Three Weeks on the Road Ch. 15

A huge black and red dressed crowd agitated in front of the building, held back by sawhorses patrolled by police. Their number covered the park and stretched off far to the left, an angry, seething mob shouting profanity and jeers at the police, passersby, and anyone who would listen, pumping each other up with barely rhymed chants.

Over by the clocktower, a smaller mob gathered. No colors, no organization, no chants. They stood behind their sawhorses and waited. From somewhere in the crowd, a whistle broke out into Yankee Doodle.

We had to walk down the street between them, walk in front of the Brotherhood to get into the building.

Fuck me.

We hurried along with the other pedestrians. Most of them had their heads down. Jessie and I kept ours up, scanning left and right, looking for signs of danger. Good girl.

The abuse started when we turned the corner to the walkway in front of the building. Shouts of "assholes" "gentrifiers" "profiteers" "fuckface" and other, more political rhetoric. We were the only ones walking along the front of the building, so it had to be for us. Someone shouted, very distinctly "Whatcha gonna steal today, cunt?"

I looked towards the voice to see a skinny bearded guy with his arm back, and I calculated his point of aim, stepped into the trajectory. A D-cell battery bounced off my arm. Hard enough to bruise, but not hard enough to do any real damage to me when thrown twenty-five feet by a guy without any muscle.

He'd meant it for McKenna, though.

She flinched away from the CRACK as it fell to the pavement, lowered her head and walked faster. I made eye contact with him and gave him my fakest, creepiest smile, and the crowd closed around him just as a police officer stepped over to investigate the commotion.

Harper opened the front door for us and we stepped into the cool, shaded lobby. "C'mon in guys. You all alright? They give you any trouble?"

Jessie ran over and gave him a hug. "We're good, how're you?"

He shrugged. "Mezzo mezzo. If I had anything to complain about, would anyone listen?"

"I would, brother." I stepped up and shook his hand. "Good to see you again."

Pudgy, bald, and goateed, Harper was a college-educated Latino from one of Milwaukee's ghettos. His bachelor's degrees in business, math, and English got him out of that ghetto, but he still preferred to dress like a TV stereotype of a gangsta, expensive flashy shoes, low-belted ice denim jeans bearing designer labels, flannel shirts buttoned up to his chin, and a wide variety of bandanas. He said dressing to stereotypes made people underestimate him, and he liked that edge. Knowing him through his work with Jessie and McKenna, I wouldn't want to underestimate him. He'd negotiated product supply lines on four continents, brought a product to market in the span of three years that the big tech giants were still trying to crack, and had brought one of those giants to the table to discuss a buyout.

He was a business genius. Hell, when a rep from banks my HR department heard I was dating one of his employees, they'd offered me five grand to headhunt him.

"Keep those girls safe on the road?"

"You know it. Thanks for loaning me my girl for two weeks, it was nice to give her a vacation."

Jessie blushed. "Where's Danny?"

"He went looking for their rep, he'll be back soon... if he didn't get lost. This place is huge. "

"Beats an attic office, doesn't it?" McKenna hugged Harper, and he picked her up and spun her around. "You have a good vacation too? Didn't annoy Gary too much, I hope?"

It was her turn to turn pink, and she started to say something, but was cut off by the return of Danny.

I was convinced Danny was either a spy or the blandest suburban dad ever. Light brown skin, an unremarkable face, unremarkable build, an almost studied anonymity when it came to clothing selection, he could blend into any crowd and disappear. Like everyone on Harper's team though, he was brilliant - a coder almost at McKenna's level and a whiz with microelectronics.

"Gary. Jessie. McKenna." Even his voice was bland, and his mannerisms were distantly polite.

With him was a blonde woman in a business suit. She smiled broadly at the team, ignored me completely. "Hi. I'm Maria. If you'll come right this way, I'll take you to the boardroom and we can get started discussing tomorrow's meeting."

Jessie stepped over and gave me a quick kiss, and McKenna squeezed both of our hands, and then they were following the rep upstairs, and I stood alone in the lobby.

Huh.

Here I am.

Someone really liked the contrast of wood and white, because the walls were all blindingly bright white, with wooden panels mounted in patterns on stainless standoffs. The intake desk was decorated the same. I looked up. Even the ceiling? Really?

I didn't feel like venturing upstairs to get arrested for snooping on trade secrets or to accidentally embarrass Jessie and her friends, so I prowled around the lobby, flipping through newspapers and trying doors.

