from being just...a Joe."

They had both been consumed by nerves, speaking too fast, as if neither one could afford to pause and think. On a nearby street, a siren screamed by, followed by even more in the distance. "Had enough of Simi Valley for one day?" Oth.e.l.lo had asked. It was then that they agreed to retreat to his fortress in the hills.

The drive back gave Oth.e.l.lo a chance to listen to the news radio accounts of the fiasco. No one was seriously injured, no one arrested. No group had claimed responsibility for the siege, but authorities suspected any number of gay rights extremists. The cops had already linked the trucks to a rental company, but false IDs were used by the two white males renting the vehicles. Disguises may have also been worn by the two males. Police, however, were looking for a white woman who was unmasked at the scene and a blond man who some say helped her escape. There were also conflicting reports that an elderly black man was seen with them, but so far, police couldn't confirm this. Meanwhile, a.s.semblyman Arnold Weeks called the act cowardly and said the fund-raiser was postponed, not canceled.

When the gate finished opening, the Impala rolled up the driveway. Oth.e.l.lo turned the radio off and tried to sort out the day's events. The good news was there were at least a dozen ACTNOW soldiers who might be willing to wage his kind of war. The overshadowing bad news was the way this particular battle played itself out, with Freedom's crazed and dangerous actions, Beth's stumble and Oth.e.l.lo's brush with being exposed. On top of that, he wasn't even sure the whole truck idea had been a good one. Was that the best they could do? he thought, tapping on the wheel. What's it gonna take to kick some real a.s.s?

He pulled to a stop in front of the house, his attention shifting from Simi Valley to the unsettling fact that he was about to let another human beinga"even if it was Raider Kincaidea"into the dark, private world of his cavernous closet. Still in the old man's clothes, makeup and beer belly but without the gla.s.ses, fake hair and hands, he crawled out of the car, truly feeling the soreness of an old man, and motioned for Raider to park beside him. A few seconds later, they stood a few yards apart in the stillness of the night, as if they were two strangers coming face-to-face for the very first time. Raider still had that wide-eyed look on his face, encompa.s.sing shock, fear and awe.

"Inside," Oth.e.l.lo said, indicating the house and leading the way without waiting for Raider to follow.

The first image Oth.e.l.lo encountered upon entering the foyer was a disheveled Sweeney, looking like a frightened parent waiting for his child to get home after a rock concert at which there had been a riot. Instantly, Oth.e.l.lo felt guilty for not calling to rea.s.sure his manager he was unharmed, but, well, nothing was going right today. They both started to speak, till the fear in Sweeney's eyes turned to confusion when Raider entered the picture by stepping through the door.

"We're fine," Oth.e.l.lo offered, surprised by the "we."

But Sweeney had all kinds of panic bottled up and had to diffuse some of it. "Oth.e.l.lo, my G.o.d, the newsa""

"It's okay, Sweeney, I'm all right, physically anyway."

"Did anybody...." Sweeney stopped, eyes dancing between Oth.e.l.lo and this stranger.

"n.o.body saw me," said Oth.e.l.lo. "As me anyway. Except...Raider, this is my longtime right-hand man, Sweeney. Sweeney, this is the one and only man from Nantucket."

When the two had exchanged enough awkward mumbles, Oth.e.l.lo excused himself from Raider and led Sweeney into the hallway, waiting until they were out of earshot before starting in: "We've got a lot of work to do. I need to get in touch with Travis Little Horse. Get me a number. And I caused an accident today. See if there's a way we can find out who the parties are and send them some anonymous cash, somehow, some way." Oth.e.l.lo started down the hall, then, having forgotten the most important task, swung back around. "Oh, and Sweeney, get me a meeting with Hollinquest and Deon Anthony p.r.o.nto. In fact, faster than p.r.o.nto. In fact, I don't want to bother waiting for them to get out to LA. I'll go East. As soon as the plane can get out of here." He turned away, but Sweeney grabbed him by the arm.

"Now, O, you listen to me," he commanded in a tone usually reserved for carrying out his boss's orders to other people. "I'm worried about you. All this guerrilla activist business? Do you realize what you risked out there today?"

