by Frank Rich
She went to the couch and sat down. "You poor people think you're so very bad, don't you? You're like vicious animals — when you see something you want, you just take it" She picked up the manila folder and opened it.
I took the folder, threw it on the table and grabbed her hand, jerking her to her feet embracing her. Before she could say a word, I kissed her roughly on the mouth. She struggled, and her lips moved with words of protest under mine, but I squeezed harder. After a minute I let her go.
She backed away, red faced and panting, her lipstick smeared. "You… you animal. What do you think you're doing!"
"I was taking what I wanted."
"What?"
"You know. Like a vicious animal."
"That's not what I came here for!" she snapped.
"Yeah? Then why did you come here? To help me pack?"
"You beast! I came here to brief you on your mission."
"That's bullshit and you know it"
"And just why do you think I came over here? So you can manhandle me?"
She picked up a beer can and threw it at me. "You presumptuous bastard. I came for the sake of the revolution, not to sleep with the hero."
The can bounced off my chest. "Is that right?"
"Yes!"
"All right, then." I picked up her coat and threw it at her. I went to the door and opened it. "Get out."
"What?"
"Get out Go back to your warm safe circle. You don't belong here."
"Don't you want to be briefed?"
"Leave the packet, and I'll read it myself. Even us ghetto boys know how to read."
She stood in the middle of the room, consumed by competing fires. I could see in her eyes she wanted to storm out, but something held her back. "Please," she finally said. "Close the door."
I closed it. "So, you did come here for something else."
She nodded shamefully. "Why do you have to be so barbaric about it?"
"Because you wanted me to," I said, taking her hand and leading her to the bedroom. We undressed quickly. When the last garment fell we lingered for the briefest moment naked and separate, breath caught and bodies tense, feasting with our eyes. Her hips and breasts were full, padded with just enough baby fat to round them out to ripe, sensual perfection.
We lunged at the same instant, our bodies joining as we thrashed onto the mattress. There could be no foreplay; there were no coals to be stirred, just a raging bonfire that had to be fed immediately. I stabbed into her and she bucked beneath me, growling like a fiend, chewing on my shoulder and raking my back furiously with her nails. I grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the pillow.
As she struggled, I tightened my grip.
"Let go!" she moaned.
"Are you going to stop scratching and biting?"
Her eyes opened. "I thought you wanted me to act that way."
"That's just it. You're acting. Sex isn't theater." I stared into her eyes and squeezed her moonlit face. "You got me?"
She nodded and we began, again, slower, rolling and shifting like a great, sweating, athletic beast loping up long rolling hills to the distant peak of shuddering climax.
Later we lay in the dark, listening to each other breathe.
"I knew you'd come around, Jake, I knew you were the one. Rob doesn't believe in you but he doesn't see you with the same eyes I do."
"What makes you put so much faith in me?"
"Because you're a man of destiny. I knew it the moment I met you." She looked at the ceiling. "I see greatness in you. You wear the halo of fate."
"Halo? I thought it was a noose."
She laughed. "You're such a reluctant hero."
"A reluctant corpse."
She laughed and a silence crept in.
"Jake?"
"Yeah?"
"Have you ever been in love?"
I thought about it. "A few times," I said.
"With who?"
"I don't know. Some girls."
"What happened?"
"They got killed."
"How?"
"By hanging around me."
She rested her head on my chest. "I don't understand love. Romantic love, I mean."
"Only the working class understand romantic love."
She lifted her head and regarded me. "And why is that?" I put my hands behind my head and pondered the water stains on the ceiling. "True love can only be nurtured in the cradle of misery."
"Believe it or not, we suffer, too."
"Only as much as you want to pretend."
She sighed. "When did you turn so cold?"
"I can't remember."
"Doesn't it bother you, being so insensitive?"
"No. Part of being insensitive means I don't have to be bothered."
"Make love to me again."
"Are you in love with me?"