Fucking bored.

I went outside. There was a bench against the black glass and marble exterior and I sat down, stretched my arms out and watched. The Brotherhood kept chanting, shouting, cursing, throwing shit at passersby and police as soon as they thought they could get away with it, the crowd folding around them to protect them from identification. As time wore on, the crowd thinned, more and more of them moving back to the tent and tarp city they'd built on the lawn. Smells of cooking began to waft through the air.

I kept an eye on one guy though. Cleaner cut, cleaner dressed. Looked like he stepped out of an office somewhere. Red polo, black pants, no bandana or motorcycle jacket or hoodie. Had a megaphone though, and he was starting the chants. Occasionally someone would come up and converse with him, then walk away. He wasn't getting all whipped up into a frenzy, the only time he raised his voice was to direct the barely contained mob in some new "Hey hey..." bullshit against the companies gathered inside.

A leader.

I smiled grimly to myself, inhaled the trash-scented sir of a beautiful Denver evening. What a nice night.

When he slipped away, I circled the crowd, sent a quick text to Jessie letting her know I was going to go look for a place for us all to eat. I paced the back side of the park, eventually found a newspaper stand where I could monitor the crowd. No message yet from Jessie. Good.

Polo left the park a few minutes later, and I melted into the evening pedestrian traffic, following him as he moved through the downtown, past shops and restaurants and massive skyscrapers housing centers of business and industry. The evening was warm, and despite my mission, I felt happy and invigorated. Life was good.

I followed Polo into an expensive Irish restaurant on the edge of the downtown, put in a reservation, and stepped outside to text Jessie that I'd found us a place to eat.

The dark, bustling interior was full enough that I was sure polo wouldn't move for a while so I jogged back down the big black spider building where I'd left my lover. My phone rang in my pocket and I answered it while I ran. Jessie, wondering where I was. "Coming to ya."

Only Harper seemed happy as we wended our way through the downtown. "What's wrong?" I asked. "You guys seem depressed. Everything go ok?"

Jessie squeezed my hand as we walked, turned her head up to give me a dark but resigned look.

"Just overwhelmed I think," Harper replied. "Tomorrow the rubber meets the metal, the pedal hits the road."

"I think you mixed some metaphors there dude," McKenna told him.

"Ya think?"

"So why the assholes protesting?" I inquired. "I know it's an election year, but they seemed pretty pissed at you guys."

"It's the buyer. They haven't donated enough money to... Whatever. Haven't done enough to pacify them. And it's us too." Harper seemed only mildly bothered. Nothing was going to interrupt his happy day.

"You guys? How... Why? You're like the smallest, most diverse company ever?"

"Apparently a couple of the big tech blogs have been beating the drum that since our little computer is so revolutionary, could give so many people access, we shouldn't be trying to make a profit on it. It should be free or sold at cost to be fair." Danny spoke in a monotone that befitted his beige clothing.

"Fuck that noise." I squeezed Jessie's hand. "You guys have been working for nothing on this. Yall need to pay the investors and run away with a couple CONEX boxes full of Benjamins."

McKenna snickered. "We're hoping."

I was glad I'd put in a reservation before leaving the restaurant, the line was considerably longer now. I scanned the dim interior for Polo, found him, and when they seated us, I took a chair where I could watch him. "Dinners on me, guys," I told the table. "Just nothing top shelf, ok?"

We ordered and conversed and I watched the people around us and watched Polo. Someone had joined him at the table, a guy with long dark hair and a scruffy beard, dressed in an army jacket and cargos. Friend? Business associate? Lover? Boss? Underling?

I paid half attention to the conversation around me as I watched the two men eat across the room, barely tasting my own food and drink as I gobbled it down.

The check came and I paid cash and tipped, and when the group started making moves to go, I gave Jessie a hug. "You two go back to the hotel, I'm gonna stay here and get a drink."

Her dark eyes narrowed, confusion revving across her face, pale even in the dimness. "You don't want me to stay and have one with you?"

"Nope. I want you back in your hotel room, safely."

Worry replaced confusion. "Everything ok?"

"Yeah, just doing some business of my own. Please go, text me when you're there."

"Ok. You'll be back soon?"

I smiled down at her, kissed her forehead. "Yeah. Won't even know I'm gone."