The mere suggestion sent a chill down Oth.e.l.lo's spine.

"And what about your career?" Sweeney added.

"I can't think about those things right now."

"You can't think about the next single? And video? And tour dates? What about your real life, O?"

Oth.e.l.lo paused, wishing he could tell Sweeney about the virus and make his manager understand his new priorities. Maybe Sweeney could even find him a doctor, something Oth.e.l.lo knew was necessary even though he was feeling fine. But now wasn't the time for confessions. The time might never come.

"This is my real life now," he said, then started back down the hallway.

"And what about this guy?" Sweeney whispered harshly, prompting Oth.e.l.lo to turn around.

"Sweeney," he began, barely suppressing an impish grin. "You are a lot of things to me and I'd hate to try to make it through a week without you; but one thing you are not is my mother." 'Nuff said, meeting adjourned, Oth.e.l.lo pushed on.

In the foyer, Raider was staring at the skylight, seemingly for lack of anything better to do. "Is that your...boyfriend?" he asked upon seeing Oth.e.l.lo.

"There is no boyfriend, Raider." Oth.e.l.lo let out a mild laugh. "Sweeney is my go-to man, my manager who manages my life."

"What did you mean, 'the one and only man from Nantucket?'"

"I had Sweeney check you out. I hope you don't mind."

"What did you find out? That I'm the big bad wolf?"

"Just that you are who you say you are, a Dartmouth man from Ma.s.sachusetts with an ex-wife and a kid. Only they live in DC now, right? Tell me you're not upset."

"I'm not upset," Raider said guardedly. "I've got nothing to hide."

"I have to take precautions." Looking up at the skylight, Oth.e.l.lo let out an exhausted sigh. "People like Arnold Weeks and Jimmy Herman would kill to find out what I'm doing."

"Jimmy Herman? The senator?"

Oth.e.l.lo lowered his head and muted the thought. "I'm tired and sweaty and I need to clean my face and get out of these geriatric clothes. How about a shower? Separate, of course."

"No thanks." Raider shifted uneasily.

"You're welcome to it. I might even have a change ofa""

"Really, that's okay, really."

After an awkward pause, Oth.e.l.lo asked: "Mind if I change?"

"It's your house."

"You'll wait?"

"I've got nowhere to go."

With that settled, Oth.e.l.lo led him to the den off the hallway, encouraged Raider to help himself to the bar and took leave of his man from Nantucket, hoping that when he returned, they would no longer sound like a couple of b.u.mbling junior high kids on their first date.

Once he was alone, Raider surveyed the humongous room filled with dark wood and leather and estimated "the den," as Oth.e.l.lo had called it, to be larger than his entire condo back in DC. In the center of the room alone were four brown sofas, all framing a large coffee table the size of Delaware. The walls were lined with enough bookshelves to start a small library, except for the wall to the right, which resembled an electronics store. Opposite the doorway were floor-length gla.s.s panels, giving the whole room a backdrop of the moonlit night. Back in Nantucket, Raider's family owned and lived in the back of a seaside motel. The only way he went to Dartmouth was by working security around Hanover for four years every night after practice. Until now, the closest he'd ever come to a house this luxurious was when his ex-wife used to watch Dynasty.

He circled the room and fantasized calling his boy Brian, waking him up in what would be the middle of the night back home: "Guess what, Sleepyhead? I'm smack-dab in the middle of Oth.e.l.lo's mansion. That's right, son, the Oth.e.l.lo." The h.o.m.o, he suddenly thought, then dropped the idea, instead imagining phoning his boss Dock Eastwood: "Sir, not only have I made contact with Oth.e.l.lo, I'm standing in his den at this very moment."

Laughing to himself, Raider continued around the room, knowing better than to snoop lest he be caught by some surveillance camera or servant. It was enough for now to be this far behind enemy lines, face-to-face with the reason Dock a.s.signed him to the job. He walked over to the wall unit containing every home entertainment gadget ever conceived of in j.a.pan and noticed a videotape lodged halfway in the VCR. No harm in checking it out, he decided after looking around to make sure he was still alone. He pushed the tape all the way in, pressed play and turned on the adjacent television set.