"No. I don't think so."
"Okay," I said, rolling her on top of me, "as long as you know that."
When I woke up in the morning she was gone.
7
The airfield was wide and dusty. I followed an access road toward the sagging hangars, the Olds shuddering against gusty winds that whipped dust clouds among the ruined hangars. Two vans and a sports car sat outside the central hangar. I parked next to them and got out.
Two men with machine pistols stood next to the huge sliding doors of the hangar. Both wore military-style jumpsuits bristling with gear. One wore goggles against the swirling dust, the other a mirror eye patch and squint.
"Can I help you?" the goggled man asked as I approached.
"I'm the hero," I said.
"Who?"
"Jake Strait."
He removed a picture from his pocket and held it up. It was a picture of me, not a bad one. "Yes, it is you," he said, smiling. "You may come inside."
"Really? Thanks, pal."
Inside, four men stood in the shadow of a huge gray insectlike cargo lift, a common piece of Party machinery. It even had SPF markings on its side. I walked over to the group. Two wore flight suits. The other two I knew — Rob and the lumberjack.
"Where's your machine?" Rob asked.
"It's coming. Where's Marlene?"
"Busy with other details. Are you ready?"
"Oh yeah, I'm ready."
"Good. This is your pilot." I shook hands with a slim Oriental. "And your copilot." A chubby black took my hand. "I can't tell you their names. For security reasons, of course."
"Of course."
"They'll lift your machine to a clandestine LZ in north-east Colorado."
I nodded and looked up at the towering cargo lift. "How'd you get your hands on this?"
Rob enjoyed a luxurious smile. "We 'borrowed' it from the SPF cargo pool. Rather ironic, isn't it? Defeated by their own means."
"What about you, boys?" I asked, addressing the pilots. "Were you borrowed, too?"
They gave each other shifty looks, and Rob answered for them. "We have a great many infiltrators within the Party infrastructure. Would you believe we even have a man on the City Party's board of directors?"
"No, I wouldn't."
"Well, you should. The popular movement is spreading, we're everywhere." He smiled smugly. "And we're taking over."
"Glad to hear it." I glanced at my chrono. George was three minutes late.
I noticed more jumpsuited boys with machine pistols lurking in the recesses of the hangar. Rob seemed a stickler for security. My gaze eventually fell on the lumberjack.
"How's the jaw, sport?" I asked.
The lumberjack huffed and leaned against Rob's restraining arm. "Anybody can throw a sucker punch," he growled.
"But it takes a sucker to catch one," I said. "Have you seen my new shoes?"
He almost looked. "Screw you," he growled.
I smiled and looked to Rob. "Where's my baby-sitter?"
"Baby-sitter?" Rob asked.
"Your spy. The one you're sending along."
Rob folded his arms and set his jaw. "Bruce is going along." He
pointed his narrow chin at Bruce.
"The lumberjack?" I exclaimed. "The goddamn lumberjack is my baby-sitter?"
Rob nodded stiffly and drew his arms tighter around his chest. "That's the way it's going to be. Take it or leave it."
I glared at them both. I was trapped in a corner and they both knew it.
Tight little grins grew on their faces. "Well?" Rob challenged. "What's it going to be? Huh, sport?"
"Well," I said, trying on a smile. "I guess if that's the way it's gonna be, that's the way it's gonna be."
"We're going to get along just fine, then," Bruce commented sarcastically, looking to Rob for approval.
"We'll see about that," I said.
An engine roared then died outside, and I breathed a sigh of relief. But it was Marlene, not George, who walked in. She looked at her chrono. "Are we loaded up?"
"His driver and machine haven't showed up yet," Rob sighed sadly.
Marlene looked at me. If any of the tenderness of the previous evening survived, she kept it under wraps. "Well, Jake?"
"He'll be here." Even I could hear the uncertainty in my voice.
"It better be soon or the entire flight timetable will be thrown off," Rob whined.