I said goodbye, told the inquiring Harper that now that I didn't need to drive I was gonna go to the bar and get my drink on, and then mosied up to the dark wooden bar. Irish bar, Irish whiskey. Didn't usually drink that. I scanned the shelves for something that looked interesting. I didn't know these labels.

But I did know that one. Not in with the whiskies. A frosted glass bottle, spidery black writing on the side.

Chopin.

Hadn't had that in years.

The sight of the bottle brought back memories, feelings, all of them gone ugly with the passage of time. Emotions I barely let myself feel every day, refused to acknowledge barreled at me like a freight train, and I put a hand on the countertop to steady myself.

This bar didn't look anything like a hotel in Minnesota, but I felt like if I turned around, I'd see Tori and Sienna dressed in black sitting behind me.

Fucking Chopin.

Dammit.

The bartender noticed me hanging onto the bar. "Can I get you anything?"

"Jameson. On the rocks. Whatever their mid-shelf is."

I sat at the bar and watched Army Jacket and Polo drink and talk, and I ordered another Jameson after Army Jacket left. I threw it back, waited a few minutes to make sure he didn't return, called the bartender over. "Two doubles of whatever costs the most."

"You must be having a good evening if you're ordering kay fifty-one."

"We will see very soon."

I paid with cash, walked over and sat down at Polo's table. He looked at me surprised as I set the tumblers down. "Excuse me?"

"Big fan of your work," I said. That seemed like a hook that would get just about anyone. "Have a drink on me, that's a hundred bucks worth of alcohol right there."

He smiled big. "Thank you. You are?"

"Harry."

He extended a hand, and I shook it. Tried to contain my revulsion, my anger. "Can I get a picture?"

"Sure." He held up the glass and I snapped a picture with my phone, made sure to get the flash right in his eyes. I started running his photo through reverse image search as soon as I sat down.

A fucking COLUMNIST. Matt Goldstein.

This close he looked like an average guy. A little overweight, a chinstrap beard he probably thought was stylish enough to hide a weak jaw, intelligent eyes behind glasses.

"So which one do you like best? My interview with the council? That expose I did on the big money donations?"

I leaned forward and let my mask slide, let him see the emotion animating my actions. "I really like the one where you led a mob harassing my friends."

He sat back from the anger in my eyes. "What? Who...?"

"You're the guy with the bullhorn, giving orders in front of that tech meeting."

His walls went up. " There are no leaders. We're a grassroots, populist movement advocating for prosperi- "

I sighed. "Ok. So you're not in charge. Someone is though. You're a fucking army, you move on your stomachs. Someone's paying for those brand new tents, all the brand new signs, and all the food. Who's he?"

"That's...we buy that stuff."

"Uh huh. So you won't tell me. Which means you drew the short straw. I'm putting you in charge."

His voice sounded stressed, dry, and he took a slug of his whiskey. "I told you, no ones in charge."

"You're in charge of making sure my friends are safe every day. Two women, two men walking into that building every day, you're in charge of making sure they stay safe. You dickheads don't throw fucking batteries at them," I pointed at the healing cut on my head "You dickheads don't hit them with rebar - "

"But they - " he interrupted, obviously wanting to protest my demanding safety for people who hadn't done anything wrong.

"This is not a negotiation. You don't get to argue. Just listen. If anything happens to my friends, anything at all, or if you tell anyone about this, I'm gonna find you again. Just as easily as I did today. And then I'm going to mangle your hands such that you will not be able to write anything again for a long-ass time. Unless you like dictating your next article into your shiny new iPhone ex-whatever through Siri."

He took a gulp of whiskey with shaking hands. Wiped his lips with shaking hands. "I'm going to call the cops, tell them what you said."

I laughed harshly. "You do that. You fuckweasels spit on like five of them today while I sat outside and watched. You don't like cops and they don't like you. IF they give you the time of day, and they probably won't, what are you going to say? Oh officer, this guy bought me top shelf whiskey and told me to control a mob that doesn't have a boss, and then he threatened to stomp on my hands. And the officer will say, what did you do then? And you'll say you drank the rest of his whiskey. And the officer will tell you to get a fucking grip."

His jaw tightened. "Maybe I'll call someone else."

"Like a big guy in an army jacket? He your bodyguard? Call him. We'll party hard right here."

He sat forward, his voice becoming venomous now that he had something with which he could threaten me. "You do NOT want to piss that man off. He's already pissed and adding to that would be the mistake of your fucking life. Actually, ya know, you do want to piss him off. Just keep pushing, you'll find him in your space soon enough."