"I said he'll be here." A vision of George sprawled on the floor of a squeeze hooch flashed through my mind. "Just give him some time."
I stepped outside. Far across the plain the dusty ballerinas did their mad, futile dance. I couldn't remember a time when I'd felt more desolate and empty.
"It looks so lonely, doesn't it?" Marlene said, moving up beside me.
"Full of ghosts," I said.
"Is something wrong?"
I glanced back at the goggled door guard. He smiled. "Let's walk," I said.
We started across the lot.
"How long has your brother been recruiting from the SPF?"
"Rob has been working on this for years. He has agents everywhere."
"So it would appear."
"Well," Marlene said carefully, glancing at her chrono, "it looks as if your driver isn't going to make it. We have an alternative vehicle and driver ready."
"Really. Where?"
She pointed at the high-powered sports car parked next to the Olds, all sleek power and antennae.
"Who's the driver?"
She gestured at the goggled man at the hangar door. I laughed.
"What's wrong?"
"Smiley's not a driver. He's a killer."
"Rob says he's very reliable."
"I bet he is."
Rob and Bruce marched out of the hangar. I turned my back to them, but they joined us anyway.
Rob cleared his throat. "Well, it looks as if your driver isn't going to show. Luckily we didn't count on you coming through." Rob looked back and signaled Smiley. He smiled and started toward the sports car.
The wind cut through my jacket and skin to the emptiness within. I seemed to be slipping deeper and deeper into a pit of bile, and far, far away I could hear somebody big laughing. I looked at my chrono. George was half an hour late. Why the hell had I put trust in a junkie?
I put my hands in my pockets and my head to the horizon. A great dust devil rose on the far end of the access road, racing with the wind for the hangar.
"Let's go, Jake," Marlene said, tugging on my sleeve.
"Hold on."
Marlene followed my gaze, and the dust devil grew closer, following the straight road.
"What is it?" Rob asked sharply.
A speck of red led the column of dust. Dwarfed by its pursuer, it moved down the road at an incredible pace.
"What is that?" Rob demanded, suspicion in his voice. "Is this some kind of trick?"
"It's my driver," I said, sounding astonished. "I told you he'd make it."
As the shape moved closer, it became clearer — a great mad machine hurtling down the narrow road at an insane velocity, jumping and rocking on the bumps, looking as if it would plunge off the road at any moment.
"He must be insane," Marlene said.
"Yes," I said. "He must." The Caddy took the last turn with a huge shuddering slide, skidding to a halt in front of us like a runner sliding into home plate. The door popped open and George bounded out in front of me. "Sorry I'm late," he panted, his black coveralls drenched with sweat.
"What happened?"
"Ran into some trouble."
"What kind of trouble?" I asked, my eyes automatically dropping to his neck. There were no fresh welts.
He shrugged. "Nothing I couldn't handle."
I nodded and introduced George to the gang.
"He's our driver?" Bruce asked incredulously. "Look at his neck! He's a junkie!"
"I'm recovered," George pointed out.
"And what is that?" Rob demanded, pointing a shaking finger.
"That's a 1959 Cadillac Sedan," George explained. "A true classic."
"No, no," Rob said with finality. "This will never work."
"Sure it will," I said. I walked over to the Olds and lifted out my duffel bag. Smiley crouched half in and half out of the sports car, looking uncertain. I threw the duffel into the back seat of the Caddy. "It'll work just fine."
"I'm afraid it will not work just fine," Rob said. "You're taking our car and driver and leaving this junkie and junk pile behind."
I grabbed his collar and lifted him against the side of the sedan. "Shut your mouth!" I snarled. "I'm the stooge putting his ass on the line, not you! In view of that, I'll pick my own goddamn mode of transportation. Got it?"
His jaw moved and trembled but no sound came out.
"Let him go, Jake," Marlene pleaded. "You can take your silly car. Why does everyone have to behave like children?"