I finished my whiskey, felt cruelty and the excitement of a coming fight surge through me as my intentions melted in the face of the alcohol gnawing at the inside of my head. "I don't give a shit if he's the bastard child of Bruce Lee and Bob Lee Swagger. Three-fifty-seven SIG doesn't play favorites. I've had my arm blown off. Died three, count em three times. Killed roughly a dozen people in self-defense. And two weeks ago I left one of your boys bleeding in an alley. I'm not scared. Keep my girls safe or lose your hands. Your choice."

I walked out and took the long way back to the hotel, heading out of the downtown, and back in several times.

Jessie was nowhere to be seen when I walked in, and McKenna was sitting on the bed watching TV in her PJs. "Where's my girl?" I asked.

"In the bathroom. Everything ok?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna hit the hotel gym. Let her know I got back, OK?"

The petite little programmer ogled me as I changed into gym shorts and a stretch shirt. "Sure you wouldn't rather exercise up here?" She gave me an open-mouthed look of lust, rubbed her hand over the crotch of her satin shorts.

I grinned. "Maybe later."

I worked out HARD. The alcohol was buzzing in my system, and I didn't really feel the pain as I put my body through a punishing workout. No squat rack, unfortunately, but they did have a bench, free weights, and a pulldown machine, so I was able to burn off a decent amount of sweat. I finished off with a boxing routine on an ancient heavy bag seemingly forgotten in the corner of the weight room, dancing around it, advancing and retreating explosively, throwing room-shaking punches that released clouds of dust.

I still had it. Sore and buzzed and two weeks out from a proper gym or instructor I could still throw down.

The bathroom door was still shut, and McKenna was still watching TV. I leaned against the wall and admired the tiny woman. She was hot, and I really enjoyed fucking her.

Funny how my life works.

"Jessie come out yet?"

"Nope."

"Was she ok when you guys got back?"

McKenna gave a cute little shrug. "Seemed a little agitated, but not like there was anything WRONG."

"Alright. I'm gonna go see what's up with her, and then shower."

"Let me know if you want company..."

"You're an insatiable little nympho, you know that?"

She just grinned.

The bathroom stunk of cigarette smoke. Jessie was sitting against the dark tile of the shower, fully dressed in the dry stall, a pile of burned out cigarettes between her feet next to a thankfully barely-touched bottle of Wild Turkey. She saluted me with a smoke-wafting stick held between two pale fingers. "Gary." Her voice was low, barely audible over the bathroom fan struggling to keep up with her smoking.

I sat on the toilet and pulled off my shoes and socks and shirt, then opened the shower door and sat down next to her. "Two nights in a row now. What's up."

She gave me a weak, shaky smile. "Nothing."

I gave her a look of "Oh you" until she spoke again.

"I'm nervous. About tomorrow."

I put my arm around her. "I would be. But you've got no reason. You know your material back and forth, in and out. This is your life's work. You're gonna ace this."

That earned me a sad, disbelieving look. "And that's why. This IS my life's work, that's why I'm scared. What if I don't do a good job? What if the best job I do isn't good enough? What if I tank this for everyone else? Do you know how much money this is? These guys spent a billion dollars to buy an APP cuz they liked the fucking COLOR SCHEME. And I've gotta sell this thing. Or we walk away with nothing. That's all I can think about, ever since we left Milwaukee."

"Why didn't you tell me before? You don't need to carry this by yourself."

Jessie took another hit off the cigarette. "What are you gonna do? I'm the one that has to be in that boardroom tomorrow. It's so... Shiny."

"I can be there for you. Comfort you. You can talk to me, you know that."

"Can I?"

"Jessie, I love you."

"Really? You kicked me out of that restaurant pretty fucking fast tonight. You didn't want me to be there with you. Why?"

"That was to protect you. I did... Something... And you can't know what it is."

"Kill somebody?"

I chuckled. "Nah."

Jessie stubbed out her cigarette on the tile floor, ran her hands through her hair with an exasperated groan. "FUCK!"

"What is it?"

She shrank against my shoulder, pulled her knees up to her chest and made herself a tiny ball. "Stress. I've been trying to keep it at bay with sex since we hit the road, stay fucked out and turned on so I don't notice it. Plus I'm like ten, twelve days from my period so I know my hormones are going out of fucking whack. But I'm going insane here. If these tiles weren't smooth I'd be climbing the walls."