I let Rob go, and he collapsed to his knees, clutching his stomach.
"My ulcer!" he wheezed. "I'm dying!"
"Nevertheless, the revolution must go on," I pointed out. I walked to the hangar and shoved its big doors wide. "Lower the loading ramp!" I yelled at the startled pilots leaning against the lift. They sprang toward the forward hatch.
George pulled up and let the engine idle while we waited for the ramp to lower.
"What sort of trouble did you run into?" I asked.
"Missile trouble."
"Maybe you better tell me about it."
George shrugged. "The Caddy's radar detector saved me. I'd just hit the airfield exit when I got a full-range reading on the radar detector. Which I thought odd since there hasn't been a traffic cop in the City for twenty years."
"Radar targeting system?"
"Only thing it could be. I swung off the road behind a shed before they could get locked on. A half minute later a van guns by with a rocket pod on top, disguised as a luggage carrier."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I slipped in behind the van and nudged it into a concrete abutment." George leaned out the window and pointed at a modest dent in the right front fender. "This car is a big mean bastard."
"They going to live to talk about it?"
"Not if they were mere mortals."
I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. "Sounds like someone didn't want you to come along."
George looked over his shoulder. "Who are those people?"
"My employers."
"Really? They seem rather snooty."
"Yes, they're the rich," I said. "Yet they would hand the reins of power to the poor." I looked back at them. Rob sat in the dust. Marlene and Bruce crouched over him, offering solace.
The ramp hit the concrete floor with a clunk, and George guided the Caddy into the huge cargo hold. As I helped George strap down the car, Marlene planted her feet behind me.
"How's laughing boy?" I asked.
Her eyes raged. "You didn't have to hurt him."
"I don't like being pushed around."
"Why can't we all just work together? Why do we have to make it so hard on ourselves?"
George threw a strap over the top of the Caddy, which I fed into an electric winch. I held down the power button until
the shocks groaned. I tested the tautness of all the straps, then turned to Marlene.
"I can't figure it out, either, Marlene. There's a lot of things I don't understand about this operation. But I'm not going to let that distract me. I'm just a fireball of heroic ideals and wild devotion, baby."
The corners of her lips crept up, then relaxed into a winsome smile. She stepped into my arms. "Oh, Jake," she murmured. "Sometimes you play the part so well."
I drew back and looked at her. "Which part is that?"
"The quixotic hero. The fiery idealist"
"You doubt my convictions?"
She looked me in the eyes. "I don't know about your convictions, but I trust you, Jake. I really do."
I pulled her close so I wouldn't have to look at her eyes. "That's fine, angel. That's just fine."
The rotors wound up, and a vibration ran through the lift.
"Well," Marlene said, "I guess I better go."
I kissed her hard on the lips. When she pulled away, I saw that unmistakable look in her eyes.
"See you in Denver," she said, then hurried down the ramp. She turned to wave at the bottom, then vanished.
"That's quite an act you got there, Jake," George said, coming up beside me.
"Yes," I agreed, staring at the spot Marlene had left. "Quite an act."
* * *
We sat in the web seats in the forward half of the cargo hold, George and I on one side, Bruce on the other. Bruce was playing with something.
"What's that?" I asked.
Bruce looked up irately from the box on his lap. "A radio."
"There's a stereo in the Caddy," George said.
"Not that kind of radio," he snapped. "It's the kind you communicate with."
"Who are you planning on communicating with?" I asked.
"None of your goddamn business."
Twenty minutes into the flight I stood and stretched. Bruce looked up suspiciously from the maps spread on his lap while George muttered from the bottom of a dream.
I walked to the door that separated the pilot's cabin and the cargo hold. It was locked. I knocked.
"Who's there?"
"Three guesses."
The door opened a crack, and a single eye regarded me. "What do you want?"
I leaned on the door until it opened. Smiley took his hands off the door and put them on his machine pistol.
"What are you doing here?" I asked him.